"Tell the Chevalier this will fit the ward lock he has in mind.” Then the ironmonger returned the cloth-wrapped square of wax to my free hand. “Here, I think you'll have further need of this. Now be gone before the watch closes the gates and stretches chains across the street, then none may pass."
I walked slowly out of the yard as if the gate watch was of no concern to someone like me. When I was sure I had passed beyond sight of the ironmonger, I took to my heels. Soon crossing the bridge over the Seine, I noticed my shadow had now grown longer than I was tall. By the time I started up our hill, the last sun ray disappeared from the sky, and birds perched in the trees fell silent.
At the pickpocket's practice dummy hanging in the villa archway, Josette waited for me.
"You have the key blank?"
"Of course, but where is Remy?"
"King Jules has requested his presence at supper tonight and every evening until we're finished."
"Then I'll take the key to him."
As I approached the king's table, one of his personal assassins halted me by pressing his large hand against my chest. I held up the key for Remy to see.
"Let him approach,” said Jules.
I took the key to Remy and he examined it carefully.
"There's no notches cut in the key blank,” grumbled Jules, “how will you get it to work?"
"That's my secret,” retorted Remy. Then he studied me as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. Eventually, he waved me away. “Josette will see to your supper, now go."
I would like to have received praise for the part I'd played so far, or even a thank you for having risked my person in this dangerous adventure, but no, I was simply dismissed by the grown-ups as if I'd done nothing of any consequence. At least supper gave me an excuse to be near Josette again. My stomach had no argument with this arrangement.
With a full belly, I fell asleep in the middle of Josette's room before the Chevalier returned. And once again, I was shaken awake the next morning. Remy pulled me to my feet and turned me to face him.
"You and Josette have another journey to make this morning,” he said.
"Am I going back to prison?"
"Yes, but not for keeps, assuming you make no mistakes.” He thrust the key blank into my hands and pointed out the newly melted candle wax smeared onto the flange where notches needed to be cut for the key to work. “Gently insert this key into the lock of the cell door where the Bookkeeper is held. Turn the key as far as it will go, then center the key again and carefully extract it from the lock. Don't smudge the wax. Understand?"
I nodded and wondered out loud where my breakfast was to be.
The Chevalier pulled a long loaf of bread from a basket near his feet. He cut one end off the loaf and gave me that piece. The large remainder of the bread went back into the basket where it rested with a ham and two more bottles of wine. All of which I supposed had been supplied by Jules.
While I chewed my bread, Remy produced a chunk of cheese and cut a thick slice, which he laid on my knee. Then he asked a strange question.
"Listen carefully, boy. If I suddenly gave you something to hide for me, would you be able to conceal it someplace on these grounds where no one else is likely to find it?"
I thought of all the places I'd hidden extra coins and stolen food. The coins had been small and easy to hide. The food had been more difficult.
"How large of an item?"
He motioned with both hands spread apart.
"About as wide as this ham..."
Then he used the thumb and first finger of one hand.
"...and as thick as a generous slice of this same ham.
"What is it you wish hidden?” I asked.
"That's of no matter to you."
I started in on the cheese, still thinking of hiding places.
"Sure, I can do it."
"Then be ready for whenever I need you. In the meantime, off you go."
This trip into the prison was easier but only because many of my fears had been lessened by the success of our prior incursion. I felt almost cocky, right up to the main prison gate, but there was something dismal and haunting about the squalid interior of that stone tower. Just as soon as the door clanked shut behind me, my brain wanted to panic. The guards were soon entertained with a repeat performance of the Bookkeeper's deaf and mute grandson. Again, it required very little acting on my part.
Fortunately, I recovered enough presence of mind in the prison cell to do as the Chevalier had requested. Insert key. Turn. Rotate back to center. Gently extract. Wrap key in cloth. Hide in my shirt. No one had paid the slightest attention to what I was doing. We were back on our hill in the Buttes-Chaumont by noon. Free air never smelled so good.
By now, I had observed that the large blue cloths covering food in the basket when we entered the prison were not in the basket when we left the cell. Many of the white cloth napkins had also failed to make the return journey home with us. I quickly found it was not my place to inquire about their absence. Inside the prison, I had also noticed that Josette and the Bookkeeper did much whispering among themselves while I waited by the cell door to work on the lock, but I had no idea what they discussed. They kept those plans from me, as well as the explanation for the disappearing cloths.
Back at the villa, I found Remy at the table with Jules. This time the king's rough-faced assassins let me pass without hindrance.
"You have what I need?” asked Remy.
I bobbed my head and handed the cloth bundle to Remy. He unwound the cloth and examined the wax on the key blank.
"Very good,” he exclaimed. Then he pushed back his chair and made a short bow in the direction of Jules. “If you will excuse me, I have work to do."
Jules waved his hand.
Remy dragged his cloak off the table and threw the heavy cloth over his shoulder. He grabbed my upper arm and steered me toward Josette's little room. When we reached her three-walled residence, Remy dropped his cloak on the floor and rooted through a wooden box in one corner. He removed a clamp, which he then fastened to one side of the box. The key blank became gripped between the wood of the box and the metal of the clamp. Next, he produced a small file and began to work on the key.
