by Rob J. Hayes
“The Seigneur has gone to the trouble of placing you inside Duc Lavouré’s household on the very night of the heist. The least you could do is help me slip away from the crowd, find the man’s personal study and crack his safe.”
Amaury looked at Franseza, the woman shrugged back. “OK,” he said with more than a hint of uncertainty.
“Good,” Jacques agreed rising from his position next to Franseza on the couch. “Because that’s not all I need you to do.”
“What else?”
“I need you to poison the Comtesse la Fien.”
Amaury congratulated himself on a job well done. He’d always been secretly proud of his own carnal prowess but this time he had clearly outdone himself. He hauled himself to his feet and buttoned up his trousers. The girl, whose name he hadn’t even thought to ask, lay there amidst a pile of crushed cardboard boxes with a vacant expression on her face and blank eyes that stared into nothing. Her breathing was slow and shallow. Amaury let slip a smug grin.
“Come on,” said Amaury, “I need you to show me to the kitchen.” He held out his hand to pull her up. They were clearly in a closet for cleaning products and it was possible someone might make an appearance at any moment; he needed to get to the kitchen and he needed to start serving guests.
The serving girl didn’t move. She didn’t blink, she didn’t even acknowledge his existence.
“Was I really…” Amaury noticed a few shards of glass on the floor near the girl’s leg.
Slowly, carefully and with a great deal of dread anticipation Amaury pulled open the front pocket on his jacket to find it empty.
“Merde,” he swore.
“Liar’s Bane,” Revou said in that self-satisfied smug way that he usually spoke. Amaury couldn’t remember ever hating a man quite so much as Jacques-bloody-Revou. The hateful man smoothed down his horseshoe moustache with one hand and walked a tiny glass vial on the fingers of his other. Amaury briefly considered pulling out his pistol and shooting Revou in the foot but didn’t.
“Poison?” Franseza asked.
She liked him, Amaury knew. He couldn’t quite figure out why but Franseza actually found Revou endearing. It only made Amaury hate the man more and respect Franseza less.
“A very specific and non-fatal variety,” Jacques agreed. “Once applied the Comtesse will answer any question truthfully for the duration of its effect. It will quite literally render her unable to lie and its only side effect is a brief and delayed occurrence of lateral paralysis of the rectus muscle.”
“What?” asked Franseza.
“A lazy eye,” Revou said.
“Which one?”
Revou seemed stumped by the question. Amaury gave him a satisfied sneer.
“How long will it last?” de Rosier asked.
“The lazy eye?”
“The effect of the poison.”
“Ten minutes at most,” Revou confirmed.
“That isn’t much of a window,” de Rosier said doubtfully.
“It should be all you need. You only need to ask her one question after all.”
De Rosier let out a sceptical sigh.
“Now,” Revou continued, turning to Amaury. “There are two very important things you need to know about Liar’s Bane. First, for it to work it must be ingested. The Comtesse must swallow the poison. This is why you will be administering the poison, your cover as a waiter will be perfect, as soon as it is in her drink give Isabel the signal and then join me upstairs.”
“Simple,” Amaury said sarcastically.
“Second,” Revou continued seriously. “Under no circumstances get any of the liquid on your skin. One of the inactive ingredients in Liar’s Bane is Bliss.”
“The drug?” Franseza asked.
“Yes.”
Franseza let out a low growl.
“The Bliss will only take effect if the poison is applied to the skin, not ingested.”
“And if that happens?” Amaury asked, having never heard of Bliss.
“It will leave the effected person in a comatose state for hours.”
Amaury looked down upon the comatose serving girl and chewed on his lip as he considered his options. He would have to leave her. Either someone would find her and assume she had nipped inside to take illicit, mind-altering drugs or she would wake in a few hours’ time and assume she had pulled a fellow servant into a closet and he had given her the lay of her life which no man would ever be able to live up to again. He truly hoped it was the latter.
With only a brief hesitation he moved to the door, listened for a moment, then opened it and slipped out into the waiting hallway. He needed to find the kitchen and fast.
