Clash of Empires (29 page)

“The one they all been looking for,” Deloque says. His words seem to be coming from far away. “He came back from England on a boat and they caught him and killed him. Put his body on a cart and paraded it through Paris.”

Now he is grinning broadly. Cosette forces a smile to mask the horror that she is feeling. “We don't even know who that is,” she says.

Deloque laughs. “So you say,” he says. “I say different.”

His shape leaves the doorway, but Cosette can still see him outside, tending the plants in the central garden.

“Pray God that it not be true,” she says.

“Come,” Marie says. She seems distant. “We will talk as we walk.”

She gathers up the dressmaking tools and Cosette follows her out of the church.

“There are things to do,” she says.

“Madame, if the news is true, then your son is dead,” Cosette says, dumbfounded. “Do you not wish to mourn him?”

“Do I wish to mourn him?” Marie asks, without stopping or looking at Cosette. “Of course. But we have no time to mourn him.”

“What do you mean?” Cosette asks.

“If Willem is dead then so are we,” Marie says. “He was the only reason they kept us alive.”

“We are no danger to them,” Cosette says. “If Willem is dead they will have no reason to keep us here.”

“Foolish girl,” Marie says sharply, and in her tone Cosette finally hears the depths of her anguish. “We know what happened at Gaillemarde. We are witnesses.”

“We did not see it,” Cosette protests.

“We did not need to,” Marie says. “Thibault will never allow us to leave. Not alive. You must escape and it must be today.”

“But we can't…” Cosette trails off, realizing what Marie has just said.

“Three of us cannot make it,” Marie says. “Cosette, you must take your bath today, and slip away. If François is there he will help you.”

“We must all escape,” Cosette says.

“That is not possible,” Marie says. “You must go.”

“No,” Cosette says. She turns back. “Private Deloque,” she says, and her voice is strong and formal. “Please inform Lieutenant Horloge that I require an audience with him immediately. I will be in my cell.”

“I'm not your errand boy,” Deloque says, looking up from his hoe.

“Then I will find him myself and tell him that you refused to pass on my message,” Cosette says.

“I ain't afraid of that little flower,” Deloque says, but he turns and heads off in the direction of the officers' quarters.

*   *   *

Lieutenant Horloge stops in the doorway of the cell, knocking on the door with a quick tap of his fingernails, no more.

Deloque towers behind him.

“This is for your ears alone,” Marie says.

“It does not matter what the private hears,” Horloge says, sniffing at a handkerchief stained with snuff.

“It matters to me,” Marie says.

Horloge looks at her haughtily, then at Cosette and back.

“Are you afraid?” Cosette laughs lightly. “An armed soldier, an officer in the French Army, afraid of two unarmed women?”

“Lock the door,” Horloge says to Deloque. “And wait at the end of the corridor. I will call you when I am finished.”

Deloque looks sullen, but complies.

Horloge watches to make sure he leaves and starts to turn back but stops as he feels the sting of a sharp point at his throat. One blade of the scissors. Deadly sharp.

“Call out and I will sever your artery,” Cosette says. “No surgeon will be able to save you. You will be dead in thirty seconds.”

“And you will be dead in sixty,” Horloge says.

“That is true, but you will still be dead,” Cosette says.

Horloge is silent and she takes that as a sign of compliance. Marie steps close and reaches for his pistol. Horloge drops a hand to his holster to stop her.

Cosette presses the blade harder into his throat, drawing blood. He gasps and moves his hand away.

“You will die for this,” Horloge says.

“We were to die anyway,” Marie says, withdrawing his pistol slowly, silently. She cocks the hammer with her thumb, checking the frizzen for powder. “Those were your orders, were they not? Once Willem had been found?”

Horloge is again silent. Cosette produces the other blade of the scissors and weaves a delicate line down the front of his tunic, to the region of his navel, then below.

“Perhaps! Perhaps,” Horloge says. “But your son has not been found.”

“That is not what we have heard,” Cosette says.