I watched closely. Remy kept filing on the key blank until the edge of the file reached the indentations in the wax. Then he stopped and filed on another part of the key until the file once again reached the markings in the wax. By dark, he had made a false key that would hopefully open the Bookkeeper's cell door. At that point, I felt certain it was back to prison for me again. I slept fitfully that night with dreams of grim-faced prison guards and army officers chasing me through long, dark tunnels that went on and on forever.
When I awoke the next morning in the middle of the room, no one was there. No Josette and no Remy to shake my shoulder. No breakfast awaited me. I peeked outside. The sun was already in the sky.
Out in the yard of the ruined villa, I inquired about my two friends. A beggar in the middle of painting sores on his legs claimed that the Chevalier had gone to meet with Jules. As for Josette, an old woman carrying a live chicken under her arm said she saw Josette set off early this morning with a cloth-covered basket. Remy, Josette, and Jules had set their plan in motion without me. I'd been used and dumped like all the garbage on our hill.
For the rest of the day, I sat on a rock in the shade of a wall and glared at my nobleman across the courtyard. Remy never once glanced my way. He and Jules remained seated at the king's table throughout the afternoon. They ate, drank, laughed, and joked. No doubt the laughter was at my expense. Later, when Josette came to sit beside me after her return from the prison, I turned my back to her and refused to speak.
As the day wore on, Remy and Jules called for more wine and more wine, until at sunset Loup took a bottle for his own and walked off in disgust, leaving one of the other ruffians to act as servant to the king. By now, only two of the rough-faced assassins still stood near the king's table. If my anger had not graduall
y subsided over the long hours, I would've walked over there and told Remy and Jules what I thought of them for leaving me out.
As it was, when I finally stood to go, I heard a hubbub at the main gate to the villa. Loud voices raised in greeting at the edge of the encampment until they grew into a crescendo of cheering. The uproar moved in my direction. By the flickering light of the main bonfire I saw the noisy mob following a man toward the king's table. I ran across the courtyard to stand beside the Chevalier in order to see better.
Upon my arrival, Remy stood and pointed at the approaching crowd.
"Look,” he shouted, “it's the Bookkeeper."
Jules jumped to his feet and turned to the mob.
In that instant when everyone's eyes were on the commotion, Remy thrust a hard flat object into my stomach and whispered, “Hide this, quickly.” Then he pushed me away.
I stuck the object under my shirt and walked unobtrusively around the table and off at a tangent to the approaching crowd. My new hiding place was not far from here.
The crowd halted well back from the king's presence. Only the Bookkeeper, dressed in a shabby uniform that resembled those of a French army officer, continued to the table.
Jules spread his arms wide.
"Welcome, my friend. I see all went well."
"That it did,” replied the Bookkeeper, brandishing the false key I had worked so hard to help make. “A little filing on my part to fine tune it as instructed,” he said, “and the Chevalier's key worked like magic. Plus, the many blue cloths and white napkins from Josette's baskets of food made a fine uniform, although you'll see I'm not much of a seamstress.” He laughed. “However, in the dark, the guards took me for the real thing, and I was out the front door of the prison before they looked too closely."
We had done it. Josette, Remy, and I had opened the cell door of the prison and freed the Bookkeeper. In my joy, I almost forgot what I was to do next and had to hurry.
Jules addressed the people gathered nearby.
"My plan worked well. Now we can return to our regular business of crime. With the book in hand and its keeper to read it, there will be no more arguments of anyone being cheated. Therefore, I wish to hear no grumbling from nameless faces."
I was almost at the near side of the bonfire when I heard the Bookkeeper ask, “Where is the book?"
"Right here on the table,” replied Jules, turning back to pick up his wineglass. He studied the table, empty except for two glasses, a standing wine bottle, and Remy's neatly folded cloak. Then he screamed for his assassins to detain anyone close to the table. “And stop that boy.” He pointed at me.
I was trapped by the fire in front and a guard on both sides. One of them grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back to the table.
Remy sat nonchalantly in his chair. “Is there a problem?"
"The book is gone,” said Jules. Then to his bodyguard, “Search them both."
I was held firmly by one shoulder while unfamiliar hands felt through my clothing and checked over my body. When he was finished, the ruffian looked at Jules and shook his head.
Loup reappeared out of the darkness and placed the point of his sword at the base of the Chevalier's neck. “Stand,” he growled.
Remy stood and was instantly searched by one of Jules's men. The man soon stepped back. “Nothing,” he said.
Jules called for torches to see under the table and out onto the surrounding ground.
Angry voices in the crowd murmured about the loss of the book. Cries of frustration grew rapid and intense. “We are being cheated again,” muttered several in the mob.
Remy reached for his cloak, but Loup beat him to it and shook out the material. Then Loup carefully felt every inch of the cloak. In disgust, he threw it back on the table.
With a hardness in his voice I'd not heard before, the Chevalier slowly turned to Loup. “I have felt the tip of your sword in the back of my neck. Someday soon, you may feel the length of mine in your chest."
