The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  6:15 P.M.

  Dark had fallen by the time Dupree halted the laundry cart in the alley behind Robespierre’s lodgings and the thick fog made the gardens, alcoves, and even the houses themselves barely visible for more than a few feet. He could hear the scampering of the rats in the garbage piled on the cobblestones but could catch only a faint glimpse of their eyes as they darted to escape the wheels of the cart.

  Happiness surged through him as he clumsily got down from the wagon, tied the horse’s reins to the iron railings of a garden gate, and limped to the back of the wagon. The bed of the wagon was piled high with blankets and linens, and he was forced to burrow for a minute before he found the chest with the Wind Dancer he had placed in the wagon before he’d gone to the Temple. As he lifted the chest out of the cart, one of the sheets shrouding the boy pulled free, revealing Louis Charles’s silky fair hair.

  Dupree swore with annoyance beneath his breath. He was tempted not to bother to recover the child. The thick, cold fog and the foul smell of garbage belching from the cobblestones of the alley made it doubtful anyone would venture out of their warm houses and discover the wagon. Yet it was essential no one find the whelp’s body until Nana brought Danton and the soldiers to confront Robespierre. He set the chest down on the cobblestones and carefully tucked the sheet back over Louis Charles’s head before pulling a blanket and several sheets on top of him.

  Then he picked up the chest and limped down the alley to the street. Going up and down the stairs of the Temple had been a hideous strain, and his hip and bad leg throbbed with agony.

  Yet what did the pain matter when his soul soared with exhilaration? He had done it! He had triumphed over all his enemies, he had carved himself a place in the court of Comte de Provence and perhaps history itself by killing the boy, and he had the Wind Dancer safe in his hands to give to his mother.

  He reached the street and painfully made his way to the hired carriage he’d arranged to have waiting for him a few houses from Robespierre’s residence.

  “Clairemont. It’s just outside the barriers. I’ll give you the direction once we reach the village,” he said as he opened the door of the carriage and set the oak chest inside before levering himself inside and onto the seat. He leaned wearily back in the coach and sighed with contentment as it started to roll down the street.

  He had been good. No one could say he had not been very good indeed. Now he could go home to his mother for his reward.

  “Quick, Catherine.” François moved swiftly out of the shadows of the alcove of the back door of the house across the alley from Robespierre’s residence. He ran toward the wagon and in another moment he had unwrapped Louis Charles from his shroud of linens and blankets.

  “Is he all right?” Catherine appeared beside him, her gaze fixed worriedly on the boy’s still body. “Oh, dear, how pale he is.”

  Louis Charles opened his eyes and drew a deep breath. “Stinks.”

  Catherine laughed shakily in relief as she helped the boy to an upright position in the cart. “You’re in an alley. Of course it stinks.”

  “No, all these dirty sheets stink.” Louis Charles wrinkled his nose in distaste. “It was most unpleasant lying here covered with all this dirty linen all the way from the Temple. No more laundry wagons, Catherine.”

  “No more laundry wagons,” Catherine agreed as she reached over and hugged him. “We have a carriage waiting two streets from here.” She helped him down from the wagon. “Can you walk?”

  “Of course. I wish you’d been there to see how well I did. It was just like one of Maman’s theatricals.” Louis Charles clutched his throat and croaked melodramatically. “I remembered everything you told me to do. I was so good, Citizeness Simon thought I was really ill. You should have been there to see me.”

  “No, I shouldn’t. I was terribly afraid just knowing what was happening.” She draped the cloak she was carrying about the boy’s shoulders. “You did wonderfully well without us, Louis Charles.”

  “The stuff didn’t taste good.” Louis Charles grimaced. “What was it?”

  “Olive oil and bitters. Jean Marc had a taste of it earlier today and he was in complete agreement with you.” François put a tricorned hat on the child’s head. “Keep your head down and the hat shadowing your face.”

  Louis Charles nodded as he fell into step with them.

  “I saw Dupree get into a carriage. He’s going to Clairemont just as I told you he would.” Nana joined them as they reached the end of the alley, her gaze anxiously searching Louis Charles’s face. “He looks well enough.”

