And then there was the problem of how to get the prisoners out. He always loaded the escapees onto his barge in specially made crates right under everyone’s noses. But Françoise was right. They’d be watching the warehouse and his barges. They must realize that was how he was spiriting the families out of the country. Only the drug had kept him from seeing the problem.
The depression that had dogged him since Françoise left settled on his shoulders. She’d been appalled at what he was, of course. She might not have intentionally betrayed him, but she’d wanted to escape him enough to drug him even before she could acknowledge to herself that she knew what he was. Now that she knew, she hated him. Just like Cerise de Haviland four hundred years ago in Alcaise. He’d made sure of that. What choice had he? She was in danger every minute she stayed in Paris. She should never have come to visit him, for God’s sake. He only hoped all her talk of hearing voices didn’t mean her mind was fragile. She’d grow strong again once she wasn’t faced with the horror of a vampire in her life. She must. She was young. As for him, one way or another, the work he’d used to stave off madness was about to end. If he got this shipment of prisoners out, it would be the last. Had he made a difference? Perhaps it had all been pointless in the face of the evil the world seemed to spawn.
As Croûte sauntered over to him her eyes widened. “So you weren’t lying,” she remarked to the guards around her. “He does heal.” They were setting up the brazier and the table with her implements arrayed on it. They had entered reluctantly, keeping nervous eyes on Henri.
He just stared at her. Let’s see if she had the courage to torture him now that he was something she couldn’t explain in her rationalistic world. She ran a hand over his chest, marked only by the faint pink of new skin.
The woman looked up into his face, speculating. She wasn’t yet afraid of him. He healed—what of that? That wasn’t a threat to her. Or maybe she did not comprehend anything beyond her small view of nature.
She touched his back where she had cut him during her last session. He could practically hear her thinking. She cupped his buttock as she said to the soldiers, “Send troops to search his residence for more of the drug the girl used on him. It was in a kind of soft lilac bottle.”
Even if there was more, they couldn’t force it on him now. But the fact that she was calling for reinforcements showed that she was realizing she might not comprehend exactly what was going on here. A guard clicked his heels and nodded to acknowledge the order, turning crisply to stride out of the cell.
“In the spirit of scientific experimentation …” She held her hand out to the side, her gaze never leaving his face. “Knife,” she barked. The big guard who had beat him senseless the last time put the handle of her favorite curved blade into her palm. “Let’s just see for ourselves.”
He’d let her have one cut. Let’s see if she retreated when it healed. He flinched as she drew the blade across his left pectoral, leaving a deep cut. Fine Stoic he was. She motioned to the guard. “Hold that torch over here.”
She stepped back, staring intently at his chest. He could feel the wound begin to seal itself. Not as quickly as once it would have, but enough to be perceptible.
“Blessed mother Mary preserve us,” one of the guards muttered.
Madame Croûte only grinned, though invoking Catholic saints was technically against the law. “A useful talent. That means you can heal whatever I choose to do to you. That will prolong our game, perhaps indefinitely.”
Damnation. How could he keep her focused on him and not on Françoise and the others if she wasn’t even frightened of him?
“But wait!” She seemed to consider. “Can you disappear?” She shook her head. “I think not, or you would have done it. Still, that last guard died swearing it was true.”
Yet again he was the cause of death. But his was not the only blame here. This woman was evil. A plan began to form. Could he compel her to leave those he loved alone? Maybe with frequent renewals of the compulsion. And maybe if she knew he was nearby, and had to find him, that would keep her focused on him.
Let’s play a little hide-and-seek. He let his eyes go red.
She stepped back, visibly shocked.
“Like what you see?” he murmured. He captured her gaze and watched her go slack. “You won’t hurt Mademoiselle Suchet or any of my staff. You will not touch my property. Now,” he added conversationally as he released her, “I’ll be taking another family out. See if you can find me.” Companion! The whirling darkness rose around his knees from the stones. Not as fast as he liked, but the effect was not lost on Croûte and the guards. Their eyes were wide. “I’ll be joining you here later for another visit. Shall we say, an hour?” And he winked out of sight.
“I need a tray of food, Gaston,” Françoise said, hurrying through to the kitchen.
“How is he?” Gaston trailed in her wake. He didn’t have to say whom he was talking about. “Did you find him well?”
“Not good.” She set her mouth. She wouldn’t tell Gaston how bad it was. Or that Henri was a vampire. Or about the prisoners concealed in the warehouse. Or how much danger he and the other residents of number sixteen were really in. “Have the gendarmes been here?”
“Not yet. The mob is milling about in the park.”
She glanced back at him. He knew his danger, then. “Don’t tell them I have been here.”
Gaston reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Don’t do anything foolish, mademoiselle. You must wait. Three days. It will all be over in three days.”
She searched his face. Gaston knew about the prisoners hidden in the warehouse.
“They’re watching the warehouse. He can’t get them out.”
Gaston looked perplexed.
“Besides, he can’t last three days.”