Horloge glances at the door, in the direction of Deloque. He sets his jaw angrily.

“What you have heard is only part of the truth. Your son and a group of other soldiers and spies landed near Antwerp. Most of them were killed or captured. But your son got away.”

“You lie,” Marie says.

“I tell the truth,” Horloge says.

“It does not matter,” Cosette says. “What has been started cannot be stopped. Call Deloque back in. Call him now.”

“I will not,” he says.

“Because of your duty? Your honor?” Marie asks. “Do as we ask and we will leave here, and you will have your life. Refuse, or try to fool us, or alert the guard, and you will die. There may be honor in dying on a battlefield, but there is none in dying in a prison cell at the hands of a woman.”

Horloge is quiet for a moment, then calls, “Guard!”

“A wise move,” Cosette says. “Perhaps you deserve a kiss for your trouble.”

She moves in front of him, embracing him, turning him away from the door, the blade pressed again into his neck. Marie slips quietly behind the door, the pistol in her hand.

Deloque, as Cosette has anticipated, is shocked at the sight of Horloge and Cosette locked in a romantic embrace. He unlocks the door and enters without a thought for Marie's whereabouts, until her voice sounds quietly behind him.

“Give me your musket or I will sever your spine and if you live, you will spend the rest of your days as a cripple,” Marie says.

Deloque spins around, seeing the pistol aimed steadily at his midriff. He starts to raise his musket.

Cosette presses the blade even deeper into Horloge's throat. He squeaks with the pain. “Do as she says. Don't be a fool,” he says.

Deloque hands his musket to Marie.

“Against the wall,” she says, stepping back from the big man, the pistol steady.

Deloque obeys, crossing to a wall of the cell.

“You join him,” Marie says to Horloge, who also obeys.

“Now strip off your uniforms,” Cosette says. “And give us no trouble.”

Horloge stares at her for a moment before starting to comply. “Mademoiselle,” he says, “you may not think much of me, and I am not as much of a man as the soldiers that surround me. But I am no coward and I am no animal. I do not agree with women being used as pawns in this game. In all honesty I shall be pleased to see you free. You shall have no trouble from me.”

Cosette bows her head in thanks. His response seems genuine.

“I believe you are a good man,” she says. “I am not so sure of your companion.”

“I am still the commander of this garrison,” Horloge says. “The private will do as he is told.”

“Bind them tightly,” Cosette says to Marie.

 

A DESPERATE ACT

Deloque's uniform is far too big for Maarten—Marie's husband and Willem's father—who seems much older than his years. A withered stalk of a man, brutalized by so many years in the stone-walled confines of his cell. Captured by the French and forced to teach them his secrets of mesmerizing dinosaurs. He seemed unsure when they released him, unready to step outside the cell that had been the boundaries of his world for so long.

Still, with quick application of needle and thread, Cosette and Marie manage to stop the trousers from falling down and tuck up the sleeves. The tunic is so long it looks like a woman's dress, but there is nothing they can do about that.

Cosette fits more easily into Horloge's small uniform. The chest is tight and she feels squashed and short of breath, but it will be only for a short time. She will cope. She studies his face, thinking of all the shows she has performed in back in the village, and how features can be brought out with a little application of makeup.

She has no makeup here, and the application would have to be much more subtle to pass inspection at close quarters. She mixes a little dirt from the floor with dust from the walls, dampening it with spit.

Using the shiny blade of Horloge's dagger as a mirror, she does the best she can to transform her face into his.

The first guard they must face is outside the door of the cell block. She might pass inspection but Maarten will never pass for Deloque.

She practices Horloge's voice. It is deeper than hers, and his accent markedly different. However, he has a soft way of speaking that is easily imitated.

Maarten checks the bindings and the gags that secure Horloge and Deloque before he and the two women exit the cell, locking the door behind them.

Followed by Marie, then Maarten, who is clutching Deloque's musket, Cosette marches to the end of the corridor and raps on the door to be let out. Maarten and Marie hang back, hiding in the doorway of one of the cells.

