The Northern Sunrise

by Rob J. Hayes

  Revou grunted and his hand slid onto the window ledge. Amaury looked down at it. He made sure to focus on the hand, not on the ground lest his vision begin to swim again. It didn’t take much effort to move his right foot just a few inches and place it on Revou’s hand and press down.

  Amaury looked at Revou’s face then. He looked down and saw fear and confusion in equal measures. Amaury Roache held Jacques Revou’s life in his hands and both men knew it. Amaury pressed down harder and saw Jacques wince in pain as he tried to pull his hand away. A little more and the thief gasped and screwed his eyes shut against the agony of his fingers being crushed beneath the bigger man’s boot.

  Amaury took his foot away and planted it firmly once again on the window ledge. Revou looked up with tears of pain in his eyes and a look of fear, confusion and anger plain on his face. Amaury smiled and waited for Revou to complete the climb, never taking his eyes from the other man’s face.

  After Revou had hauled himself up onto the window ledge he rounded on Amaury while cradling his left hand against his chest. “What the hell was that about,” he asked as the two of them tried as hard as possible to square up to each other despite the fact that they were crowding a four inch window ledge on the outside of a building.

  “Window’s locked,” Amaury said in a voice colder than ice. “Think you can unlock it?”

  “Assuming you haven’t broken my fingers,” Jacques replied in a voice hotter than fire. “I’m going to have to bend down and take a look at it. Hold on to me!”

  Amaury took hold of the other man’s collar with his right hand. “Go ahead.”

  As Revou crouched down to get at the lock on the window both men were once again acutely aware that Amaury held Revou’s life in his hands. With little to no effort he could simply throw Revou off the building and down to his almost certain death. Amaury could feel the fear radiating from Revou and it did wonders to bolster his own spirit.

  After only a few moments Revou had picked the lock and he pushed the window inwards, scampering into the waiting room. Amaury lowered himself slowly and swung into the room beyond.

  If a man’s personal sanctum directly reflected the state of the individuals mind, as Amaury had once heard it said, then Duc Gaston Lavouré was a veritable mess with more than a hint of nostalgic eccentricity. Papers, some old and some new, each with schematics and designs and hand written notes decorated the wooden walls and there was barely a square inch uncovered. Various models dotted each flat surface, mostly of airships but some of the new motorised carriages and even a few weapons. Some of the models were in various stages of completion with bits clearly missing but all had name plates inscribed with dates and the name of the designer. In the centre of the room lay an old rug depicting the Three Gods, the Creator and her two sons, the Maker and the Ruiner as they were before the war that drove the Ruiner out of his mother’s favour and into the darkness.

  Revou was like a buzzing insect staring at the papers attached to Lavouré’s wall. First he was here then he was there, muttering to himself as he stared at each piece of paper.

  “I don’t see a safe,” Amaury said looking at a model of a ‘Velsing Cannon’ which he was fairly certain was the name of the first cannon designed to shoot upwards from the ground at airships. The Sassaille Navy may be in possession of the only fleet of armed airships in the known world but that did not mean they did not prepare in case of the worst.

  “His designs are years ahead,” Revou said in a distracted voice. Apparently his near death at the hands of Amaury had already been forgotten now he had found Lavouré’s treasure trove.

  “Safe…” Amaury reminded the thief.

  “Look here,” Revou continued. “He has designs for landing struts. Lavouré has actually designed apparatus for landing airships on land rather than water. They might actually work if his calculations are correct.” He fell silent for a few moments. “And I do believe they are.

  “And here. I do believe he is actually trying to implement alchemical propulsion methods into rotary gun design.

  “He even has his hands in automaton design. This… wow!”

  “What?” Amaury couldn’t help but be intrigued.

  “Lavouré is attempting to design a manned automaton.”

  Amaury had to think about that. “Doesn’t that remove the point?”

