Paris
May 1794
Six weeks passed, and we still had no more indication of Francesco's whereabouts. Beyond the snippet of information that I had gleaned while in the Conciergerie, that my friend was accused of being an English spy and was not being held in La Force, we had received no further word of his fate. It was as if he had been spirited away into thin air, and it was only Roger's repeated assurances that he would know if his master were dead that kept me in Paris.
Suzanne had returned to Paris in the middle of April, and seemed as concerned as Roger and myself that Francesco was still missing. Indeed, she threw her weight into helping us try to discover more information. However, enlightenment was not forthcoming, and we had more than one narrow escape when our plans were nearly discovered. It seemed at times as if the revolution had targeted us despite our better efforts at concealment, but when I tried to make enquiries about who might be betraying us, I drew a blank.
Then, late one evening in the first week of May, after the cold of winter had given way to a bright, warm spring, Suzanne arrived at the door of Francesco's home. She was out of breath but looked immensely pleased with herself.
"I've found him," she said, throwing her arms around me in a most unladylike fashion. Then I disentangled myself and led her towards the kitchen, which had become our usual meeting place.
"Where is he?" asked Roger, with an expression on his face that suggested that he was hoping that she was right, but not quite willing to believe it.
"He has been in a small prison to the north of the city. It is apparently where the revolution is keeping those prisoners who would previously have been sent to the Bastille - traitors, personal enemies of the Committee, those sort of people."
"Do you know it's location?" I enquired.
"I can ask around in the morning. However, the good news is that he is being brought before the Tribunal tomorrow."
"That is good?" commented Roger, quietly.
"Actually, in as much as we will be able to see him, and maybe follow him back to where he is being held, yes," I replied, to which Suzanne nodded.
"Perhaps we will finally have the chance to get to him," she said, still looking considerably happier than she had for a couple of weeks, and I have to admit that her information had lightened my heart, also.
"What time is he due at the Palais de Justice?" our host asked.
"Noon," came the reply, and I saw a frown crease Roger's brow.
"In the full heat of the sun," he said, almost to himself, and then looked at us both, "they do their research well."
I raised an eyebrow, curious at what had occasioned the comment, but no explanation was forthcoming. "Is this something we should be aware of," I asked, finally.
"It is nothing," he replied, sounding distracted, "I was just thinking aloud.
From the way he said it, I had a gut feeling that Roger was lying, but I could not immediately work out why. As far as I could tell, it was the first time since I had come back to Paris that he had concealed something potentially of material interest to what we were doing. I waited a little longer, but Roger made no further comment. He just stood up, turned away and set about preparing a light snack for Suzanne.
"So what do you suggest we do, Robert?" the Comtesse asked, bringing her full attention back to me.
"If he is being brought before the Tribunal tomorrow, there seems little point in trying to find out where he has been imprisoned...unless they are likely to take him back there after sentencing," I began. At no point did it ever occur to me that Francesco would not be condemned to death, "do you have any more idea of why he was being held separate from the other captives?"
"Probably on account of the charges against him."
"Which are?" We hadn't even previously had that information for certain.
"As well as being a returning emigrant, I think I also heard treason, spying for England and being an enemy of the Revolution mentioned," she replied. Whatever her source of information was, it was thorough. Too thorough perhaps, I wondered in passing, and yet she seemed genuinely relieved to have news of my friend. Either that or she was a consummate actress.
"They have kept him separate until now," she continued, "so I suppose it is possible that once he has been in front of the Tribunal they will return him to the same place. I am willing to try and find it if you wish."
"That depends on how much of a risk you are willing to take."
"François is my friend, too, Robert. If there is something I can pursue that might enable us to free him, then I want to do it. If you and Roger are willing to go to the Palais de Justice tomorrow, in case anything can be done there, I will carry on working to find the prison."
"That is acceptable to me," said Roger as he laid some food in front of Suzanne, "sir?"
"To me also," I agreed after a moment's thought.
"Then it's decided," said Suzanne, and started tucking into her supper with some gusto.
The Comtesse left first the following morning. Roger and I followed her at about ten thirty, and made our way to the square outside the Palais de Justice. We arrived at about eleven thirty, to find that a large crowd had already congregated there, and I absently wondered who the main attraction was. My question was answered soon enough. Soon we could hear the crowds shouting, further down the street along the route which the tumbrils were taking, and from what I could make out "Death to the traitor" and "Down with Germain" were popular war cries.
I was surprised that they were specifically baying for Francesco's blood. After all, as I've said, in six weeks we had found no sign of him, so how did the people now know who he was or what he was charged with? Our information sources were a lot better than that. Still, it was his name on their lips, and that was that.
Within minutes the carts bringing the prisoners rolled past, escorted by the baying crowd. I was initially relieved to see that Suzanne's information had been correct: I could see Francesco, alone, in the second one. Then I saw what state he was in, and felt somewhat less relieved. He was sitting on the floor to one side, leaning against the rough wooden planking as if he did not have the strength to stand. I noticed that he was barefoot and he seemed older than I remembered. It was obvious, too, that he had been beaten while in captivity, and the wounds did not seem to have healed very well. I turned to Roger, whose expression was stony.
"What is wrong with him?" I asked, unused to seeing the man so debilitated. He had always projected an air of invulnerability before.
"He has been deprived for too long of a certain form of nourishment that is essential to him," replied my companion, cagily.
"What are you talking about? Surely even the Revolutionaries would not have starved him while he was in prison. They allow their charges to buy food."
"They would have had no choice," he replied, "sir, I do not think that you can rely on him to react if you try to free him here and now."
"You seem to know what is wrong. Do you intend to tell me, or don't you consider it important enough for me to worry about," I snapped.
To my surprise, I saw an angry reaction on Roger's usually calm face. "You do not understand, sir, it is not my information to give. Just believe me when I say that his strength is dangerously low and he will need to conserve what he has left just to remain conscious before the Tribunal."
The carts finally drew up in front of the Palais de Justice, and the men guarding them began to off load their cargo as the knitting women looked on and cheered. I scanned the escort, but I could recognise neither Lebec nor de Longueville, and when I tried a magical probe I could not spot anyone obviously under a disguise spell. I was surprised, but in the absence of either of them I was more than a little curious to know if anything was preventing me from just teleporting him out there and then.
