Demon-worshipper, it screamed at me, driven by the powers of Hell, you cannot prevail!
I do not believe in demons, I replied. I am older by far than your stories of the devil, and I do not believe them.
White cliffs beneath me glimmering in the moonlight.
You cannot hold the seas against the Sea Lady's son! I was a golden eagle like an arrow in flight, straight through the clouds rendered insubstantial by its passage….
…a garden bathed in moonlight, an old woman raising blue eyes to the sky, a swan's wing in her hand, Albion's power invoked and strengthened. I plunged like an arrow to her breast, stooping on the wind.
What are you? she thought for one moment as her eyes dimmed.
I do not know, I said, and witch to witch I slew her there, power burning through her and leaving her cold upon the ground.
The skies were clear above the Channel.
I shocked back into my body shaking, every muscle seizing as though electricity ran through me. I looked up into Subervie's face. "The way is clear," I said through chattering teeth, and I knew no more.
I woke lying on a bed, a cool cloth across my eyes. I caught at it and gentle hands lifted it away. Max Duplessis bent over me. "Madame?" he said. "Are you returned to yourself?"
Of course it was he. He was one of the VI Corps doctors. Of course it was he rather than Michel.
"I killed her," I whispered. "Their Magister."
Max's gray eyes were kind. "It is war, Madame. People die."
I closed my eyes, seeing her again in my mind's eye, older than I and so much stronger, or so I had thought. But not stronger than Story. Not stronger than the wave I summoned, all the weight of belief and history. I nodded slowly. What had to be had to be. She had put her life in the balance for her country as I did for mine.
"What happened?" I asked.
"They have closed the circle again while I wait with you," Max said. "Jean-Baptiste has gone scouting to see if the elemental is truly gone."
"He's terrible at it." I tried to sit up. "Jean-Baptiste won't be able to tell…."
"Lie down," Max said. He pushed me back down gently. "You've done enough."
"But Jean-Baptiste…."
"Will have to do his best," Max said. "I forbid you to get up. Your pulse was seriously slow."
"Slow?" It seemed to me that I had been exerting myself considerably.
"Yes." He shook his head. "Lie still and rest. There is nothing further you need to do tonight. And if you have defeated that elemental…." His voice trailed off. "I cannot imagine."
"We defeated it," I said. "All of us. This leviathan that is the Emperor's Story…." I did not even have words for what I meant, for the thing that we had wakened. Or perhaps it had always been there, simply waiting for us to claim its power.
Max smoothed my hair back from my forehead, his hands as gentle as a father's, checked the pulse at my throat. "That is stronger now," he said. "Good. Madame, I do not pretend to understand everything we are doing. But I do know that it must be done. You have done your part for tonight. I will fetch you some warm milk to strengthen you, as you should regain your energy, and then you will sleep here where I can keep an eye on you until I'm certain you are fully recovered." He got up with a reassuring smile. "I'll be back in just a few minutes." Quietly, he pulled the door shut behind him.
I lay in the warm candlelight in the bed piled with blankets. It felt chilly for all that it was the twenty-eighth of August. This room must be Lannes' own, or that of one of the senior officers. Max had not undressed me, for I was still in my linen from the ritual. They must have carried me in while I was in a dead faint.
Some part of me that was not lulled and drowsy, so bone tired, wondered why Max had gone to get milk himself. Oh yes. The servants. They'd locked down headquarters during the rituals and meetings. If the doctor wanted warm milk, he'd have to go warm it himself.
So nice of him, I thought, and closed my eyes. I would just doze until he came back. It was safe here beneath wards and stones, quiet and warm and safe. I could just hear the faintest murmur of voices down the hall, the circle still about their business. Besides that all else was still. I turned my head, sinking deep into the pillow. Perhaps I dozed, and perhaps not. I woke to the sound of Max's steps in the hall. The milk, I thought.
And yet the door didn't open. The footsteps passed the door and went on toward the stairs.