  “If he manages to complete the design and gets his calculations correct he will have created an automaton that can both house and be controlled by a pilot. Imagine our soldiers going off to war protected by a suit of moving stone and metal with the strength of a hundred men. Lavouré may actually be the greatest thinker Sassaille has produced in generations.”

  “Shame he’s going to be shot for treason in a few days then,” Amaury said with a grin. The thought that Revou might be put out by seeing such a ‘great thinker’ riddled with bullets only made the satisfaction greater. The knowledge that Revou wouldn’t be alive to see Lavouré’s execution made the satisfaction even greater still. “Now where the Ruiner is the safe?”

  “It’s incorporated into the desk,” Revou said without looking as he trawled over the designs pinned to the Duc’s wall.

  Amaury moved around the desk to get a look. Revou was correct, the safe was sat underneath the left hand side of the desk, a small black monstrosity with cogs, gears and the almost imperceptible shine of alchemical glass. There was a small gap between the top of the safe and the bottom of the desk’s table. “I don’t think it’s attached to the desk. We’ll need to pull it out from underneath though,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Given the likely weight of the safe it will be easier to move the desk backwards,” Revou said still fixated on the wall.

  Amaury let out a grumble about being corrected by the little fool but he took a place by the right side of the desk. “Revou,” he said through gritted teeth. “Help.”

  With a pointed sigh the thief pulled himself away from the wall and took position by the other end of the desk. With a little miscommunication and only one false start they managed to lift the desk and move it a couple of metres backwards to allow Revou full access to the safe. With one last fervent glance towards the wall of designs the thief went to the task of breaking into the safe.

  Revou knelt down behind the safe and gave it a preliminary inspection. He tapped the metal and snorted. “It’s not even as thick as the Seigneur’s safe,” he said. “This will be easy.”

  “It needs to be quick,” Amaury said. They had already taken far too long with the unscheduled climb and Baron Bonvillain’s absence could be noted any moment. Not to mention poor de Rosier was down there all on her own.

  “Yes, yes, Amaury. Do not worry. I’ve got this.”

  Revou pulled his pistol from its holster and flipped the chamber open. He carefully removed each of the six rounds from the chamber and placed them on the floor beside him. “Careful of those,” he said. “Each one is unreasonably dangerous.” To Amaury the rounds looked almost the same as any other but as he looked closer he could see they were in fact painted and not actually pistol rounds at all.

  Revou pulled the chamber from its axel and set it down in front of the faux bullets then proceeded to detach both the barrel of the pistol and the butt. Lastly he pulled the hammer out of the housing and all that was left of the pistol was a thin metal skeleton.

  Amaury knelt down next to Revou to get a better look at the disassembled pistol. Now he was closer he could see the parts of the gun that Revou had removed were also painted, just like the bullets, and by the looks of it they were actually made of glass, all except the butt which appeared to be polished wood on the outside but hollow on the inside.

  As Amaury watched, Revou selected one of the rounds and carefully twisted the bullet from the casing. He then slotted the casing inside the butt of the pistol and screwed the barrel into place at a ninety degree angle. Finally he took the hammer of the pistol and slotted that down behind the newly inserted barrel. With the device apparently ready he place
d the end of the barrel against the metal of the safe and started pumping the hammer in a slowly rhythmic motion.

  After only a few pumps a sickly coloured goo started to squeeze out of the end of the barrel and Revou began tracing a circle of the substance around the rear of the safe. As he did so an acrid stench filled the air and Amaury could see the substance was slowly eating through the metal. The look on Revou’s face was one of complete concentration.

  “The bodily fluids of our friend, the Ooze,” Revou said as he worked, “can eat through just about anything. After extracting enough of the acid I had to engineer a way to apply said acid to a vertical surface and also make certain that the apparatus was not detected.” He stopped pumping, disassembled the device then slotted in a new round and reassembled it before continuing. “This facsimile of the Baron’s Avery Verne pistol not only cost more than the original but probably cost more than the Bonvillain’s mansion. Still, quite ingenious, wouldn’t you say?”

  Amaury decided unimpressed silence would likely be the best way to annoy Revou.