"Roger, stay here a moment. I want to try something," I said, quietly, and then walked forwards. I pushed through the crowd to get closer to the prisoners, bringing the transport spell to mind as I went, and soon I had managed to get in range. At the moment Francesco was bundled out of the cart, stumbling as his feet touched the ground, I triggered the teleport, hoping that I had trimmed the range enough that his captors would not go with him. However, the spell did not work. As before with de Vassigny, I felt the energy there, but it drained out before the spell could take effect. Then my opportunity was lost, and my friend was led inside and out of my sight.
Cursing quietly to myself, I began to return to where I had left Roger. I was nearly back to him when I suddenly became aware that above and beyond the press of the crowd, I could feel a sharp pressure in my back, around the area of my kidneys. I began to turn, but then an arm wrapped itself around my throat.
"What the Hell are you playing at, de Lacy?" came a whispered, male voice, and I realised that it was speaking in English.
"I don't understand you," I replied in French, trying to turn to face my assailant.
"The stunt with magic you just tried," came the answer.
"Please, I don't understand," I tried to protest, but my attacker did not listen. Then I felt the pressure go from my back, although the arm around my neck remained, but before I could react I felt something heavy hit me on the head and I found myself crumpling into unconsciousness.
When I awoke, I was in a bedroom in what looked like a cheap lodging house. I slowly sat up, trying to ignore the fact that my head was hurting fit to burst, and attempted to take in my surroundings.
"My apologies for Lawrence's heavy handedness," came a drawling voice from off to one side, speaking English with a gentleman's accent, "you would not answer his question, and it was neither the time nor the place to make a scene."
I blinked a couple of times, and then turned towards the speaker. He was sitting to the side of the small, dirty window, with another man standing behind him. That was the point at which I recognised Simon Blake, the Earl of Richmond, and the Honourable Lawrence Fforbes, both of whom were prominent figures in the London social circle. Then I noticed that Fforbes was standing holding a pistol.
"Why have you brought me here?" I asked, finally, still trying to clear my head.
"Because we want to know what you are doing in Paris," was Fforbes's answer, "we first noticed you about a month and a half ago, and here you are again, taking particular interest in the disposition of the Revolution's prisoners."
"I have my reasons," I replied, unwilling to discuss my business with them.
"Perhaps to do with helping various citizens of Paris escape the city?" asked Blake, innocently. I just looked at him and said nothing, which prompted him to continue, "it might surprise you to know that our aims are not completely at odds with yours."
"I would be surprised if that were the case," I commented, finally.
"Why?" came Blake's reply, "my associates and I have delivered a number of people safely to the shores of England over the last two years."
His comment took a moment to sink in - the blow on the head had obviously slowed my faculties - but slowly the realisation dawned that these were two of the men who were so lauded in British court circles. "You are members of the League?" I said, finally.
"And you are a loose cannon," replied Fforbes, disapproval in his voice. I looked at him, annoyed at his attitude, but before I could speak Blake interrupted to smooth the situation."
"The main difference between ourselves and you is that we do not have the skill with magic you have available to you, which means we have to rely on more conventional methods. While Lawrence has a touch of the Talent, and some skill with it, he is certainly not a professional mage in the way that you or your father, the Duke of Worcester, are. The Committee of Public Safety, however, does have such mages, and if they obtain further evidence that there is a sorcerer acting against them, our task will be made all the harder."
He paused a moment while I digested this, and then carried on speaking, "In simple terms, what concerns us is that your actions will alert the authorities not only to your presence, but also to ours, and unfortunately your attempt to use magic outside the Palais de Justice this afternoon will just give them the evidence they need, especially as they are attributing the disappearance of another prisoner, about six weeks ago, to a hostile mage."
His words, alas, made a certain amount of sense, although my irritation at their hijacking of me remained. "My proposition," he continued, "is that we combine our efforts, both to achieve our immediate aims, and in the future," said Blake, "I am not convinced that my companion thinks we should bring you on board, but at least if you join us we will be working with each other, rather than treading on each others' toes." He paused, glancing at Fforbes who shook his head, then added, "presuming, of course, that our aims are the same.
"If you have done what you claim to have done, then I think it is fair at this point to assume they are," I replied. After all, additional help might make the job of pulling Francesco out easier, and with him hauled in front of the Tribunal that day, time was getting very short indeed. "Alright, I agree."
"Excellent," said Blake, smiling, "shall we get to business?"
"Why not?" I answered, slowly. "perhaps you could start by telling me how many sorcerers the Committee of Public Safety have in their employ?"
"Two that we have identified for certain, and we believe one other," came Fforbes's reply.
"Are the two you know of Lebec and de Longueville?"
"Yes they are," he confirmed.
"Then I am pretty sure there must be a third. I did not see either of them outside the Palais de Justice, but I am damned certain that someone was playing de Vassigny's games there."
"De Vassigny's games?" asked Blake.
"Long story," I replied.
"What about disguise spells?" said Fforbes.
"A reasonable point," I replied, "but neither of them would need them. They are legitimately - if you can call it that - in the service of the Committee of Public Safety." He nodded to concede the point before I continued. "I did make a cursory scan for such spells, by the way, but could not detect any. That leaves three options. One, there is a third sorcerer who Robespierre is keeping as an ace in the hole; two, this is a personal matter between an independent mage and my friend and I; or three it is some combination thereof - say a hidden mage whose short-term aims coincide with those of the Committee of Public Safety."
"In what way personal?" Fforbes demanded, the suspicion back in his voice.
"There was a sorcerer named de Vassigny, who had a personal grudge against my cousin the Marquis du Harcouët. When my cousin was captured by the revolution a couple of years ago, de Vassigny managed to neutralise the magic he was using. I felt an effect similar to what he described today when I tried to use a teleport near the prisoners."
"So which of the poor unfortunates who were convicted this afternoon did he also have a grudge against?" asked Blake.
"François Germain," I replied.
"And who were you interested in rescuing?"
"The same man. He is an old friend of the family."