Amaury decided he would lay the blame squarely where it truly was deserved most; right at the feet of Revou. He would continue as though everything were going to plan, pretend he had administered the poison to the Comtesse, and give de Rosier the sign. She would soon realise that something was wrong, assume that Revou had messed up yet another one of his alchemical solutions and improvise. Amaury would be there for her to pick up the pieces once this was all over and Revou would be nothing but a distant memory.
Standing up straight and pulling his cravat back into position Amaury stormed off in search of the kitchen without sparing the comatose serving girl a second thought.
“There comes a time,” Pierre Giroux said waving a large right arm about in the air as though he were conducting an orchestra, “when even the most humble of men must stand up for what they believe in…”
Isabel made a conscious effort to stop listening to Duc Lavouré’s drivel expelled from the mouth of an ageing blacksmith with one arm larger than the other. The man hadn’t even bothered to learn his lines, he was reading from a selection of cards given to him before hand by the Duc. If there was one thing she had learnt from her time in the theatre it was that actors should always know their lines and right now the blacksmith was most certainly an actor, albeit a very poor one.
Joudain looked over and caught Adeline’s eye giving her a smile. She smiled back, an inch-perfect smile that left Joudain no doubt that the Baroness Bonvillain was one hundred percent behind this little puppet show. Isabel couldn’t wait to shed the mask of the Baroness once and for all, too long as one character was far too constricting for her liking, it stifled her creativity.
“…making sure the power, and the responsibility to wield that power, remain where they belong.” The puppet blacksmith finished with a low bow, all the better to placate his betters, and then stepped off the makeshift podium to take part in a meet and greet with Gaston. It was all a bit superfluous really, every person here would vote for whoever the Duc did, they were all his people after all. Isabel wondered how many of them were in on the plot to start a new war; how many of them were in on the plot to frame the Bonvillains and string them up.
Adeline edged closer to the crowd and situated herself next to the Comtesse la Fien. Their friendship had become a little strained since the duel; despite Bastien choosing only to maim rather than kill Thibault, he was still the Comtesse’s son and, current mental instability aside, she loved him dearly. Thibault, however, was not present due to his doctor declaring him unfit. Isabel thanked the Maker for that.
“It seems a rather forgone conclusion, does it not?” Adeline asked.
The Comtesse turned to her with a smile. Adeline noticed the Comte nearby watching the exchange with great interest, clearly the man was wondering whether or not he was allowed to remain friends with the Bonvillains; Isabel wagered after tonight that would be the least of his worries. She actually felt sorry for the man.
“Gaston will have his way with this,” Comtesse Héléne la Fien agreed. “It’s been too long, Adeline.” With that the Comtesse pulled her into a brief embrace and Adeline was under no false impressions that the la Fiens had forgiven the Bonvillains.
“Capital,” the Comte interjected with a wide grin. “Where is Bastien? I wanted to thank him for teaching that good-for-nothing son of mine a
lesson about not getting himself shot.”
“I last saw him talking with Baron Hees,” Adeline said and noticed the Comte’s face light up as he made to go off in search of the two Barons. That was not something she could allow; she needed the Comte right where he was. “I believe they were talking religion.”
“Oh, by the Ruiner,” the Comte blasphemed. “What a dull topic.”
“Ruben!” the Comtesse chastised her husband. “You will keep a civil tongue in front of company.”
The Comte rolled his eyes and grinned at Adeline who smiled sweetly back. She almost felt guilty for what she was about to do.
“Your drinks, Comte and Comtesse,” said a burly waiter who looked suspiciously like a mercenary Adeline certainly didn’t know.
The Comtesse took the glass of wine and sipped at it gracefully. The Comte looked at his glass and frowned. “I ordered brandy, not fancy fruit juice, you simpleton.”
The waiter bowed low, almost dropping his tray and having to catch the extra glass of wine the Comte did not want. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I’ll fetch you that right away. Would you like anything to drink, Baroness?”