  After just three bullets of ooze Revou completed his circle. “Get ready to catch it,” the thief said and Amaury moved into position. As the last fibres of metal holding the circle in place disintegrated the panel dropped a little and then fell backwards into Amaury’s waiting arms; he dragged it out of the way and carefully placed it on the floor before returning to the safe.

  Revou was already looking inside. He pulled out some papers, gave them a quick look over then discarded them. “Deeds for land ownership, bonds from a bank concerning an amount of… Ruiner how much?” He turned wide eyes on Amaury. “Did you know the Lavouré family were almost as rich as the King?”

  Amaury grunted and undid a button on the middle of his shirt. Revou was already poking around the safe again.

  “A small wooden box no larger than my fist,” Revou shook it gently. “Sounds like gemstones. Papers from the navy regarding sponsorship of The Northern Sunrise. There must be some mistake. There is nothing regarding any sort of treason or coup or anything about his cohorts.”

  Chapter 23 – The Truth

  Amaury undid another button on his shirt and reached inside, taking something from within that looked suspiciously like a sheaf of papers. He casually pushed Jacques out of the way and slotted the papers in amidst the pile regarding land ownership then buttoned his shirt.

  “Get the back plate back on,” Amaury said in a voice thick with command. “It has to look like it hasn’t been cracked, at least from the front.”

  Jacques was confused and more than a little alarmed. “We were never stealing from Lavouré,” he said slowly. “We were planting evidence.”

  Amaury cracked a sly grin. “The Seigneur was never going to leave the existence of evidence to chance. Now he has in place everything he needs to arrest Lavouré and everybody connected to the Duc. Put the back plate back.”

  Jacques would like to say he recovered from the shock rather well but in truth he hadn’t the time to compose himself as his mind ran over a dozen scenarios none of which ended well for either him or Isabel. “I need you to hold the plate in place while I re-attach it,” he said, forcing a part of his scattered mind to work on the job at hand. “These last three vials are Liquid Ice-Fire. Be careful, do not move unless I tell you, do you understand?”

  Amaury nodded and picked the back plate up, hefting it back into place and holding it there.

  “Well,” said Jacques. “I finally get to see this stuff in action.” He reassembled the delivery device and started welding the back plate back into place with the second most dangerous substance the alchemists of Sassaille had ever created. It took only two vials of Liquid Ice-Fire and the third magically disappeared up Jacques sleeve before Roache could notice.

  Extracting themselves from the Duc’s private study proved to be a far easier job than gaining entry. After replacing the desk and making certain no trace of their incursion remained Jacques noticed a small lever next to the Lindle door. Upon close inspection the lever turned out to be an opening mechanism so one could escape the room should they shut the door but leave the key on the outside. Cogs whirred and gears ground and the door slid open with a hiss as the metal and glass barrier cleared the padded housing of its frame. Jacques poked his head out to make certain the coast was clear and both he and Roache slipped away.

  “I shall find Isabel and make some excuse to be on our way before the Seigneur sends in his goons. By now she’s likely whipped the entire household into a frenzy and will be grateful for the excuse to extricate herself from the situation,” Jacques said as they made their way quickly to the stairs.

  “Perhaps I should go get her,” Roache suggested smugly.

  Jacques gave him a glance. “You are hardly dressed for the situation. No I think it much less suspicious if her husband fetch her.”

  Roache grumbled but said nothing further. The truth of the matter was that Jacques needed to find Isabel and talk to her privately before they left the Lavouré mansion.

  Upon gaining the ground floor the fruits of Isabel’s distraction could be easily heard from the mansion’s lounge area. Jacques shooed Roache away and went in search of the Baroness Bonvillain. A large crowd had gathered in the lounge and raised voices appeared to be in fashion. Jacques searched for Isabel but Marquis Joudain de Roe unfortunately found him first.