"I think it likely that our aims do coincide," Blake said, smiling slightly, "an acquaintance of mine in England has also expressed a desire to see Germain liberated."
"I would welcome your assistance, as time is getting very short," I replied, relief in my voice, "firstly, though, we need to know what the judgement of the Tribunal actually was, and whether they gave any indication of where he would be held overnight."
"So that you can storm in and break him out?" asked Fforbes, a cynical tone in his voice. I looked at him, and was about to make my retort when once again Blake interrupted me.
"You really should have been more subtle with the priest," he commented.
I considered denying his accusation, but then thought better of it. "Conditions conspired against it," I replied, "I only found out where he was a couple of hours before he was due to be executed."
"And is he an old friend of the family too?" Blake said, softly.
"He saved du Harcoët's life," I replied.
"You and your cousin must be very close for you to be fighting such perilous battles for him," was the only answer he gave, before changing the subject. "I understand from Lawrence that as a direct result of your actions then, the Conciergerie and most of the prisons have been warded. I am afraid you will not be able to use that method of entry or egress again."
"Do you have any better suggestions?"
"Good, old fashioned mundane methods," replied Blake, "but you are right on one score. We need to learn what happened at the Tribunal."
"I suspect that Roger will have waited to find out," I answered.
"Roger?"
"Germain's manservant. He was the one who originally requested my help."
"Go back and talk to him. Lawrence will contact you later to find out what he said."
I took this as leave to depart, and slowly got to my feet. My headache had at least subsided to a dull throb by then, but I was looking forward to administering to myself one of the painkillers I had made in my lab. I took a last glance at my hosts - captors - and then opened the door and walked out. Once I got down to street level, I looked around to try and work out where I was, but the location was unfamiliar to me. The obvious answer was to teleport back to Montmartre, but before I finished bringing up the spell I heard someone approaching me.
"This way, sir," said Roger, as he joined me.
"Do I ask how you found me?"
"Probably not," he replied, and turned to walk up the street. I fell into step beside him, and soon I was back in familiar territory. We appeared to be in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, and I could not quite decide if Blake and Fforbes were being intelligent or foolhardy having a base of operations in the quarter of Paris where Revolutionary fervour was at its strongest.
"What happened?" I asked, finally.
"My master has been condemned to die tomorrow," he replied, and he sounded understandably upset, "with the execution set for noon."
"Not with the usual group in the afternoon?"
"No, although the sentence will still be carried out at la Place de la Révolution. He was taken away under heavy guard after judgement was passed, but I managed to follow them to one of the prisons to the north of the city."
"You could find it again?"
"That is why I followed them," he said, with the utmost confidence.
"Good. "
With that I lapsed into silence, and started working through possible reasons why they would be giving Francesco such special attention. Surely it was not just because he was a spy, because if it were I would have expected them to want to make an example of him. I think it was then that I first began to ponder the possibility of a trap. Why keep him in a separate place, and bring him to justice at an unusual time?
I was still pondering those questions when I got back to the house.
"Roger," I said as he unlocked the door, "I know that you do not wish to discuss what is wrong with Francesco, but I need at least something to work from. Why this obsession with noon?"
For a moment, I thought he was going to refuse me once more, as his attention remained rigidly fixed on the key in his hand. However, once we were inside he turned to face me.
"My master has a condition which means that he is particularly sensitive to bright sunlight. It saps his strength somewhat unless he takes certain precautions. From his appearance this afternoon, it is obvious that he has been unable to take those precautions," he explained, slowly. "Now it is likely they know he is a mage, and it would be foolish to think that they have forgotten what happened with you and de Vassigny. I therefore suspect that they are choosing their times so that he will be at his most vulnerable when they take him to the guillotine, and that way they will not have the same problems as they did with le Marquis du Harcoët."
"Is this condition curable?"
"No, but under the right circumstances the ill effects can be minimised."
"How long has he been sick?"
"For as long as I have known him," came the reply, and he turned to make up the fire.
"It is possible we have some additional allies for when we make our move," I added, and he looked back at me.
"The man who removed you to Saint-Antoine from the Palais de Justice?"
"He is one of them. From what they said they also wish to see Francesco freed. Now I admit that we only have their word for that, but I am tempted to believe them."
"The assistance would be helpful," he acknowledged, as he finished with the fire and moved across to prepare dinner.
I watched him for a while, my thoughts most definitely elsewhere, and then we were interrupted by a knock at the back door. Suzanne did not usually knock, so it was either Blake's envoy or someone more dangerous. I drew my sword with my right hand and then crossed cautiously to it. Looking out of the window beside it, I could see a single figure, rather than a lynch mob, but I could not recognise my visitor.
"Yes?"
"De Lacy, it's Fforbes," came a familiar voice. I opened the door to him, blade still in hand, and he crossed the threshold.
"We're supposed to be on the same side," he commented as he saw the weapon.
"Yes, but the rest of Paris isn't," I replied, trying to make light of it, and then walked over to where my sword belt was slung over a chair and replaced the blade in its scabbard. "Roger, this is Lawrence Fforbes. He is one of the people I was talking about."
"Sir," he said, nodding to Fforbes.
"So what news do you have?" our visitor asked. I indicated to my companion, whereupon Roger gave him a summary of what he had told me. Fforbes listened in silence until the older man had finished, and then looked at the pair of us.
"I don't like it," he said, finally.
"Neither do I," I replied, "too many changes from their usual procedure, although admittedly from the start they have treated Germain differently to most prisoners."
"They definitely took my master back to that location," said Roger, in a voice that suggested that he felt we were questioning his story.
"I don't doubt that," I answered, trying to reassure him, "it's just the reasons behind it that don't hang together."
"Bait," stated Fforbes.
"Probably," I replied, "however, even if that is the case, then we still have little option but to take it if we are to get him out." Our visitor looked uncertain, and I could not blame him. "Assuming they have kept him there, of course. At least if we go in expecting a trap then we have a chance of coming out of it."
"The odds are not good. Four of us against a prison full of guards."
"I can think of at least one person who we could call in as backup, which might even the odds slightly."
"One person?"
"The Duke of Worcester."