Adeline paid the waiter not a single modicum of her attention. “I hear your father has taken ill,” she said to the Comtesse and soon enough the waiter moved away though the Comte stared after him.
“Yellow Cap fever,” the Comtesse confided quietly. “He’s quarantined within his own household but the doctors think it unlikely to spread.” The Comtesse fell quiet after that; a man of Duc Frelain’s age with Yellow Cap was unlikely to survive for very long and she well knew it. Adeline gave her best comforting smile.
“Did you see his hands?” the Comte asked. “Hands of a soldier…”
Isabel decided it was now or never and she had to hope Jacques’ Liar’s Bane worked. “I heard a juicy rumour the other day,” Adeline said with a knowing wink towards the Comte, “about our dear Gaston.”
The Comtesse remained carefully neutral but the Comte appeared to be a thoroughly attentive audience. “Do tell.”
“A friend of mine witnessed him having a moonlight tryst,” Adeline said conspiratorially.
The Comtesse did not react.
“With a woman?” asked the Comte.
“So I hear,” Adeline said before steeling herself to confront the Comtesse. “Perhaps you might know her identity, Hélène?”
The Comtesse levelled a blank stare at Adeline but she could see the hostility behind the woman’s eyes. “I’m afraid I have no idea, Adeline. The Duc and I are not close. I see no reason why he would confide in me.”
“It’s possible my son might know,” the Comte said oblivious of the tension between his two female companions. “Shame Thibault isn’t present. Perhaps Joudain…”
Isabel felt her mouth go dry and she held the Comtesse’s stare. Clearly Jacques had messed up yet another formulae and again she was having to pick up the broken pieces of the plan. It seemed he was becoming more and more sloppy with his execution and here Isabel was faced with the fury of a woman who, judging by the look in her eyes, wanted nothing more than to tear her apart. Adeline knew the Comtesse’s secret and the Comtesse knew that Adeline knew, the only thing currently saving her from a serious confrontation was that the Comte didn’t know. Unfortunately for Isabel a serious confrontation was exactly what she required.
“Actually I am afraid I have lied to you, Ruben,” Adeline said without taking her eyes from the Comtesse. “When I said a friend had seen Gaston’s tryst what I actually meant was that I had seen it.” The Comtesse’s face went stony. “His partner was none other than your very own wife.”
If looks could kill then the expression the Comtesse turned on Adeline would have condemned her to an eternity of deaths and she doubted any of them would have been pleasant.
“Come now,” Comte Ruben la Fien said in a voice that was far from jovial. “What sort of a joke is this?”
“She’s lying!” the Comtesse spat and lashed out with a hand. Adeline saw the slap coming but made no move to stop it instead taking it full in the face. Nothing gained the attention of an entire room of aristocrats quite like a meaningful slap.
Every eye in the room now rested upon the three of them and the shocked silence that followed the slap hung in the air like a dark, all-enveloping cloud.
The Comte was the first to break the spell of the silence. “There’s no need for violence, Hélène,” he said in a firm tone. “I’m certain this is all just some sort of misunderstanding. Gaston,” he called over to the Duc. “Come help us clear up this mess.”
Gaston Lavouré made his way through the gathered crowd with Joudain de Roe close at hand. The Duc had forgone his normal unkempt appearance and tonight was dressed every bit the young, but powerful, Duc.
“That was quite the slap,” Gaston said as he came close. “I’m fairly certain they heard it over in Turlain.”
“Baroness Bonvillain here seems to think I’m being cuckolded and she has it in her mind that you’re the other party,” Ruben la Fien said honestly. It took a moment for Adeline to realise the man actually believed her and was hoping Lavouré would prove him wrong.
Gaston sputtered out a cough, smiled nervously and shot a nervous glance towards the Comtesse. “Nonsense, Ruben. I would never… she’s clearly… It’s not true.”
Even as the Duc spoke, Ruben la Fien’s face had darkened. For a short man the Comte suddenly made a very imposing figure as his fists balled and jaw clenched underneath the scattering of stubble. He turned to look at his wife. The Comtesse backed away a step.