  “This is Nana Sarpelier, Louis Charles,” François said. “You owe her a great debt. She substituted the olive oil for the poison Dupree had planned on giving you and tricked him into helping us.”

  “Merci, Mademoiselle,” Louis Charles said gravely. “Though I wish you’d put honey instead of bitters in the olive oil.”

  Nana laughed. “I thought it better if it tasted bitter in case Dupree became suspicious and tasted it. You’re very welcome, Your Majesty. It was a great pleasure helping you.” Nana’s face hardened. “Anything I could do to harm that canaille was a pleasure.”

  François stared into Nana’s eyes. “Such vehemence. I wonder if you’ve been entirely honest with us regarding the ease of your task in dealing with Dupree these last weeks.”

  Nana forced a smile. “I told you he did me no harm. I just don’t like the canaille.” She pulled up the hood to shadow her face. “Now take the boy to Monsieur Radon’s house and let me get on with my task.”

  “You’ll join us at Monsieur Radon’s?” Catherine asked as she took Louis Charles by the hand and started down the street.

  “If I can. If not, I’ll meet you at the Café du Chat tomorrow.”

  François shook his head. “I want you at Monsieur Radon’s by midnight, Nana.”

  “Oh, very well.” Nana watched them until they disappeared around the corner and then briskly proceeded to Robespierre’s lodgings.

  She deliberately tousled her hair before pounding with both hands on the door. “Open the door!” She pounded again, her voice sounding frantic. “Citizen Robespierre! You must hear me.”

  The door jerked open and icy green eyes glared into her own. “What is this? Is a man not entitled to peace at his evening meal?”

  “Citizen Robespierre?” Nana’s gaze desperately searched his face. “Thank God I’ve found you. All of Paris knows of you, Citizen, but no one knows where you live. I’ve been sent from place to place until I’m nearly mad.”

  Robespierre drew his small frame up like a bristling porcupine. “There are reasons why I can’t be bothered by all and sundry. If you have a relative condemned to the guillotine, then he must be guilty. The tribunal is always just.”

  “I know. That is why I have come to you. You are an admirer of virtue and justice and I could not bear to see you made a victim.” She gazed into his eyes. “I’m Nana Sarpelier and I’ve come to tell you of a terrible plot threatening not only the republic but yourself. You must hear me out.”

  Robespierre gazed at her without expression for a moment. He stepped aside. “Come in, Citizeness.”

  8:10 P.M.

  Anne Dupree lifted the golden Pegasus from the chest and set it on the table. “You’ve done very well, Raoul.” She stepped back and tilted her head to gaze at it appraisingly. “It’s magnificent.”

  Dupree sipped his wine and basked in her pleasure.

  She said, “But it doesn’t fit in this room. It belongs in an elegant salon.”

  “I thought in a few days we’d leave for Vienna and take it to the Comte de Provence.”

  She shook her head. “He’d claim it for the Bourbons. I have no intention of handing it over to him.”

  “Very well, we won’t tell him we have it.”

  “We?”

  “You have it,” he amended quickly. “It’s yours, Mother.”

  She turned back to the statue and smiled with pleasure. “Yes, it
’s mine.”

  “But you’ll come to Vienna with me?” Dupree pleaded. “The count will wish to honor me, and I want to share that glory with you. Now that the boy is dead, the count is heir to the throne. You could reign in his court.”

  “I could have my own court here in Paris. I don’t need the Comte de Provence.” She touched the golden filigree cloud on which the Pegasus ran. “Everyone will want to come to my salon and see the Wind Dancer. They’ll fight for invitations. Of course, I’ll have to seek a means to pacify the National Convention, but I’ll find a way.”

  Panic rose in him. “Very well, if you don’t want to go to Vienna, we’ll stay here.”

  “No.” She turned to look at him. “I’ll stay here. You’ll go to Vienna.”

  She was sending him away. His worst nightmare was staring at him from her implacable face.

  For an instant, terror held him speechless. “Please,” he stammered. “You know I can’t go without you. I want to be with you, Mother. Always.”

  “Look at you. You’d be an embarrassment, not a help to me.”