  “Bastien!” the Marquis exclaimed, hurrying over. He had a red mark on his face that was quickly turning a dirty blue as the bruise set in. “Where have you been? Maker we could have used your discipline. It’s chaos. Ruben set about giving Gaston the beating of his life. He even threw me to the floor and gave me a boot when I tried to intervene. We have him calmed a little now but he’s as furious as a bear and near as dangerous too.” Joudain de Roe was waving into the crowd, trying to call someone over.

  “Gaston is damn near black and blue from the beating,” Joudain continued. Jacques paid scant attention to the man, he was still searching the crowd for Isabel. “Something about Gaston and Hélène cuckolding him.”

  Duc Gaston Lavouré worked his way through the gathered crowd towards them. His face was a motley of bruises and cuts and one eye was heavily swollen. He carried his left arm before him as though it hurt him greatly and limped with every step. As he approached he dabbed a handkerchief to his lips and it came away rosy. “What the Ruiner was your wife thinking?” he slurred through bruised lips, glaring at Bastien with his good eye. “She ousted me right in front of Ruben. I’m lucky the man didn’t kill me.”

  “If you didn’t want Ruben to find out then you should probably not have been sleeping with his wife,” Bastien pointed out showing very little patience for the bruised Duc. “As to what Adeline was thinking, I honestly cannot say. Where is she?”

  Gaston looked more than a little taken back by his friend’s bluntness but Joudain was quick to respond. “She’s out on the veranda apologising to Hélène.”

  “Give her a dressing down, Bastien,” Gaston slurred in an attempt to sound stern. “I can’t explain how much I am put out by this entire endeavour.”

  As Jacques walked away his well-trained eavesdropper’s ears just about picked out Gaston Lavouré stating that ‘The Bonvillains are more trouble than they’re worth.’ Jacques found himself with very little sympathy for the man.

  He found Isabel on the veranda, very much not apologising to the Comtesse la Fien who was standing a good distance away talking frantically with Baroness la Viere and both were sending poisonous glances Isabel’s way.

  “How did it go?” Isabel asked as Jacques joined her staring out over the Lavouré gardens. It felt like a lifetime ago that they had fired rifles down the garden and joked and laughed as a couple of new socialites; in truth it was only a handful of months.

  “It went very well,” Jacques said with slight smile in her direction. “Only we need to leave Sassaille. Tonight.”

  “So definitely one of your more successful endeavours. What did you do this tim
e?” she asked. “Spill Ice-Fire on poor Amaury?”

  Jacques took in a deep breath and sighed it out slowly. “Bel, I know you’re angry with me and I think I may have reasoned out why. You believe I put my life in danger recklessly without thought to how my death may have impacted upon you. In reality the truth could not be further from that assumption. It was because of how not putting my life in danger would have impacted upon us both that I did in fact put my life in danger.”

  “You’re babbling, Jacques.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Jacques took another deep breath. “I am sorry for risking my life, Bel, but I am not sorry for the reasons I did it, namely, to protect you. Also, I love you.” He gave her his very best big puppy dog eyes and waited for her response.

  Isabel looked down at her feet for a few moments, stoically ignoring Jacques visible attempts at softening her heart. When she looked up she was smiling and her eyes looked a little moist. She sniffed. “So what went wrong?”

  “Nothing. The job went almost exactly as planned… apart from the climb and Amaury Roache almost throwing me to my death…”

  “He what?”

  “It doesn’t matter. The point is there was no evidence in the Duc’s safe of any sort of treachery, nor was there ever supposed to be any. After I cracked the damned thing Roache planted evidence inside the safe. The Seigneur is going to arrest the Duc and all his friends on falsified evidence and we are part of a select group who can actually testify to its illegitimacy.”

  Isabel grasped on to the implication quickly. “He’s going to have us killed.”

  Jacques nodded emphatically. “Most likely tonight. We need to run. Now.”

  “There’s no way we’ll get far enough away in time to outrun the Seigneur’s reach. If we are the only people who can testify against him he will hunt us down no matter how far we run.”

  “Unless we run somewhere he can’t reach,” Jacques said with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.