“You saw them?” he asked Adeline, turning his dark expression on her.
“I am so sorry, Ruben,” Adeline said.
“Did. You. See. Them?” he asked in clipped words.
Adeline let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Yes,” she lied expertly.
The resulting cacophony of noise was exactly what Isabel had wanted. Men shouted, women gasped and the Comte la Fien threatened to tear Gaston limb from limb. All she had to do now was keep the altercation in full flow long enough for Jacques and Amaury to find the Duc’s personal study, break in, crack the infallible safe, and steal the proof that the Duc was planning to start a war and plunge the whole Kingdom into chaos. Easy.
“I have it memorised,” Jacques said confidently and Isabel knew it to be true. Amaury sounded less than convinced.
“The whole layout?”
“More or less.”
“How?” the big man asked with a sneer. “Have you ever been in the private areas of the Lavouré mansion?”
“Well… no,” Jacques admitted.
“Have you stolen the plans to the building?”
That made Jacques pause. He glanced over to Isabel. “We should have stolen the plans to the building.”
Isabel nodded and went back to carefully assembling Baron Bonvillain’s pistol.
“Then how could you possibly know what the layout of the building is? How can you possibly know where the Duc’s study will be?”
“Amaury has a very good point, Jacques,” Isabel said in a neutral tone without looking up from her work. “There’s very little room for error in this and you’ve been wrong quite a bit recently.”
She could tell Amaury Roache was beaming at her but she had a far more important task at hand than pampering to the man’s ego.
“I have taken the measurements of the building and have performed my own calculations for the floor plan on all three levels,” Jacques said with more than a little righteous indignation. “I know what I am talking about and I know where his study will be.”
“On the second floor?” Amaury asked.
“On the second floor,” Jacques confirmed.
“You’re sure?” Amaury asked.
“I am certain!” Jacques insisted but by the tone in his voice Isabel was certain he wasn’t.
Normally Jacques would be creeping through the expansive mansion of the family Lavouré but this job was thoroughly unlike a
ny other. If any of the house staff happened to see him upstairs he would simply berate them for noticing him and send them on their way. With any luck Isabel had performed her part admirably, despite her current feelings about Jacques, and downstairs the benefit had turned into a veritable riot. She would keep the argument going for as long as possible and give him time to do his part of the job. Of course his part of the job would be considerably more possible if Amaury would make his appearance.
Jacques truly detested relying on anybody other than Isabel, especially someone who clearly hated him as much as Amaury did, but he had to hope that the man would remain a professional, at least for the time being.
The staircase up to the second floor was not forthcoming and it wasn’t helped by every room and corridor looking eerily similar. Jacques decided Gaston definitely needed either a woman in his life to help him decorate the austere mansion or possibly just the services of good interior decorator. Of course after tonight it would likely be a non-issue because Seigneur Daron had every intention of having the unfortunate Duc arrested. It was a shame really because other than the impending betrayal Jacques really quite liked Gaston.
“Psst,” came a whisper from one of the nearby rooms. The door was cracked open and Jacques could just about make out an eye and the unmistakable chin of Amaury Roache. “It’s me,” Roache said in his harsh whisper.
“What are you doing?” Jacques asked the man.
The door opened another inch. “I’m hiding.”
“Clearly. Why?”
“I didn’t want to be spotted,” Amaury’s whisper faltered and he coughed before continuing in a more normal voice. “I got the drop on you.”
“Yes, a servant wondering the halls on a night when the mansion is filled with unfamiliar people is so incredibly suspicious.” Jacques wagered his sarcasm was probably lost on the man. Amaury Roache may have quite a number of talents but intelligent thought was definitely not one of them. “Whereas a man hiding in a room whispering from a darkened doorway is very inconspicuous.”
Amaury slowly opened the door the rest of the way and stepped out, standing over Jacques who simply stared up at the bigger man. “Now if you’re quite done hiding we have a Duc to rob.”