I opened my eyes. That was wrong. He should be coming from the stairs, coming up from the kitchen. Even if he decided I was asleep and he would not disturb me for me to drink the milk, he would open the door to check on me.
I heard nothing. The building was absolutely silent, save the soft flickering sound of the candles and the distant voices. And that was wrong as well. Why would the doctor be standing silently in the hall?
I sat up gingerly, waiting a moment for the wave of vertigo that washed over me to subside. Something was very wrong. I tiptoed to the door, my bare feet cold on the floor and turned the handle, praying that it was well oiled. It worked silently and I peered out.
The hallway was lit by a pair of sconces at the far end, at the head of the stairs. Beyond them were the double doors that led into the room we had used for the ritual. And next to them….
A man was quietly closing the door of the first room to the right, the dim light of the sconces gleaming off his white wig, off the dull sheen of his livery. A footman, an ordinary domestic, a man who would not merit a second glance. Except that the servants had been sent out. Quickly he turned and hurried down the stairs, his shoes almost silent on the treads. I did not see his face.
I hurried down the hall, my heart pounding in my chest, and opened the door he had just closed. A private office, papers and maps neatly arranged in folders, a stack of orders at the ready. The top one was in the Emperor's hand.
I knew.
Cursing myself for a fool, I ran the few steps to the double doors and flung them open. "He is here!" I shouted as they all turned, posed in tableau in the midst of their work. "The spy. He was on the stairs and he just went down. He had been in the office next door and there are papers there. He is dressed as a footman!"
Chaos ensued. Subervie started for the door, coming up short as though he'd hit an invisible barrier, his hand going to his forehead as he collided with the energy of the cast circle.
"You great fool!" Honoré exclaimed, sweeping his sword around. "Let me cut a gate!"
"No need now," Michel said, dropping to a crouch as though to deposit something heavy on the floor, and I felt him absorbing it, the shock of the loosed energy, forcing it into the ground, into the stones of Boulogne.
Subervie reeled and Jean-Baptiste ran past him, dashing for the stairs in a sprint. "I'll get him!" he yelled.
Lannes swore, looking down at his white linen robe. He couldn't very well chase after someone dressed like that, not when he was a Marshal of France.
I made a beeline for the dressing room. Thankfully I'd arrived with Charles' clothes tonight instead of bonnet and gown, and so it was the work of a moment to change. I had just begun to pull the trousers on when the door opened and Subervie barged in, and then barged back out. "Beg pardon."
"Come in and dress!" I yelled. "This is more important than my goddamned modesty!" I stuffed my shirttails into my trousers and threw on my waistcoat as Subervie barged back in with Lannes.
"Excuse me," Lannes began.
"I'm leaving," I said, tearing out with my coat in my hand.
Honoré had been wearing shirtsleeves under his robe, and now he stood at least half dressed in front of Michel, who was still robed. "Go after Corbineau," Michel was saying. "Quietly. Subervie will get patrols out, but of necessity they'll be somewhat behind." He looked at me, taking in my dress in a moment. "Did you see his face?"
"No, but I would know him," I said. "His stature, his clothing, his way of moving. I'm going with Reille."
For a moment I thought he would argue with me, but he didn't. "Here,
" he said, and thrust a pistol into my hand, his own I presumed. "It's loaded."
"Thank you," I said. A single shot.
Honoré had his saber belted on but no coat. "We have to go," he said urgently.
"Yes," I said, and we turned about as one and bolted for the stairs. Whatever weakness I had felt earlier was gone now, lost in the pounding need of the chase. Down the stairs and across the stable yard….
"Not the horses," Honoré said, grabbing my arm. "They won't have them. A footman can't be seen on horseback, remember? And Jean-Baptiste didn't have time if he was on his heels."
I hoped a footman didn't carry a gun either. Jean-Baptiste was unarmed, and while he'd hold his own hand to hand it wouldn't do much good against a gun.
We pelted up to the guardpost, the confused soldiers coming to attention when they recognized Honoré. "Did Major Corbineau come this way?" he demanded.
