Tales of the Shadowmen 2: Gentlemen of the Night

by Jean-Marc Lofficier

  Thus properly attired, he went downstairs into his office, opened his notebook and began a new entry to chronicle his projected trip. He always liked to keep meticulous records of his journeys. Occasionally, he also used a camera especially designed for him by Edward Muybridge, the famous photographer, to take pictures of some of his most spectacular destinations. These had been the subject of a Special Exhibit at the Club.

  Grabbing his “chronographic model B” camera, he then walked into his workshop where he kept his Time Machine.

  It stood there, its glittering, metallic framework shining softly in the darkness. It was made of metal, ivory and some transparent crystalline substance. There was an odd twinkling appearance about the central crystal bar, as though it was in some way unreal. In front of the control chair were two small levers, one white, the other black, and what could best be described as a universal calendar.

  The Time Traveler checked that everything was in order, made some last-minute adjustments, including depositing two teardrops of oil onto a delicate gear, then sat in the control chair. There was a faint breeze in the air, although the windows were shut. He set the chronometer to “1626,” took a deep breath to get rid of the anxiety he still felt before each of his trips, and pushed the black lever.

  The laboratory grew faint and hazy, then fainter and ever fainter. As he gained velocity, the palpitation of night and day merged into one continuous greyness. As usual, an eddying murmur filled his ears and a strange confusion descended upon his mind.

  London, 1626

  There was a sound like a clap of thunder. The Time Traveler remained in his seat, stunned for a moment. The confusion in his ears was gone. He looked around. He was in the damp basement of a Richmond house that had existed on the same location where his own house had been built 150 years later.

  He had used the house before, so he did not waste any time. He gave his Machine a last check, noticing some rather unusual wear and tear on the intricate network of brass bars that supported the control chair. Some of them were slightly bent, as if they had buckled under an unknown pressure. He knew from past experience that the “time vortex” (as Doctor Omega called it) could inflict such strain on the outside of the craft. However, since it was nothing that would threaten the integrity of the Machine, or affect its performance, he decided not to worry about it until after his return.

  He waited for nightfall before going out. The streets were deserted. He had visited the London of that era several times before and had no trouble getting to the palace of the Duke of Buckingham. There, a few small coins handed to a servant enabled him to learn of the recent visit of a mysterious French gentleman two days earlier. That, he deduced, must have been D’Artagnan delivering Queen Anne’s letter in which she asked her lover, the Duke, to entrust the diamonds to the Musketeer. Thus having obtained the information he sought, the Time Traveler returned to Richmond and jumped back in time to the precise day when Buckingham and D’Artagnan would show up at the Palace to get the diamonds.

  This time, the Time Traveler carried his chronographic camera with him, intending to secure a picture of the jewels with either the Duke or the Musketeer.

  He waited patiently in the Palace’s courtyard. Finally, after two hours, he heard the sound of a cavalcade. It was Buckingham and D’Artagnan. The Time Traveler blended into the courtiers and servants who always surrounded the Duke when the great man was in town, trying to appear invisible to prying eyes. He found some reassurance in the fact that Dumas, if not history, had recorded that the Duke had willingly given the diamonds back to D’Artagnan, who had then left for Paris without further incident of any kind.

  The Duke walked so fast that even D’Artagnan had trouble in keeping up with him. He passed through several apartments, the elegance of which even the greatest nobles of France could not match, and at length arrived in a bedchamber, which was at once a miracle of taste and wealth. In the alcove of this chamber was a door concealed in the tapestry. The Duke opened it with a small gold key which he wore suspended from his neck by a chain of the same metal. With discretion, D’Artagnan remained behind; but as Buckingham crossed the threshold, he turned round and, seeing the hesitation of the young man, cried: “Come in! If you have the good fortune to be admitted to her Majesty’s presence, tell her what you have seen.”

  Encouraged by this invitation, D’Artagnan followed the Duke, who closed the door after them. The Time Traveler, however, had seized the opportunity of the Duke’s distraction to sneak unseen into the room.