Loup raised his sword, but Jules stopped him.
"Not now, we have more important matters. Send men to search the entire villa while you stay with me. One of your men must find the book before this rabble gets out of hand."
Jules beckoned for Remy and me to follow him as he strode to the elegant chair that was his throne near the fire. He sat.
"You two keep within my sight, one on each side of me. No talking between you."
I moved around to the king's left, while Remy stayed at his right. From time to time, Remy would stare wordlessly at me as if trying to ask a question. I merely dropped my gaze to Jules and hoped that the Chevalier could read my mind.
As the hours dragged by, Jules's men reported to him, one by one, whispering in his ear. He quickly sent them out again with new orders. By daybreak, the entire villa had been torn inside out, and each of the inhabitants, including a violently protesting Mother Margaux, had been personally searched. Our little community now bordered on riot.
Jules pursed his lips and slumped on his throne.
Remy stepped in front of him.
"I have been within arm's reach of you since yesterday morning, have I not?” he ventured.
"You have,” said Jules.
"And you've had me searched, so you know I don't have your book."
"If you say so."
"But if I could find it, what would that be worth to you?"
King Jules sat up straight. His eyes narrowed in interest.
"What would you have?"
"The right to sell my stolen wares directly to any fence in the three parts of Paris. This agreement will cost you nothing."
"True, but I also make nothing off the transactions."
Jules tapped his fingers on the arm of his elegant chair. A stone flew out of the crowd and rolled across the ground at his feet. He glared at the mob.
"Never mind, Chevalier, you have your deal. I need to get this rabble off my back."
Remy leaned forward and whispered in the king's right ear.
Jules leaped off of his throne.
"Which one?"
"I didn't see his face,” replied Remy. “In the confusion of the Bookkeeper's arrival, I merely thought the man was putting the book in a safe place for you."
Jules glared at each of his bodyguards as he drew his dagger. Turning to his throne, he inserted the blade into one of the wide rents in the seat cushion and ripped through the upholstery. Grabbing wads of white stuffing with his free hand, he pulled the cushion apart. Underneath lay a thin red book about the size of a thick slice of ham. He held it up for the crowd to see. Cheers rang through the morning haze.
While Jules was distracted, Remy grabbed my hand and steered me in the direction of Josette's little three-walled room.
"You did good, boy. I may have work for you in the future, now that I'm free to sell my own wares again."
I thought about our recent events and contemplated the future.
"What did you whisper in the king's ear?"
The Chevalier laughed.
"I told Jules that one of his own men took the book and hid it in the chair bottom. He'll sleep with one eye open now, wondering who betrayed his trust and how far will it go. Sitting on a throne is always an uneasy proposition."
The deviousness of Remy's words filled me with misgivings. As clever as the Chevalier had shown himself to be, he might easily turn Josette's head in his own direction. What chance had I then with the object of my infatuation? I needed to keep an eye on my nobleman. His declaration of us working together in the future could soon become a double-edged sword in my life, since it meant he would always be close to my Josette.
I debated with myself for some time that evening. Should I place my newfound talents in the employment of the Chevalier? Yes or no? The answer was at once unsettling, yet the better choice. In spite of any problems this arrangement made, I would somehow find a way to survive on this ancient hill of castaways. Like the old Sicilian that lived with us for several months once said to me,
“Keep your friends close at hand, but keep your enemies even closer.” For the time being, I wasn't sure which, friend or enemy, Remy would prove to be. Earning food for my empty belly was one thing; the sharp pangs of jealousy in my chest another.
Over time, we would see. We would see.
Copyright (c) 2006 R. T. Lawton
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NO VIDEOTAPING DURING THE MURDER by John H. Dirckx
Dr. Mickelhaws was the last to get off the chartered bus except for the driver. A fine autumn drizzle was falling as the doctor trailed behind the rest of the senior citizens’ group across the parking lot and into the entrance of Weyermueller's Restaurant. On the stairs Ms. Kinnear hovered with her clipboard, herding the crowd along with little yaps of encouragement like a well-trained sheepdog.
The doctor paused on the landing to read the poster displayed there, even though smaller versions of it had been floating around the center for the past month.
Tuesday Dinner Theater
The Brides of Dunraven Castle
Please, No Audio Recording or Videotaping
During the Performance
There followed a list of the cast, performance times, and scenes from the play.
As he started on up the stairs, a young woman dashed in out of the rain. “Is this where they're having the play?” she asked. Her face was heavily made up, her hair was wrapped in a scarf, and she was carrying some kind of overnight bag by a wrist loop. Guessing that she was a member of the cast—presumably a supernumerary or a last-minute substitution, since the show had been running every Tuesday for months—he pointed wordlessly at the poster and passed on into the restaurant.
The main dining area was a large square room, admirably suited to dinner theater performances. For tonight's program, the usual decor had been augmented with an enormous candelabrum on each table and festoons of purple and sable crepe around the walls. An open space in the middle of the room formed the stage, while a booth adjacent to it, enclosed by black screens, served as the wings.
AHMM, December 2006 Page 5