  “No.” He fell to his knees, scarcely noticing the jolt of pain in his leg. “Vienna’s too far away. You know I can’t bear to be away from you. I beg you to reconsider.”

  His mother turned away. “I’ll expect you gone by morning.” She moved to the archway leading to the stairs. “Good-bye, Raoul.”

  He scrambled to his feet again. He wasn’t going to be able to persuade her. She was sending him away and this time she would not let him come back.

  “Mother!” The word was a howl of agony.

  She looked back over her shoulder with a frown. “Don’t be difficult, Raoul. You know what happens when you become—”

  The front door burst open.

  “Citizen Dupree?” An officer in the uniform of the National Guard strode into the room, followed by four soldiers. “You’re to come with us. You’re under arrest.”

  “By whose order?” Dupree gazed at him numbly, scarcely able to comprehend the man’s words.

  She was sending him away.

  “How dare you barge into my home?” Anne Dupree asked coldly. “Whatever my son has done, I’m a loyal citizen of the republic.”

  “That will be decided by Citizen Robespierre. He’s waiting in the carriage outside.”

  She would never permit him near her again.

  “I’ll not go,” Anne Dupree said. “Raoul, tell him he’s not to force me to—”

  But Dupree was being hustled through the front doorway by two soldiers. She reluctantly followed him out of the cottage to the waiting carriage.

  Icy rage froze Robespierre’s delicate features into a menacing mask as he stepped down onto the cobblestones from the carriage. “I’m a just man. Because of your past service to the republic I give you one chance to defend yourself before I condemn you. You’re Raoul Dupree, Marat’s former agent?”

  “Yes,” Raoul said dully.

  He would never see her again.

  “And you conspired to free Louis Charles Capet and lay the blame at my door?”

  “Free? No, I killed him.”

  “Lies. We know you smuggled him from the city and even now he’s on his way to Le Havre.” Robespierre pulled out a familiar-looking paper. “Do you deny you gave this writ to Citizeness Simon with my name forged upon it giving custody of the boy to you?”

  “I killed him. He’s in the laundry wagon in the alley behind your lodgings.”

  “I was told by your whore how you smuggled the boy out of the Temple but no body was found in the wagon.” Robespierre’s hand tightened on the writ. “Where is the boy?”

  “Dead.”

  “You’re thinking to destroy me by linking me with the monarchists who want to free the boy, but you’ll not succeed.” Robespierre’s voice rose shrilly. “Do you hear me? You won’t succeed. I’ll send you to the guillotine tonight.” He pointed to a horse-drawn tumbril rumbling out of the fog. “That cart will take you to the guillotine. Why do you not speak? Do you think I lack the power to deny you a trial before the tribunal?”

  Why was Robespierre shouting? Didn’t he know that none of it mattered any longer? “No, I know you have the power.”

  “I’ll cut off your head and have you tossed in a common grave with the other traitors who seek to destroy me.”

  “Citizen Robespierre, may I go back in the house?” Anne Dupree asked politely. “It’s quite cold tonight and none of this concerns me. I’m only Raoul’s mother. I’ve scarcely seen him for years until he came to me tonight begging me to hide him. Naturally, I was about to refuse when your soldier—”

  “You’re his mother?” Robespierre interrupted, his gaze shifting to her face. “Yes, Dupree’s whore mentioned your name as well. I find it strange that he’d run to you after this treason if you had no part in it.”

  “I told you, he wished me to hide him. In spite of his faults, I’ve always been a loving mother.”

  Death.

  “Is that right, Dupree?”

  A common grave.

  She nervously cleared her throat. “Tell him the truth, Raoul.”

  Together.

  She was frightened. He must save her. It was his duty to serve her, to save her.

  Then it came to him, the solution bursting upon him with an effulgence that filled the entire world.

  His mother took a step closer to him. “Why don’t you speak? Tell Citizen Robespierre I’m innocent.”

  Why hadn’t he understood before? Dupree wondered. She had told him over and over through the years. She had knelt at his feet and told him what she wanted, what they both wanted.

  And now, at last, he could give it to her.