  They were in a small chapel covered with a tapestry of Persian silk worked with gold, and brilliantly lit by a vast number of candles. Over the altar, beneath a canopy of blue velvet, surmounted by white and red plumes, was a full-length portrait of Anne of Austria, so perfect in its resemblance that D’Artagnan uttered a cry of surprise on beholding it. On the altar itself, beneath the portrait, was a casket. The Duke knelt as a priest might have done before a crucifix, and opened it. Inside were the magnificent diamond studs

  From his hidden place behind a confessional, the Time Traveler noticed that, unlike what Dumas had written–no doubt in an attempt to spice up the story–all 12 studs were present and accounted for.

  “Here,” said the Duke, drawing from the casket a large bow of blue ribbon sparkling with diamonds. “Here are the precious studs which I have taken an oath should be buried with me. The Queen gave them to me, the Queen requires them again. Her will be done, like that of God, in all things.”

  Then, he began to kiss, one after the other, those dear diamonds with which he was about to part.

  D’Artagnan took the jewels and carefully slid them into a black velvet purse.

  Suddenly, there was a commotion outside. The door burst open and five men, all dressed in black, burst into the room. Buckingham and D’Artagnan pulled out their swords and began fighting in earnest.

  The Time Traveler was surprised by this unexpected assault that had not been mentioned by Dumas. Perhaps, he thought, the writer had covered up this incident by making up the more ludicrous story of the two missing studs? But why?

  The five attackers, benefitting from their greater number, had the upper hand. D’Artagnan had killed, or severely wounded, one of them but was now backed against the wall by two of the men. The Duke fared no better.

  The Time Traveler decided to step in. Silently emerging from behind the confessional, he grabbed his camera and slammed it hard onto the skull of one of the attackers. That, and the element of surprise, enabled the Musketeer to quickly finish the other man and then jump to the Duke’s rescue.

  “I don’t know who you are, nor where you came from, Monsieur,” said the Musketeer in a gravelly voice, “but I owe you my gratitude.”

  “I would consider myself repaid if you would let me see the Queen’s diamonds,” said the Time Traveler in rather clumsy French.

  D’Artagnan grew immediately suspicious and his blade went up, threatening the Englishman. “Why?” he asked. “How do you know about this? Are you another of the Cardinal’s spies?”

  “No, not at all,” said the Time Traveler, hurriedly. “I don’t want the diamonds. I mean, I only want to see them. You can keep them in your hands all the time. In fact, it would be better if you did. Then I’ll leave and...”

  “I don’t understand any of this rigmarole, but I have no time for it.” D’Artagnan turned towards Buckingham who was slowly regaining his breath. “My Lord, I must leave immediately. The Cardinal must already have more men out looking for me.”

  “You’re right,” said Buckingham. “I will accompany you to the riverbank. There’s a brig there whose captain is in my employ; he will convey you to a small port, St. Valery, where you are certainly not expected, and which is ordinarily only frequented by fishermen...”

  The Time Traveler decided to make one, last appeal.

  “Please, Monsieur,” he began.

  But Buckhingham had already summoned two of his own guards.

  “Take away these
bodies,” he instructed, “and keep watch over that man. I shall want to question him when I return.”

  While one of the guards dragged the first of the five dead men out by their feet, the Time Traveler remained prisoner under the watchful eye of the other guard, who held the point of his sword to his throat.

  Suddenly, as the other man came back to grab the second body, he somehow tripped and stumbled right on top of his fellow guard. Both men fell to the ground, swearing loudly.

  The Time Traveler seized the opportunity and bolted from the chapel. Locking the door behind him to slow down his pursuers, he rushed to a balcony and jumped over its railing, managing to land onto a cart driven by a pair of oxen, carrying bales of hay for the stables.

  A few minutes later, he was safely out of the Duke’s Palace.

  But he still had no picture of the diamonds. To return to the present without such a document would be an admission of failure, or worse. Instantly, his mind was made up.