Gaston paled, but he gathered himself. “He is strong.”
Did Gaston know how strong? “We can’t let him suffer.” She watched Gaston blanch further. “We have to hurry things along somehow.”
Gaston straightened his shoulders. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know.”
Yes you do.
Frankie, as always, was right. “Wait. You can get the household out before the mob attacks. Is there somewhere you can go?”
“Calais. I have a cousin there.”
She nodded. “Now, how can we get the servants out of the house?”
Gaston tapped his finger against his prim mustache, thinking. “I shall send them on errands one by one.”
“They will be followed.”
“Ahhh, but the market is crowded. One could lose oneself. Annette to Fanchon, the groom to the ironmonger, another to the saddler … I see how it can be done.”
“Appoint a meeting place outside the city.”
Gaston smiled. “And me, I go to the warehouse with you.”
“No, no, my friend.” She took his shoulders. “The staff depends on you for leadership. Their safety is in your hands.”
“What about his grace?” Gaston was frowning again.
“His grace can escape when he knows everyone else is safe.” Gaston didn’t need to know how. “I will be sure he knows that all is well with you … and with everyone at the warehouse.”
He got a mulish look about his mouth. She raised her brows in challenge. Gaston sighed. “Oui, mademoiselle. I shall do my part.”
She smiled and patted his shoulders. “Now, go.”
Françoise hurried up the quay toward the warehouse with her covered tray. The sky was that peculiar greenish blue that would shortly deepen into twilight. It must be after seven. Torches were being lighted up and down the street. To her right, the Seine, a miasma of effluvia from a large and dirty city, rolled sullenly beyond the stone wall that lined the Quai Henri IV.
Two guards were posted at the warehouse. Several others lounged against the stone wall.
I told you so.
She swallowed once and hurried forward with her tray just as a whole marching troop of s
oldiers rounded the corner and spread out along the quay.
Uh-oh.
Dreadful.
The only way any crates will get out of this warehouse is if the army takes them out.
Françoise stopped in mid-step. She sucked in a breath. “You’re a genius, Frankie,” she whispered under her breath. She could feel Frankie turning over the idea as well.
Mais bien sûr. Françoise could practically feel Frankie grin. She hurried forward.
“Please, good messieurs, may I pass to take Monsieur Jennings his supper?”
“Locked up tight, he is.” The older of the two guards had a paunch bursting two buttons on his uniform. That was quite an achievement in these troubled times when food was scarce. From inside the warehouse she heard the faint pounding of hammers and the creak of wood.
“Well, well, what have we here?” The man with a saber scar on his right cheek lifted the white linen cloth that covered her tray. “Cassoulet,” he murmured reverently.
“Oui. Prepared by Pierre Dufond, the chef of the Duc d’Avignon himself. And bread of course, fresh from the oven.” The guard lifted the lid of the other brown glazed dish. “Haricot verts. With fresh butter and almonds.”
The guards looked as though they might drool onto the tray.
“One man can’t eat all that,” the heavy one said.
She glanced over her shoulder. Other guards were strolling across the street. “Enough to share with you two, but perhaps not for everyone.” The two guards frowned at their compatriots. “I shall take the smaller pot of cassoulet and half a loaf, and give you the rest as a … gratuity for opening the door.”
“Done,” said Saber Scar.
The heavyset one pulled one of the great wooden doors open. “Don’t even think you’re getting any of our due,” he said to the two lounging up.
“Share and share, ye know,” one of the newcomers said. The conversation took a decidedly belligerent turn.
Françoise bent, took her bowl and loaf, and slipped inside while their attention was on keeping what they’d coerced from her.
Inside, the warehouse was dark. As when she had been here before with Avignon, crates and barrels loomed in the shadows. The smell of tar and brandy and dust was everywhere. Ahead, several pools of light illuminated the desk she remembered from the night Madame LaFleur had died. Three men in their shirtsleeves were knocking together crates.
Jennings looked up from where he was directing some others to bring bundled stacks of planks from the back. “Mademoiselle! What brings you here?” He hurried forward.
“You know they are watching the house and this place, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes,” he said, glancing back at the crates, worried. Then he took the tray from her with a question in his eyes.
“Pierre’s cassoulet. My pretext for coming. Most went for a bribe to the guards.” As he set it on the desk she decided she had no time to be roundabout. “I know about the special cargo you have behind the back wall. He told me.
Jennings looked wary.
“They’ll be watching any barges, and they’d open any crates and barrels you tried to load.” He’d thought of that. She could see it in his eyes. He was building crates for human cargo because it was the only thing he knew to do. “The only way these crates are getting out of this warehouse is if the army takes them out.”
“And how will we arrange that?” His disbelief was obvious.
“I think Avignon can arrange it.”
He frowned. “He’s in a cell in the Conciergerie.”
“But he has a frequent visitor. Madame Croûte. Who, if she thinks about it, would want the contents of this warehouse very much, especially since she is bent on killing the goose that lays these golden eggs. This will be the last clutch.”