"Yes, sir," one said.
The other cut in. "He ran off toward the town. He said that a footman had stolen his purse. We said that the man just left and…."
"That way?" Honoré demanded, and at the man's nod pelted after with me in his wake.
Halfway down the hill to the fountain square I caught up to him and grabbed his sleeve. "Wait!"
He halted. "What?"
"Stop a moment," I said, my breath coming hard. "We're not going to catch him this way. If he knows the town he may have already gone to earth and we've run straight past him. We have to think."
Honoré nodded, his dark forelock dripping with sweat. "Yes." He lifted his head as though he could scent the wind like a hunting dog. "What did he see?"
I had only looked for a moment, just an instant, long enough to see the Emperor's signature. "I'm not certain," I said. "But I think it was the embarkation order. It was an order of march for V Corps." I took a deep breath. "And the date. Five days from now."
Honoré's eyes met mine. "He has to communicate that to Lion. Immediately."
"The seas are open now," I said. "If they are warned this could all be for nothing." I looked about. The square was not yet deserted. A few people were still walking to and fro, a tavern was still open, lights spilling out into the street. It could not yet be midnight. "Where is Lion?"
"She came about off Boulogne at four," Honoré said. "She ought to be at the far southern end of her circuit, or thereabouts."
"Then our man can't wait," I said. "He can't hole up in town. He has to go south along the cliffs and transmit tonight. By the time Lion gets back here it will be near dawn in high summer, five hours and a bit."
Honoré nodded again. "If he has any sense he lost Corbineau in town. Then he'll go along the cliffs to find a place to signal. You're right that he can't wait. Not with this."
There was a clatter on the stones behind us, Subervie charging up at a run, saber in hand. "Did you find him?"
"No, nor Jean-Baptiste either," I said.
"But we think we know where he'll have to be," Honoré said.
"The guard's turned out, but…."
"This is for stealth," Honoré said. "Gervais?"
"I'm with you," Subervie said grimly. "It's time to put an end to this."
Beyond the edges of the town the night was quiet. The road to Montreuil curved away from the sea, while the other track meandered its way along the cliff tops. We took that one wordlessly. There was nothing for our spy in Montreuil tonight.
We had no light, and the moon had set early behind a few scudding clouds in the west, but the stars were enough to light our way somewhat. Here, far from the smoke and haze of a city, they were astonishingly bright.
"You were right," I said as we walked along, Subervie just ahead of us, surprisingly quiet for a big man. "He was dressed as a footman. A servant."
Honoré gave me a quick smile. "Thank you. People don't say that often enough."
"Say what?"
"That I'm right." He grinned.
I smiled back at him. "You're right. I will absolutely give credit where it's due." The night air was cool with the breeze off the sea, lifting my hair from the back of my neck, clearing my head. "You have to wonder, though," I said contemplatively. "What leads a man to do that. To become a secret agent."
"What indeed?" He looked at me sideways.
"It's a very long story," I said. "Involving love and war and a great many unpleasant events."
"Surprising," he said.
"Why?"
Honoré shrugged. "You seem so happy."
I had not thought of it quite that way before. "I suppose I am," I said. "Despite all tumults and alarms."
"A very deep keel," he said. "Like a ship. When the keel is deep below the waterline it's stable despite the waves and storms. Perhaps your soul has a deep keel."
There was a movement ahead, and we all froze momentarily, then crept forward together. It looked like the movement of white cloth. Yes, that's what it was. It was a man's back in shirtsleeves going forward cautiously over the stones. We were very near to the overlook we had marked before, and it looked as though the man approached it cautiously, moving down the edge of the cliff at an angle toward it, as though he wanted to look over the edge before he got there.
Honoré glanced meaningfully at my pistol and I shook my head. It was too far, and the light was too uncertain. I had only one shot, and at this distance I could not count on accuracy. If I wasted it we would alert him to our presence.
He disappeared for a moment, ducking down behind a stone.