  “I can’t tell him that, Mother. It’s not true.”

  Her eyes bulged. “Raoul!”

  He turned to Robespierre. “Of course my mother knew. She guides me in everything I do.”

  “Raoul!”

  Dupree turned to his mother and smiled lovingly. “It’s going to be fine, Mother. Don’t be afraid. Don’t you see? Remember what you begged of me?” His voice suddenly became high and simpering. “ ‘Promise me we’ll always be together, Raoul.’ That’s what you’ve always asked of me. Now it can be true. Now we’ll be together. Always.”

  He could vaguely hear her screaming as the soldiers led them away toward the tumbril that had drawn up behind Robespierre’s carriage. Poor Mother. She didn’t understand yet, but she would afterward.

  A smile still on his lips, he stepped into the tumbril and waited for them to bring his mother to join him.

  10:47 P.M.

  Nana turned away from the guillotine and made her way quickly through the sparse crowd in the Place de la Révolution. With the guillotine working day and night these last months, beheadings had become too common to draw large crowds. Unless the victim was someone of fame or high noble rank, the executioner’s work went virtually unnoticed except by a small group of the morbid and fanatic.

  She moved quickly down the street, drawing her cloak closely about her, the guillotine and its few acolytes disappearing into the fog behind her. She had come to witness the execution of Dupree so that she might be free of the ugliness he had brought into her life. But the fear and ugliness seemed to corrode her soul—and what she had just witnessed had only added to her sense of horror.

  She doubted she would ever forget Dupree’s joyful, loving smile as they had decapitated Anne Dupree.

  11:55 P.M.

  “Dupree?” François asked Nana as soon as she entered Monsieur Radon’s small house on the right bank of the Seine.

  “Guillotined,” she said succinctly.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I watched it. I had to be sure.” Nana turned to the little boy who sat on the sofa next to Catherine. “Are you ready for your journey, Louis Charles?”

  “Oh, yes, this is all most interesting.” The child’s blue eyes blazed with excitement as he leaned his head against Catherine’s shoulder. “Catherine s
ays I’m to go to America, but she’s not sure if they still have savages in Charleston.”

  “Well, if they don’t, I’m sure Juliette will find something of equal interest for you to see. She may even go searching for savages herself to paint.” Catherine smiled gently at him. “You’ll have a good life there, Louis Charles.”

  “I wish you were going with me,” the boy whispered. “I’ll miss you, Catherine.”

  “Perhaps you’ll be able to come back someday.” Catherine pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Or maybe we’ll come to Charleston to visit you.”

  “But not now?”

  “There are many people François still needs to help. Our place is here, Louis Charles.” Catherine felt an aching sympathy for the little boy. He no sooner formed an attachment than it was severed. “Believe me, you’ll learn to love Juliette and Jean Marc.”

  Louis Charles was silent for a long time. “I wanted to meet Michel.”

  “Someday.” Catherine thought a moment. “You could write to him. Michel would love to get letters from across the sea.”

  “Would he correspond with me?”

  “I’m sure he would. But you’ll have to be very careful what you say.”

  “I’m used to that.” Louis Charles expression brightened. “Letters …”

  Jean Marc came in the front door, his gaze going at once to François. “All safe?”

  François nodded at the boy. “All safe.”

  Jean Marc smiled at Louis Charles. “I’m Jean Marc Andreas, and I’m delighted to meet you.”

  “Monsieur Andreas.” Louis Charles stiffly inclined his head. “It’s very kind of you to help me.”

  Jean Marc lifted a brow at the child’s formality and turned to Nana. His amusement was replaced by seriousness. “Dupree didn’t give you any hint what he intended for Juliette?”

  She stiffened. “Of course not. Do you think I’d let her walk into a trap? What kind of—”

  “Wait.” Jean Marc held up his hand. “I’m not accusing you. I think you’ve done splendidly. We simply didn’t expect him to strike at us today. We thought he’d wait until after the business at the Temple.” He paused. “Juliette is outside saying good-bye to Robert and Marie. They’re taking a wagon with some of our belongings to Vasaro. I understand you’re to go with them.”