Fforbes considered the possibility, and then nodded. "Perhaps, if you think he will agree. At least he is not as well known in Paris as some of us. However, we are still somewhat under strength, especially as they have at least two mages themselves. Unfortunately, there are not very many of the League in the city right now."
"And we don't have time to bring in anyone else, I assume."
"Unless you wish to act as a cab service...I cannot teleport that far."
"It is fairly tiring covering that distance," I replied, "so I must admit that I would prefer just a single trip across the Channel."
"Then we should see what we can manage with the resources we have," said Roger, quietly, "if I might ask, do you intend to move tonight or tomorrow morning."
"If he isn't in the prison you found, then tomorrow morning will be too late..." I replied, "we cannot afford to discover at eleven o'clock that he is being held elsewhere."
"Agreed," said Fforbes, although from the tone in his voice he did not appreciate how our actions were being shaped from outside. I cannot say that I blamed him. In the end we agreed to meet Fforbes and Blake near la Porte Saint-Denis at ten that evening, whereupon he departed to talk to his associate. Once he was gone, I turned to Roger.
"What do you think?"
"I think that we have no choice," he replied, "but then, I have said that all along, and even if I did not have the assistance of yourself and those other gentlemen I would still try."
I looked at him, still trying to work out what it was about Francesco that inspired such devotion in his servant, and then nodded. "I should be going to fetch Andrew. I will try and be back as quickly as I can."
"Until you return, then, sir," he replied. With that, I brought an image of my rooms at Millbank to mind, and triggered the teleport that would take me there. On my arrival, I took a cursory glance around, just to make sure everything was as I remembered it from my last visit, and then went out of the door onto the balcony and down the staircase into the library. I knocked on the study door, and to my relief I heard a voice from within.
"Who is it?" Andrew asked.
"Me," I replied, walking in.
"Robert," he said, looking startled, "what the Hell possessed you to go to Paris? and what are you doing back here?"
"You sound so pleased to see me," I commented, grinning.
"I've been worried about you," he replied, pouring two cognacs and handing one to me, "apart from the brief message you sent weeks ago, I have heard nothing of you, and I was more than half convinced that they'd got you properly this time."
"It's du Harcoët they want, not me," I said sitting down, putting my feet up on the opposite side of the desk to him, and taking a drink from my glass.
"You really think they'd be that pedantic?" he snapped, and I could detect the worry in his voice, "all they want is heads, and the more the better."
"Andrew, believe me, I know that far too well," I said, suddenly serious, "which is the main reason I'm here. Do you remember Francesco Ragoczy?"
"The alchemist you met in Paris some years ago."
"The same."
"A little, although you were always more interested in the field than I am...I prefer conjuring my diamonds, rather than growing them."
"Far too easy," I commented, thinking of the many arguments we had had on that subject over the years, "but that is for another time. Francesco has been in the hands of the Revolution for nearly two months, and he has finally been sentenced. If they have their way, he will die tomorrow. I would rather they did not."
"You want to pull another jailbreak," he said, half smiling, half concerned.
"Basically...yes."
"And where do I come in?"
"We believe that we are walking into a trap..."
"This gets better and better..."
"But they will only be expecting one mage in the group. I was hoping you might consider doubling that number."
"How many do they have to call on?"
"At least two, maybe three, although I would be surprised if they were all attached to the same place at once."
"You really do bite off more than you can chew at times, don't you?" he answered, grinning.
"Not intentionally," I replied, "it just seems to end up that way."
"Alright, things seem to be fairly quiet here, and I could do with the exercise," he said, finally.
"Thanks, I owe you one."
"We both owe each other innumerable favours," he replied, shrugging, "so what is another one? When do we leave?"
"As soon as you have made whatever preparations you wish to make," I replied.
"Let me change, and then I'll be with you."
"Good idea," I answered, and we both headed upstairs. When we met up once more, on the balcony in the library, we were both wearing dark, simple clothing that would be suitable to a clandestine raid, and differing disguise spells. I smiled slightly at the fact that we were thinking alike again, and the triggered the teleport that would get us back to Paris. It was about seven-thirty by the time we arrived, which meant we had two and a half hours to complete our preparations and join the others.
I introduced Andrew to Roger, and then settled down to deal with something I had been considering since my talk with Fforbes. If, for any reason, we had to return to the house in Montmartre once we had grabbed Francesco, rather than heading straight for England, then we might not be in any state to defend it. Therefore we needed some kind of defences, over and above the very basic ones I had had running since my arrival six weeks ago. I spent the next hour reinforcing the wards around the house, and making sure that anything less than an army hitting the place would meet with failure. Once I was satisfied, I went to find the others and took the opportunity to change Roger's appearance, also.
"I think it's time," I said. Roger nodded, and the three of us left by the back door, pistols and swords concealed under our cloaks, and Francesco's manservant locked it behind us. "Out of interest, Roger, any word from Suzanne this evening?"
"La Comtesse sent a message saying that she was meeting little success in finding my master's prison, and adding that she would keep trying. It implied that she would contact us in the morning if she obtained any further information."
"So we don't know where we're going?" asked Andrew, understandably surprised.
"Thankfully we had made other arrangements," replied Roger, quietly.
We reached la Porte Saint-Denis about ten minutes early, and stationed ourselves in one of the wine shops nearby, so we would see Blake and Fforbes when they arrived. By ten past ten, there was still no sign of them, and I was beginning to get worried. About five minutes later, the door of the wine shop opened, and a couple of drunks staggered in. They ordered at the counter, and then rolled towards us, sitting at our table and crying a toast to the Revolution as soon as their wine was brought over. Then I caught the taller man's eye and recognised him for Blake. We caroused for twenty minutes, before our drunken companions urged us to our feet so that we could join them in a further toast elsewhere. Signalling to the others to play along, I rose to my feet, and followed them out. Andrew and Roger followed closely, and Andrew looked annoyed.
"This is ridiculous," he commented as we rolled down the street, before ducking off into an alley, "and who the Hell are you, anyway?" he added, looking at the others.
"I think I should be pleased you did not recognise me, de Lacy," said Blake in English, quietly and suddenly dead sober.
"Blake?" replied Andrew, equally quietly as he recognised the voice. Blake nodded once, but his companion was less charitable.