“You’ve seen him?”
She nodded, her mouth grim. “He’s trying to hold out until the ship arrives in Le Havre and the barge can get down the Seine. But it won’t serve.” She didn’t want to dwell on why not.
The English had more restraint than the French, and while Gaston had asked about Henri, Jennings did not. “But once she has the crates, they’ll be under as tight a guard as they are here.”
Françoise smiled. “But then she’ll have no reason to guard this empty warehouse.”
Jennings’s eyes widened. “So we don’t move them in the crates at all?”
“They’ll be on the lookout for Avignon’s barges. Can you find another boat?”
Jennings frowned again. “Several skiffs would be better. Draw less attention. Maybe we can meet up with the Maiden Voyage in the Channel. If we get to Le Havre before it arrives.” He’d gotten a gleam in his eye. “We’ll break through the wall to the warehouse just to the south, bring them out there. But there are a lot of people behind that wall.”
“Can you get them into the boats without anyone noticing?”
“We’ll have to.” He shrugged. He shot her a sharp look. “Any way to get Avignon out?”
“I’ll take care of that. Just you mind your cargo.” She looked around. It was strange to think there were people crammed in behind that back brick wall, silent and fearful.
She shot him a smile she hoped was confident. “Time for me to go.” She glanced to the cassoulet. “Enjoy your dinner.”
I thought that went rather well.
Françoise was hurrying down the quay toward the Conciergerie on the north end of the Ile de la Cité. “If he can get boats on such short notice. If Robespierre does not arrest him. If he can get them out without anyone noticing … too many ifs.”
My, aren’t we Little Miss Sunshine? What a glass-half-empty kind of girl.
Françoise knew what she meant, surprisingly, perhaps because she now shared experience with Frankie. “I am more optimistic than you are,” she protested. “You never saw the good in Henri. You still think I should kill him or abandon him if he escapes. That is not a ‘Miss Sunshine’ girl either.”
Because that may be the only way to prevent becoming like him.
“Was it so horrible?”
You know how lonely it was.
“You didn’t let yourself be close to anyone.”
Whoa. Bad me. Just because they’d fear me if they knew what I was. And don’t forget that they’d age and die, and hate me either for abandoning them or because I didn’t age with them … How shallow of me to let that stand in the way of a relationship.
Françoise tried another tack. “But you weren’t horrible, and neither is Henri.”
I killed people.
“Not after you knew how to take less blood more frequently.”
That was his fault. He left me there, not knowing anything. Frankie’s distress was palpable.
“You said yourself there’s a real possibility he couldn’t come to you. Donna said he was guillotined about this time.”
The thought of the guillotine shot through both of them and revulsion shuddered up from someplace so ancient and elemental that it would not be suppressed.
“How could they guillotine a vampire?” they thought together.
Donna said they could do it if he was injured too badly, or if his strength was sapped by being burned in the sunlight. I don’t know how it happened the first time.
“But we know one way they might be able to do it now. They could drug him with the drugs you brought back.”
God forgive me.
Françoise turned. They had to get back to the house and pour those bottles out before the drug could be used on Henri.
Hurry.
Françoise slipped behind a tree in the Place Royale park. She wanted to cry but Frankie wouldn’t let her. Gendarmes swarmed in front of number sixteen. Their torches lit the night. How many servants had gotten out? Now she couldn’t even approach to find out.
They’ll find the morphine in the shampoo bottles.
It made sense. It was the path of time when Henri had been guillotined trying to come true, even though somehow Frankie had bent time enough th
at Henri hadn’t made Françoise vampire the way it had happened before.
Maybe we can’t change the part where he dies.
“Well, we are certainly going to try,” Françoise breathed. There wasn’t much time. Françoise slid through the night with all the practice of Frankie’s two hundred years of experience. Only when she reached the other end of the park did she start to run.
Henri shimmered into the cell again. The warehouse had one more family of four. It had been a joy to take them out under the nose of Madame Croûte, though it had taken almost all his strength to transport four times in one night. But he had seen all the troops around the warehouse. What good to get them there when there was no way to get them out? He hadn’t even seen Jennings, just deposited the children behind the wall and gone back for the parents before the guards or Croûte could realize what had happened.
No guards loitered outside his cell now. No point when it was supposed to be empty. They’d be back soon. It had been nearly an hour. He just hoped his compulsion on Croûte worked on a mind that was so bent. But she’d be back too in a few moments and he could give her a refresher course.
What he wanted was Françoise. One touch. That would sustain him.
But he didn’t want that. He wanted her out of Paris. Out of his life. Out of danger.
He heard steps down the hall. Several. Voices. Guards. Was Croûte back so soon? She would be very angry now that she knew another family had escaped.
Dread warred with relief as he saw Françoise appear. With her halo of golden curls flaring with light from the torches, she looked like an angel.
She hurried in then turned on the guards who had accompanied her. “Go. You promised.”
Time for Eternity Page 26