  There was really only one thing left for him to do.

  Paris, 1626

  On that morning, nothing was talked of in Paris but the ball which the Aldermen of the City were to give for King Louis XIII of France and Queen Anne of Austria, and in which their Majesties were to dance the famous La Merlaison–the King’s favorite ballet

  At six p.m., the guests began to arrive. As fast as they entered, they were placed in the grand salon, on the dais prepared for them. The Time Traveler was among them. He had used most of his gold to secure transportation to Calais, then across the Channel, and then by an express coach to Paris. He had arrived that very afternoon with little time to spare to rent a room, buy himself a presentable suit and secure an invitation to the night’s festivities.

  At midnight, great cries and loud acclamations were heard. It was the King, who was passing through the streets which led from the Louvre to the Hotel de Ville, and which were all illuminated with colored lanterns. His Majesty, in full dress, was accompanied by his usual coterie of Dukes, Counts and Chevaliers. Everybody noticed that Louis XIII looked subdued and preoccupied.

  The Time Traveler had used the time to secure a safe spot for himself, from which he would be able to unobtrusively photograph the Queen wearing her famous diamonds.

  Half-an-hour later, fresh acclamations were heard; these announced the arrival of the Queen. The Aldermen did as they had done before, and preceded by their sergeants, advanced to receive their illustrious guest. The Queen entered the great hall; and it was noticed that, like her husband, she looked subdued and weary.

  At the moment she entered, the curtain of a small gallery which, until then, had been closed, was drawn. The pale face of Cardinal de Richelieu appeared. His eyes were fixed upon those of the Queen, and a smile of cruel joy passed over his lips.

  Anne of Austria was not wearing her diamond studs.

  The Time Traveler was thunderstruck. What could have gone wrong? Had D’Artagnan not made it back to Paris in time? Then, he remembered that Dumas had described the very scene that was now unfolding before his eyes.

  The King had just made his way through the crowd. He went straight to the Queen, and in a strained voice said: “Why, Madame, have you not thought it proper to wear your diamond studs, when you know it would give me so much gratification?”

  Anne of Austria cast a glance around her, and saw the Cardinal with a diabolical smile on his face.

  “Sire,” she replied in a faltering voice, “because, in the midst of such a crowd as this, I feared some accident might happen to them.”

  “You were wrong, Madame,” said Louis. “If I made you such present, it was that you might adorn yourself therewith.” His voice trembled with anger. Everybody looked and listened with astonishment, no one understanding what truly transpired, except for the Time Traveler, who, despite his knowledge, could not help but be gripped by anxiety.

  “Sire,” said the Queen, “I can send to the Louvre for them, where they are, and thus your Majesty’s wishes will be fulfilled.”

  “Do so, Madame, do so, and that at once; for within an hour, the ballet will commence.”

  The Queen bent in token of submission, and followed the ladies who were to conduct her to her room. For his part, the King returned to his apartment.

  There was a moment of disturbance and confusion amongst the assembly. Everyone had remarked that something had passed between the two monarchs; but both of them had spoken so quietly that everybody, out of respect, had withdrawn several steps, and had thus heard nothing. The violins began to sound with all their might, even as no one listened to them.

  The King was first to emerge from his room. He was in a most elegant hunting costume that became him well. Suddenly, a cry of admiration burst from every mouth. For if Louis appeared to be the first gentleman of his kingdom, then Anne of Austria was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman in France.

  She wore a beaver hat with blue feathers, a surtout of grey-pearl velvet, fastened with diamond clasps, and a petticoat of blue satin, embroidered with silver. On her left shoulder sparkled the diamond studs, on a bow of the same color as the plumes and the petticoat.

  The King trembled with joy and the Cardinal with vexation.

  At that moment, the violins sounded the signal for the ballet.

  The King advanced towards the Queen and the ballet began. Everytime Louis faced her, his eyes devoured the 12 beautiful, sparkling diamond studs on his wife’s pale shoulders.