"Please," snapped Fforbes, in French, "we have business, and we would prefer it if you were a little more subtle in your form of address." Then he turned to Roger. "Lead on."
With that a group of drunken revellers made their slow, winding way towards a dark, stone edifice on the northern outskirts of the city. Once we were within sight of it, Roger gestured for us to stop and we concealed ourselves once more.
"He is in there," he said, quietly, after concentrating for a short time.
"Can you be sure?" asked Blake.
"That is the building he was brought to this afternoon, and I think I can feel him nearby."
I looked at him, curious at that last comment, but said nothing. Then I turned to Andrew.
"Shall we?" I asked. He nodded, and very carefully we sent probes out to try and discover what protections were on the building, other than the two guards that were standing by the door. As we checked magically, Fforbes left the cover of the alley and went to physically look at the place. We soon came to the conclusion that it was well warded on the outside, which in itself destroyed any chance of teleporting in and out - wards let you move around within them, but not through them unless you know the key - and also prevented us from investigating the interior further. I thought I recognised the style of the wards as having been built by de Longueville - after all, I had had six weeks to learn the magical signatures of both him and Lebec.
When Fforbes came back he informed us that we were looking at the one door, although there was apparently a small hatchway for provisions to one side, again guarded, and that all the windows on the first two floors were barred. That meant the third floor was accessible, as was the roof if there was any way of getting inside from up there. Assuming of course that we could get up there. I brought to mind a spell I had been working on to allow me to see things at distance, and sent it up to the roof. There was one skylight up there, closed, but no other means of entry. I also got the impression that the moment I set foot on the roof alarms would go off downstairs at best, and at worst I would be fried by an electrical charge that was over the skylight.
"It will be tricky to go in that way," I commented to the others, however, before any of them could answer we heard the sound of a coach coming towards us. We ducked back into the shadows to watch. It stopped outside the prison and a lightly built figure dressed in what looked like riding breeches and a long, hooded cloak stepped down and was greeted by the guards on the door. There was something about him that was familiar, perhaps in the way he moved, but I could not immediately work out what it was. Then the door of the prison opened, and we saw a figure silhouetted against the light beyond. He extended his hand to the newcomer, and then they went inside.
"The man in the door looked like de Longueville," commented Fforbes, "although the other was unfamiliar. It certainly wasn't Lebec - he's a huge brute of a man."
"Our third mage, perhaps?" I wondered.
"He certainly had magic about him," commented Andrew, "although I was unfamiliar with the signature."
"So two of them at least are there," said Blake, grimly, "I think we have left it too late. Perhaps trying to take him in the morning will be more successful."
"With due respect, sir," said Roger, quietly, "the odds will still be the same then, if not worse, and we will not have the advantage of the cover of darkness." The tone of his voice was calm and commanding. Certainly not what you would expect from a normal servant. I saw Fforbes bristle again, but it was Andrew who spoke.
"I think he has a point," he commented, "but if we are going to move, it will have to be soon."
"Agreed," Blake seconded, and turned to Fforbes, "the hatch at the back, can we get in that way?"
"It will be a tight squeeze," he replied, "but hopefully one of us will be able to get in and then get to the main door. He looked at myself and Andrew, "one of you would be the better bet, probably you..." at which point he gestured towards me "...as you are younger."
Remember, Andrew by this time was considered to be in his seventies, and supposedly using the notoriously unstable youth spells to keep him young. I looked at my son, then back at Fforbes and nodded.
"So much for the mundane approach," I said to Fforbes, a touch of irony in my voice.
"If they have two of their mages in there, then we will have to use your methods to penetrate the place," he replied, obviously unhappy.
I put up a shield and turned myself invisible, then loosened my blade in its scabbard, checked the pistols I was carrying were loaded, and then started working my way carefully around to the back of the building to where Fforbes had said he had seen the hatchway, mentally preparing a sleep spell as I went. Soon I came in sight of the guards at the back, and could see the hatch between them in the ground. It certainly did not look particularly large.
I triggered the sleep spell, and was relieved to see both the men crumple and fall. Luck was also with me in as much as they fell to the ground, not onto the hatch. Then I cautiously approached my objective and let myself melt into the shadows cast by the wall. Bringing my magical sight to mind, I looked at the hatchway to see that it was protected in the same way as the skylight had been. Cursing under my breath, I settled down to try and break the wards as quickly, but as subtly as possible. Maybe, just maybe, if I was careful de Longueville would not notice until next time he checked them.
It took about ten minutes, but eventually I felt certain that I had succeeded. I had just brought another sleep spell to mind, in case there were any hostile forces in the room below me, when another alternative occurred to me. I rolled one of the sleeping guards over, then touched his forehead with my hand and slipped into his mind. It was jumbled - it is never easy to read the thoughts of someone who is asleep - but I managed to ascertain that there were four other men in the store room, plus at least thirty others stationed at various points in the prison. De Longueville was in charge of the magical preparations, and had quarters on the top floor of the prison, while my old friend Duvalier was in charge of the military.
I read the best route to the front door from his head, and also got some idea of where Francesco was being held. On the very lowest level, two stories below the ground floor, with a personal guard of six men hand picked by de Longueville and Duvalier. I got the impression from the man whose mind I was exploring, that he really could not see why they would assign so large a force to a man who was so weak that he could barely stand, and whose survival until the morning was apparently in some doubt.
Thus armed with information, I grabbed the handle of the hatch and pulled it up. Then I threw the sleep spell into the room, and let myself inside. Fforbes was right. It was a bloody tight squeeze, but I breathed in and let myself drop, landing as quietly as I could on the ground beneath me. Three of the guards were out cold, but one was still standing, and I saw him react as I landed. Obviously I had not been as quiet as I had wanted. Not having time to pull my punches, I drew and took him in the throat before his blade was out of its scabbard. Thankfully, he fell without a sound.
There was no way to close the hatch behind me, so I hoped that they weren't patrolling the perimeter, and then crossed to the door. I opened it very slightly and looked out. There were two men further up the corridor, but they appeared to be looking at each other, rather than down the corridor. More fool them. I opened the door wide enough to slip out, and then quietly closed it behind me. To my right was a staircase down, but at that point I needed the others' help.