The guard checks through the barred hole in the door, as he is supposed to, before there is the click of a lock and the door opens.

Now is the moment, Cosette knows. Everything depends on this. She knows this soldier.

She coughs, covering her mouth with her hand. So far the guard shows no sign of alarm or recognition that she is anyone other than who she pretends to be.

“You are relieved, corporal,” she says, in her best approximation of Horloge's voice. Even to her, it does sound like him. “Private Deloque will take over guard duties.”

“Yes, sir,” the corporal says. “What is my new assignment?”

“You may take your rest,” she says.

“Thank you, sir,” the corporal says. He salutes and leaves.

*   *   *

The walk across the main courtyard of the abbey is a gantlet of potential danger. They pass by the huge doors of the storeroom, which is really a cover for the entrance to the caves beneath. One of the great doors is open and she can hear the grunts and smell the stench of the big animals in the cavern far below.

There are many soldiers in the courtyard. Any one of them could put an end to this charade immediately, noticing something odd about the captain, or the ill-fitting uniform of the guard who walks in front of him.

Out of the corner of her eye Cosette sees an adjutant approaching. This is a man who works every day with Horloge.

The other soldiers see Horloge mainly at a distance, but this man knows him personally. She panics momentarily, her hand straying toward the pistol in her holster.

She moves it away, thinking quickly, and pulls out Horloge's handkerchief.

She waits until the man is quite near and turns to him, sniffing at the silk cloth.

“Sir, a letter from Calais,” the man says. “It just arrived. Most urgent.”

“Thank you,” Cosette says. She holds out a hand and the man hands her the letter, then salutes.

Cosette knows she has to return the salute but to do so would involve taking the handkerchief away from her face.

Again panic rises in her throat but at that moment Marie swoons, falling into the arms of her husband, the “guard” behind her.

The distraction is enough.

“See to your duties,” Cosette says. “I have matters to attend to.”

The man looks at Marie, and realizes. He pales.

“Of course, sir,” he says, spinning sharply on his heels and walking quickly away.

“Thank you,” Cosette whispers, as Marie stages a not-quite-miraculous recovery.

“Your performance is superb,” Marie says out of the corner of her mouth.

*   *   *

From his perch in the trees François sees three figures leave the main gate of the abbey and a cold sensation runs through him as though Satan has run his fingers down his spine.

The three figures leaving the abbey are a woman, followed by a guard, followed by the temporary commander of the abbey, Lieutenant Horloge. François has met Horloge and does not like him, finding him to be a weak, insipid excuse for a man.

The reason for François's chill is the identity of the members of the party. The woman has to be Madame Verheyen, Willem's mother. For her to be taken out in this manner can mean only one thing.

The last time François saw such a party it was to deal with a deserter. He was shot and his body dumped in a ravine, left for the saurs and other wild animals of the forest.

He slings his crossbow across his back and takes one of his rope walks to a different tree where he can get a better view.

From his new perch he can clearly see Horloge, his manner and gait are unmistakable, the angle of his head, the way he holds his hands. He is too high to see the face below the peak of the helmet, but he does not need to.

The guard is a new one. François has not seen him before. He is surprisingly old and frail for a soldier and François cannot imagine how he got posted here.

He lets them pass by, almost directly beneath his tree, then lines up his crossbow on the back of Horloge.

He almost fires, but stops himself. There is no point. If it was Cosette being marched to her execution, then yes, he would kill. He would take out the guard first, then the officer as he ran for help.

But this is not Cosette, just Willem's mother. He has no feelings for her. None other than pity and that is not strong enough for him to want to cause the kind of ruckus that the disappearance of the commanding officer will cause.

He moves into another tree, no ropes needed here because the tree canopy is so thick that he can simply step from branch to branch.

It occurs to him that if Madame Verheyen is to be executed, then Cosette will surely be next. Unless the soldiers keep her to use as a plaything.