  The Time Traveler retrieved his camera discreetly and checked it thoroughly. It had captured no less than five pictures of the King and the Queen dancing, the diamonds clearly in evidence.

  He had won his bet.

  Tomorrow, he would return to London and head back to the future.

  London, 1898

  “These are beautiful pictures,” said Allan Quatermain, looking at the glossy portraits spread over the coffee table. “What do you say, Baskerville? Has our friend won his bet”

  “Yes, I must admit that he has.” Then, addressing the Time Traveler directly. “I’ll be happy to settle with you at your convenience, sir.”

  “So shall I,” added Jorkens, “for I confess I never believed in that story myself. But I guess you have proven both of us wrong, eh?”

  “Indeed, he has!” said Ironcastle. “Be a good sport, Baskerville. Your generous contribution will help finance my next expedition. A worthwhile use of funds if there ever was one. What about you, sir?” he asked the Time Traveler. But the latter remained silent, absorbed in thought.

  “What’s wrong, friend?” inquired Nemo. “You act as if you hadn’t won the bet...”

  “No, it’s not that, but the diamonds...”

  “What about the diamonds?” asked Quatermain.

  “I haven’t told you the end of my story. The next morning, just before I was ready to depart for Calais, my driver, who was a great gossip and whose brother worked at the Palace, informed me that all 12 diamond studs had been stolen during the night.”

  “What?” “How?” “By whom?” exclaimed the others.

  “No one knows. They were taken from the Queen’s own bedroom. No one saw anything even remotely suspicious. They just vanished. The Queen thought there was a curse upon the stones and that’s why no one ever mentioned them again...”

  “That is very strange,” said Nemo.

  “Even stranger still is, how then did that French Dumas learn of the matter?” added Baskerville.

  “Do you think we will ever find out?” Quatermain asked the Time Traveler.

  “I don’t think so,” the latter replied. “Unlike the saying, time doesn’t always tell.”

  Paris, 1843

  “That is nothing less than an amazing tale, Isaac,” said Dumas to the tall, gaunt, bearded man sitting in front of him. “It will make a one hell of a rip-roaring yarn! I can’t wait to start. There was nothing like it in D’Artagnan’s Memoirs. Are you sure it happened exactly as you told me?”

  “I beheld it with mine own eyes,” the
Wandering Jew said. “In exchange, you must remember your own promise to me.”

  “Yes, yes, I will write your story someday. I gave you my word,” said Dumas peevishly.

  “Sue is already working on...”

  “Sue is a poseur, a maker of cheap theatrical melodrama. This Musketeer story will leave him behind, eating my dust. Trust me, Isaac Laquedem, your long, harrowing tale will be better served by someone such as me. I will write something for the ages. You will become the interpreter of man’s thorny and twisted path in his slow climb towards progress...”

  “But Sue said...”

  “Enough about Sue already! There is one thing you haven’t told me. What happened to the diamonds, afterwards?”

  “They vanished.”

  “They vanished?”

  “Yes. No one ever saw them again.”

  “How odd. Hm. I’ll have to spice that part up a bit. Maybe a plot twist about two missing studs... Yes, that will do nicely. We can’t have any loose ends. The readers wouldn’t like it...”

  London, 1898

  Griffin sat alone in the modest room that had been assigned to him by Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

  Before him, on the table, sparkling like a river of fire, were the 12 diamond studs of Queen Anne of Austria.

  At first, he had only sought to play a dirty trick on the Time Traveler, whom he loathed because he had been so readily accepted by the same Club members who barely gave him the time of the day.

  He had followed him invisibly back home and ridden with him to the 17th century. But after beholding the diamonds, the temptation had proven too great to resist. Besides, if what that fool had said was true, hadn’t he already stolen the jewels? Weren’t his actions already written in the great tapestry of time?

  With such a fortune in his possession, there was nothing he could not achieve, no dream was beyond his grasp, starting with freeing himself from the hateful yoke under which M had him.