I moved stealthily up the corridor and reached the stairway that headed upstairs. It opened into a hallway, again with two guards in it. They seemed alert, and as I walked towards the guard room by the main door, I saw one of them flinch and look in my direction. I froze, and after a minute or so he shook his head, as if he thought he was imagining it, and he made some comment to his friend about not having had enough sleep. I left them to it, and eventually reached the door which led into the main guard room. My luck was still holding. It was open.
I slipped inside, to see six alert looking guards, standing ready. Gently, I closed the door behind me, hoping that the other men would not notice, and then brought my blade to bear. The first two were dead before the others realised what was happening. Number three went down as they realised they could not see their attacker, and within seconds I had made a clean sweep. Only one had even managed to get his blade out of his scabbard. I waited by the door to the stairs for a few seconds, but could hear nothing, and then crossed to the front door and pulled it open, dropping the invisibility so that they could see my signal. Within seconds the guards outside were dead, my companions had joined me - dragging the bodies - and we had closed the door once more.
"He is on the bottom level, and most of the rest of their men are between us and him," I said, quietly, "there is no doubt that they are expecting us."
"Yet you have got this far," commented Fforbes, "something does not add up."
"I know. I imagine they're waiting for us."
"This is the last chance for any of you to back out," said Blake, looking at each of us. "if it is a trap, then I will not force any of you to walk into it with me." However, none of us moved to leave. He nodded, and smiled, "Thank you. Shall we go, gentlemen?"
"One moment," said Andrew, and I felt, rather than saw, an invisibility field go up around us. It would not be much use if we met the sorcerers, but until then it might give us some chance. Then we drew pistols and blades and crossed to the doorway leading to the stairway. I opened it slowly, but the nearer guard noticed almost immediately. He signalled to his companion and they came up the stairs, looking puzzled. I stepped back into the room, and as soon as they entered Andrew killed one and Fforbes the other. As I saw them strike, I was unaccountably amused at the idea of four peers of the English Realm dirtying their hands and playing assassin in a filthy, foul smelling French jail in the middle of the night, at the behest of another man's servant.
Once the men were dead, it was time to move deeper into the prison. We set off, myself and Blake at the front, Roger in the centre and Andrew and Fforbes at the rear, and moved cautiously down the stairs and along the corridor. In front of us I could see the door to the store room through which I had entered. We reached the staircase down, and descended as quietly as we could. Then we worked our way through the next level, dealing with those guards we saw, preferably by putting them to sleep, but killing them when there was no choice, and finally reached the stairs that would take us down to the lowest level.
And that was where our borrowed time ran out. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, de Longueville was there, pistol in hand flanked by six guards, one of whom was Duvalier. I tried to trigger one of the fireballs I had ready to throw, but as I did, I felt the energy drain away and nothing happened. At about the same time I realised that Andrew's invisibility spell was also down.
"Welcome, gentlemen," said the sorcerer, in reasonable if accented English.
Then from above us we heard the sound of footsteps coming downstairs, and realised we were finally caught like rats in a trap, and the next moment the guards were on us from above and below, and further up the stairs I thought I saw the hooded figure who had arrived earlier.
The five of us each had time for just one shot before the fight joined properly. I aimed for Duvalier, who took my bullet in his right shoulder. Pity, as I was aiming for his head. I saw Blake fire at de Longueville, but to no avail, and I saw one other man fall. Then it was too late and pistols were no longer any good, at least to us. The fight became one of close quarters.
My instinct was to head for de Longueville and Duvalier, to stop them getting into the cell to kill their prisoner. Unfortunately, three of the guards got between me and my quarries, and the time it took me to dispatch them, with the help of Roger, who had broken free of the others with me, was enough to give de Longueville the chance to aim and fire. I heard the report of the pistol, and in my peripheral vision I saw Fforbes fall like a stone. I dived towards de Longueville, and the sabre my father had given me took him in the abdomen - it has a habit of getting through shields a normal blade would not - but the move left me off-balance.
I tried to regain my footing, but by the time I had righted myself Duvalier and one of the other guards were on me. I felt the former's blade deliver a shallow cut to my upper right arm and knew that my shield was also gone. Then I heard a crackling in the air, and I felt something hit me. It caught me at the bottom of my rib cage on the right hand side of my chest, and lifted me backwards to land, stunned, on my back by one of the cell doors.
Almost immediately, I felt the cold steel of a blade at my throat, and felt the pressure as it began to cut. I kicked upwards, but that only served to make my assailant press still harder, and I could feel blood begin to flow. Then, mercifully, the pressure was gone, and I felt a heavy weight land on me. I fought my way clear of the body of a guard, a sword wound in his back, and I could see Roger duelling Duvalier a couple of feet away. Unfortunately, Francesco's manservant looked hard pressed.
Duvalier was good. Certainly better than his opponent, despite the bullet wound he had taken earlier, and while I reckoned that if I was on form I would be able to defeat him, in my current state I was less sure. Still, I was probably the best chance Roger had - a feeling that was confirmed when I saw Duvalier hit him in the thigh - so I forced myself back to at least some semblance of activity, and got slowly to my feet, picking up my blade as I rose.
I moved across and attracted Duvalier's attention, thereby easing the pressure on Roger, and took over the fight with my old enemy. He made a thrust at my chest, but I managed to parry it and score a hit on my riposte, grazing his sword arm. This, unfortunately, served to sharpen him up, not worry him, however I managed to stay ahead of his furious response, and soon scored a hit on his leg. We made a great pair, with him now limping and myself barely managing to stand, but we fought on regardless. Then I slowly saw an expression of recognition appearing on his face.
"You ARE that bastard du Harcoët," he growled, as if something I had done had confirmed a suspicion of his, and pressed his attack with renewed vigour. However, his zeal made him careless, and I managed to get my blade to connect under his sword arm, piercing his torso. His last look as he fell was one of hatred.
More guards appeared from nowhere at that point, despite the fact that Andrew by then was standing at the foot of the stairs, preventing further incursions from that direction. They were obviously being teleported in from elsewhere in the building, but I could not see the mage who was doing it. One glance at de Longueville told me that he was taking no part in these, or any future proceedings. Then the flow of newcomers stopped once more.