I looked at Honoré and he moved his hands apart, then circled them around. We must separate and try to get him between us. That would be the surest thing. Nodding so that he knew I understood, I started working my way to the left, southward, Subervie fanning out in the other direction to come upon him from the right. I would get ahead of him and Honoré would be behind.
Suddenly a light flashed out like a star brought to Earth, not where the man I had seen was but a little further on, a shaded lantern being opened. Once, twice.
Out to sea to the south there was an answering blink, a point of light upon the sea replying, Lion at the extreme end of sight working her way northward against the wind.
Now or never, I thought. If he signaled what he'd seen we were lost. I sighted along the gun barrel but I had no target. I could see nothing. The man holding the lantern might be to its left or right depending on how he stood, but either way he was wearing dark clothes against dark ground and sea.
There was a rush suddenly, the sound of feet running hard over stones, and in an entirely different place the white shirt sleeves bobbed up in answer. I understood in a moment. The white shirt had been Corbineau, trying to keep low since he was more visible than his quarry, and the running feet….
"Get him!" Subervie shouted, running at the light, which winked out suddenly. He must have caught our man in a flying tackle, for there were scuffles and grunts. Off to my right Honoré abandoned all pretense of creeping, dashing toward the fight. Pistol in hand I took off too, though I could see nothing more than a dark form thrashing about on the ground, presumably Subervie and the spy entangled.
One of them got up and broke away and the other followed, catching his quarry right at the edge of the cliff. A blow, a grunt -- I still could not see. One staggered on the edge, and I saw the other strike, a gut punch that would have winded a man on a flat floor. It was too much, and he staggered back, misstepping at the very brink, then going over in a flailing of arms.
The survivor ran, and in that moment I knew which was which. If the spy had gone over, Subervie would have looked after him. It had been Gervais Subervie who had gone over, that fearless family man with his two small children. It was the spy who escaped.
Curses, and Jean-Baptiste was at the edge, "God damn you, you great stupid brave idiot…."
The spy was running full out along the cliff, southward away from us, his lantern deserted on the ground behind, as the light would give him away.
I could not hope to bring him down hand to hand,
not smaller and lighter as I was, if he'd done for Subervie. But I still had one shot. And so I stopped and took it, lining up carefully in the pale starlight as he clambered over the stones, moments long as hours, blood cold as ice.
It took him full in the middle of the back. He screamed, a terrible bellow of pain, and pitched over the edge.
I ran up and looked over, leaning out on the stones like a parapet. His body lay unmoving on the rocks at the base of the cliff, his head at an unnatural angle, blood pooling around him like a dark tide. I swallowed bile but did not look away. Only a coward looks away from what they have done.
"Elza, help!" shouted Jean-Baptiste.
I turned and ran back toward where Subervie had gone over and hurried to the brink.
"Elza!" Jean-Baptiste was stretched full length on a ledge about five feet beneath the edge, his legs spread for greater purchase on the rocks, his shoulders at the edge and his arms over the drop. He had Subervie by one arm, and as I watched Subervie tried to fling the other up to catch at the stone, his fingers scrabbling for a hold. The sea sang around the rocks below. "I've got him but I can't haul him up like this," Jean-Baptiste panted. "If I move his weight will drag me over too."
"A moment," I said, scrambling down to the ledge as quickly as possible. Of course he couldn't lift a man heavier than he while lying flat on his stomach! It was only the most exceeding stubbornness that allowed him to hold on at all.
"Give Elza your other hand," Jean-Baptiste directed. "Let her take some of your weight and I can get in a better position to pull."
I got my hands around his wrist and braced myself as well as I could, but even so the strain on my shoulders nearly pulled me forward. "Hurry," I said.
Jean-Baptiste got into a better position and pulled, getting Subervie's left shoulder even with the ledge so that he could get purchase, and then hauling on him beneath the arm. After that it only took a few moments before we all lay there on the ledge together, panting and staring up at the stars.
Jo Graham - [Numinous World 05] Page 31