I breathed a sigh of relief that the sorcerer was down, and brought to mind a spell that would knock our other attackers out. However, as I triggered it, the energy again drained away. I cursed, loudly. Either the null-field spell was one of those rare spells that continues to run after the death of its caster (wards are the only common one) or the mage casting the field on us was still active. If the latter was the case, though, how had I been hurt by a magical attack - unless the unknown sorcerer was good enough to cancel and re-cast spells in less than a minute, rather than the normal two or three. At that point in my career, even I could not do that, especially if I was tired.
My reverie was interrupted as two of the opposition's reinforcements crossed to me to keep me busy. I brought my blade to bear once more, and defended myself.
What more can I say? After the last batch of soldiers teleported in, no further reinforcements were forthcoming. Looking around the carnage in that darkened hall way once the last one was dead, I could count seventeen bodies, not including the fallen form of Lawrence Fforbes. These, coupled with the ones I had killed or slept on my way in in the first place, and those we had dispatched as a group, accounted for the majority of the thirty men supposedly posted at the prison. I would have still felt happier knowing what had happened to the other mage, though.
"Have we beaten them?" asked Andrew, his bloody sword still in his hand, looking around in much the same way as I was.
"I don't know," I replied, leaning heavily against one of the cell doors. I glanced around once more as Blake crossed to kneel by Fforbes, "I am more inclined to think that their remaining mage has backed off, although I cannot immediately think why."
"Why in damnation weren't the spells I was trying to throw working?" continued my son, annoyed.
"Either de Longueville or the other knows de Vassigny's null-field. Seeing as the former is now dead, I suspect it is the latter," I said, then looked across at Blake. "How is he?" I enquired, indicating Fforbes.
"He's gone," came the reply, a grim look on Blake's features.
"More important, how are you?" asked Andrew as he crossed to stand beside me.
"Not good. Let's get Francesco and get the Hell out of here. Where's Roger?"
"The door to Germain's cell is open. He is probably in there already," replied Blake, getting to his feet. Cautiously, we moved towards the cell, and Andrew looked in. Then he froze in the doorway.
"What is it?" I asked, but he did not answer. It was as if he could not hear me. Blake and I moved in to back him up, and I took a glance around the door. Francesco was lying bleeding in the centre of the cell. Roger, like Andrew, was frozen in his tracks and we could see the figure of the hooded mage in there, crouched over the fallen man with a dagger in his gloved hand.
"Please, join us," came a half familiar, but obviously disguised voice which had a strangely commanding tone. Andrew, like a zombie, stepped into the cell and crossed to Roger, and I saw Blake moving to do the same. I looked around, and saw a fallen pistol on the floor. As quickly as I could, I picked it up and threw it at Blake, hitting him on the temple which knocked him to his senses. He realised what he had been about to do and stepped back and blocked his ears so he could not hear any more.
"You are inconvenient, de Lacy," said the mage, softly, "and if you do not step in here I will kill your son."
At that point I heard Andrew scream in pain and clasp his hands around his stomach as if he was hurt in the abdomen.
"Alright, let them go," I said, and stepped forwards into the room, "what do you want?"
"You. You aren't going to get away this time," came the reply, and the figure turned towards me. What little I could see of the face was pale, and I could make out no features, but there was something about it that felt wrong. Off to my left, I saw Roger and Andrew fall, like puppets whose strings had been cut, and then my son curled up into a foetal position, still clutching his abdomen as if to protect against the pain.
"Let them go," I said.
"They will be fine," came the reply, and then the pain hit me. It felt as if my insides were suddenly afire and burning. I cried out, and dropped to my knees, weaker than usual because of the hooded mage's first attack against me.
"Good," said the voice, "crawling on the floor where you belong you murdering bastard..."
"Who did I murder?" I managed to croak, trying my damnedest to remain conscious despite the pain.
"My lover and my teacher," came the reply. However, before my assailant could go any further, I saw Francesco move. He grabbed the sorcerer's wrist, the one above the hand holding the dagger, in his right hand and squeezed. From where I was kneeling, I heard the bones break, and I heard a scream. Then there was a flash of flame, and the mage disappeared. And through the haze of pain that still surrounded me, it dawned on me that the scream was feminine.
"De Lacy, are you alright?" asked Blake, finally coming into the room.
"Not even vaguely," I replied, "but I will be. The pain seems to be subsiding."
Andrew and Roger were on their feet first, though, and while the former came over to me and helped me up, the latter crossed to his master. Francesco was unconscious again, as if the effort of diverting the mage had been too much for him. I could see the bruising I had noticed earlier, but more important now was a dagger wound in the left side of his chest. Looking at the injury, I reckoned that the best he could hope for was a punctured lung.
"We have to get out of here," said Andrew, helping me to my feet.
"What state are the wards in?" I asked, incapable of checking myself. He paused for a moment, then replied.
"Still up, however, I reckon I can teleport us up to the guard room at the front, and from there we should be able to get out."
Roger picked up his master, while Andrew laid a steadying hand on my shoulder, and we stepped out of the cell. Blake then picked up Fforbes's body, and Andrew concentrated for a short while, before we all transferred up to the room he had decided on. Thankfully, no one was there but the dead guards. Then Blake crossed to the door, opened it and looked out.
"Nothing," he said, a little surprised, "perhaps they were unable to send a messenger."
We stepped outside, and I found myself gulping down the air outside. However bad it was, it was better than the foul stench inside the prison.
"That's it. We have leave Paris now and get back to England," I said, gritting my teeth against the pain, "Andrew, can you do the honours? I'm not sure I am able to make the distance just at this moment."
He nodded, and began to concentrate, presumably bringing an image of a safe haven to mind.
"No, sir," said Roger, quietly but firmly, still holding Francesco, "we must return to the house."
"What?" asked Blake, gasping.
"It is the only chance my master has of recovering," he replied.
"This is crazy, Roger," I said, angry and hurting.
"No, sir," he said with a quiet confidence, "remember what I told you earlier."
I looked at him, his face implacable, and then turned to Andrew. "Get the others out of here," I said.
"Done," he replied, and seconds later I saw him disappear with Blake, who was still carrying Fforbes's body.
Then I brought an image of the house in Montmartre to mind with some degree of difficulty, as my faculties still felt scrambled from both the lightning bolt and the later attack, but I eventually succeeded in taking us most of the way there. We bounced off the wards and materialised in the street near the front door. Roger handed me the keys, and I went to unlock the door while he brought Francesco. Once we were inside, he carried his master upstairs to his room, and laid him on his bed. I locked the door behind us and followed more slowly, each step harder than the last. Finally I got to my friend's room and leant on the door jamb to stop myself falling.
"This should give him a chance to recover," he commented as he closed the curtains and then rejoined me.
"He's hurt, and he needs medical attention," I protested.
"So, sir, do you," he replied, "and of the two of you, I suspect you are in the greater need. Once my master has rested he should be somewhat restored, but you need the help of a physician."
"At least the bolt cauterised the wound, and I am able to heal myself," I answered, although I felt sufficiently tired and hurt that I was not sure I could do it there and then.
"Only if you can concentrate long enough," he replied, "there are some compounds in the store room that should help you in the short term. Then once you, too, have rested you can finish the procedure."
I did not protest further, because common sense suggested he was right. Instead he helped me back to my rooms where I collapsed on the bed, the burns aching as I tried to lay down. I don't know when Roger returned, as I was asleep long before he came back.
When I awoke, the pain had lessened and the wounds had been dressed. I spent a couple of minutes magically repairing the damage, and then got up. I washed, dressed and headed downstairs, where I found Francesco sitting at the kitchen table, clad simply in black. I had to admit that he looked considerably better than he had when we had brought him in, and much of the vigour I expected to see in him was back although he was still pale from the blood loss he had suffered. However, at least those injuries that were visible looked somewhat healed.
"Thank you, Robert," he said, standing to offer me his hand as he saw me and smiling. I took it and was pleased that his grip felt firm, "I owe you a favour."
"I have to admit that it was a close run thing," I commented, "and I would recommend that we leave Paris at the first opportunity. The only reason we came back here at all was at Roger's insistence, and then we had to trust that the wards I had put in place would hold as I was in no state to reinforce them."
"It was necessary," Francesco's manservant said, in a matter of fact way.
"It still strikes me as a risk we should not have taken," I answered, "seeing as they know where you live. I am somewhat surprised that they did not try to hit the place during the night."
"I am afraid I must concur with Roger, for my own purely selfish reasons," Francesco said, quietly, "and from what he has said it sounds as if you needed the rest also."
"That is as maybe," I muttered, unconvinced, "however, is there any reason why we should not leave now?"
"There is one piece of unfinished business I would like to attend to," came my friend's reply, "the person who betrayed me." His voice was ice cold as he said it, and his eyes were burning with their old fire. At that moment I realised that whoever his enemy was, he was unlikely to survive the encounter. "But, I appreciate the press of time, so I shall attempt to be as quick as possible. In the meantime, would you be willing to help Roger prepare for our departure?"
"Certainly, if it will speed our departure. Do you have any preference of destination?"
"England will be fine. Perhaps if you were willing to allow me to store some of my possessions at your house in London..."
"That shouldn't be a problem, I replied.
"Excellent. Now, I should be going. I can tell that the house is well warded - a nice job, by the way - so I have no fears for yours or Roger's safety. As I said, I will return as soon as I can."
With that he went upstairs briefly. As he returned through the kitchen I could see that he was sporting a light cloak and a new disguise spell. "Until later," he said, and headed out of the back door.
Once he was gone, Roger and I set about packing up those items that were worth taking with us. We were undisturbed, except by a messenger who brought a communication from Suzanne, saying that she would be joining us that afternoon, and requesting that we take her with us when we left.
As we finished sorting out and packing up the items from each room, I teleported them back to one of the guest rooms in my London house, until soon all that was left was the bare furniture - the exception to the latter being Francesco's room, where Roger had asked me to remove even that. His master returned at about three o'clock, and I noticed when he arrived that the cloak was torn and dirty.
"How are the preparations going?" he asked, amicably, although I thought that under his calm façade I could detect a slight air of tension.
"They are very nearly completed, sir," replied Roger, "just a few minutes longer."
"Good," he said, briskly, "I must admit, I will not be sorry to see the back of Paris for a while, although I will miss this house." At which point he took a last glance around the kitchen.
"What about Suzanne?" I reminded them, "she asked to come with us, and we owe her that much...we would not have found you without her help."
"I am afraid that Citoyenne du Près will be a little delayed, so we will have to go on without her," replied Francesco, his face strangely unreadable, "shall we finish the preparations?"
About two weeks later, I attended a party hosted by the Earl of Richmond at his house by the river near Putney. Many of the French emigrants were in attendance, as was François Germain whose escape from Paris, courtesy of the League, was still the talk of our social circle. The tragic death of Lawrence Fforbes in a hunting accident in early May threw something of a dampener on proceedings, though.
During the evening, I caught sight of Jean-Paul, and was surprised to see that instead of his usual flamboyant clothing he was dressed simply, in dark colours, and his expression was melancholy. Curious, I crossed to speak with him.
"You seem a little preoccupied tonight," I commented, offering him a glass of wine.
"Yes, I have just received some rather bad news from a friend in Paris," he replied, absently.
"Most of the news coming out of Paris is bad, it seems."
"True, but this is somewhat more personal," came his answer, "you knew my sister, didn't you?"
"Somewhat, yes," I replied, curious at his use of the past tense.
"She returned to Paris about five or six weeks ago, and had been regularly writing to me. Then the letters stopped. Naturally, I was somewhat concerned, taking into account what a hotbed of trouble the city is at the moment, and I asked some acquaintances if they could find out what had happened to her." At that he paused for a moment, obviously trying to regain his composure, which was rapidly failing, before continuing. "I learned today that she has been found dead. Her body was washed up on the left bank, near the Pont Royal...Robert, she had been strangled and her neck was broken," he said, the words catching in his throat, as he tried to suppress a sob, "some bastard murdered her."