Valentine Lives!
The Sahara, July 30, 1793
Mireille staggered with exhaustion as she stepped off the boat at Tripoli. During the whole journey from Paris, by way of Marseille, she had hardly been able to sleep, and when she did, she was haunted by nightmares of that horrific night when she had killed Marat, in revenge for her beloved cousin Valentine's death. From lack of sleep, she had dark circles under her green eyes, which were puffy and red from crying. Her red hair, once so lustrous and beautiful, lay in strings down her back. She looked much older than her eighteen years.
Her legs had not gotten used to being on dry ground again. She had not gotten off the ship the whole time since she had left Paris on the very day that Charlotte Corday had gone to the guillotine in her place, except for one brief stop in Marseille. She shuddered at the thought: another death that would always weigh on her mind. And all for the sake of the Montglane Service: the legendary chess set that had once belonged to Charlemagne, and which had been buried for a thousand years at Montglane Abbey in the Pyrenees, where she and Valentine had spent their whole lives until the Revolution, and the closure of the abbey, forced them to leave. They had carried some of the pieces with them to their uncle Jacques-Louis David's house in Paris, where they had buried them in the garden. The pieces had been safe there, or so they thought, until a letter from one of the nuns had changed everything and led them to the prison of L'Abbaye, where Marat, obsessed with obtaining the pieces for himself, had ordered Valentine's death. Mireille knew the Montglane Service contained a secret of extraordinary power. What the secret was, no one knew yet, but ever since Valentine's death, Mireille had made it her mission in life to discover it.
But she had never known, until the moment she stabbed Marat in his bathtub, that her quest would lead her to kill a man. She had not thought she was capable of that. Her friend Shahin, a Tuareg, who had accompanied her in her journey throught the desert in Algeria, the place where the Montglane Service had originated, had told her she would kill a man, and she hadn't believed him. In fact, all her life she had been frightened at the sight of blood. But Shahin had been right, after all.
She had spent the voyage to Tripoli locked in her cabin, without saying a word to any of her fellow passengers, and she had refused food. She looked as thin as a rail, she knew. Many times she longed for death. But she kept remembering what Charlotte Corday had told her in the prison, when they had changed places: that she, Mireille, was the Black Queen in the Game which was being played for the Montglane Service, and she was the one who had to live, to complete the quest and discover the secret. She looked at the birthmark that looked like a figure 8 on the palm of her right hand-her murderer's hand, she thought with horror. As Charlotte had explained, the Black Queen in the Game always had that figure 8 on her hand, and her birthday was always the fourth of April, as Mireille's was, and as the Abbess of Montglane's was. Her beloved Abbess, who had brought her and Valentine up as if they had been her own daughters, had been the previous Black Queen, but she had resigned from the Game and gone to Russia, to the court of the empress Catherine the Great, the Abbess' childhood friend. Mireille wondered if the Abbess would find out what she had done. How ashamed she would be of her, Mireille thought.
The last time she'd stepped onto dry ground had been in Marseille. She hadn't wanted to leave her cabin, but the captain had convinced her that she needed some fresh air and ground beneath her feet. But she'd been terrified the whole time-terrified that somehow people would find out it had been she, and not Charlotte, who had killed Marat. As soon as she got off the ship, she found the nearest inn, where she drank the strongest wine she possibly could and looked through all the newspapers she could find. But there was nothing about her in them, she was relieved to discover. She read that Charlotte had gone to the guillotine very bravely. For the sake of her friend, she was glad, but it weighed on her mind that Charlotte had died for her sake, and she had let it happen.
In another newspaper, she read, in the list of recent arrivals, that her friends the Bonapartes had arrived in Marseille after being exiled from Corsica. Briefly she thought about paying a visit to her good friend Elisa Bonaparte, but then she shook her head. "No!" she thought. "What would Elisa think of me? I never could keep a secret from her. She won't want to be my friend any more, now that I've killed a man." She conveniently forgot that Elisa had several soldier brothers, who had probably killed men in battle. So she decided to cut short her stay in Marseille, in case she ran into Elisa. She stopped briefly at a bookseller's stall to buy some books, which she hoped would take her mind off what she'd done. She'd always been able to find solace in books before. Then she went back to the ship and locked herself into her cabin until they docked in Tripoli. During the voyage, she tried to read. It didn't help.
Now she'd arrived in Tripoli, where she hoped to begin the next stage of her journey. She knew that, eventually, she would have to go to England and be reunited with her lover, Talleyrand, to whom she had given the pieces after she'd dug them out of Jacques-Louis David's garden. But she had found out from Marat, just before she killed him, that she had a new enemy in England, a mysterious woman named Catherine Grand, the White Queen in the Game. She needed to bring Shahin with her to protect her. And she would never again leave her infant son, Charlot, the red-haired baby who, Shahin had told her, was destined to be a prophet for his people.
"Mireille!" she heard a shout from the dock, and then she saw them: Shahin, a tall, light haired man wearing a long black robe and an indigo turban on his head and, in his arms, her three-month-old son. She ran to them and covered her son's face with kisses, but then she drew back in horror. The poor boy had a murderer for a mother. He didn't deserve that! What kind of a mother would she be to him, knowing what she had done?
"Charlot, my son!" she cried, stroking his hair. "I thought I'd never see you again. I don't deserve you!"
"Mireille, please calm yourself," said Shahin in his deep voice. She looked into his bronze-colored eyes, and at his pale face which so resembled the peregrine falcon for which he was named.
Mireille threw her arms around him. "Shahin!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am to see you!"
"I am glad as well," he said in his own language, Kabyle, which Mireille had learned from him in an extraordinarily brief time. "The monster is dead. But we didn't know at first if it was you or Charlotte Corday who killed him. The newspapers, of course, said it was she. But I can tell from your face it was you. I am glad of it. You did what you were meant to do, as I told you all along."
Mireille shook her head. "No, you don't understand. I've killed a man. And Charlotte Corday went to the guillotine in my place. I can't live with myself after that."
"Yes, you can. You were very brave, and you've saved thousands of innocent lives. I am very proud of you. And you will be able to live with yourself, believe me. I've killed men in battle, every time my tribe fought with another. The first time was when I was just a boy, even younger than you. I thought I couldn't live with myself after that, but I did. You will learn to, as well."
Mireille shook her head. "No, I won't."
"You will. I've never met a woman as strong as you, and I have met some very strong women. The women of the Bonaparte family, for one. But come, we must begin our journey back to my home, Tassili n'Ajjer. And when we get there, I have a surprise for you."
They spent the next several weeks traveling from Tripoli to Tassili n'Ajjer in Algeria. Mireille was glad to see the red desert once again. It was a place of great beauty, and very soothing to her eyes, and her emotions. She could almost forget what she had done-almost. Shahin had brought her falcon, whose name was Charlot, the same as her son's, with him, as well as his own falcon, and they used the falcons to hunt for food on the way. Mireille remembered how, when she had first captured the falcon, she had been afraid to make her mark on him, and Shahin had told her, "How will you find the strength to kill a man, when you cannot even make your mark on a bird?" And she had replied, "Kill a man? Never!" He had said, "Don't tell me you will not kill this man. I can smell the revenge in you, the way I can smell a storm in the desert." Shahin had known her better than she knew herself.
They slept by the fire at night, but Mireille's sleep was, as always, haunted by nightmares. Shahin tried to comfort her as best he could. He said, "We were very glad to hear the news, that that monster was dead at last."
"We?" she asked. "Is there someone else sharing your tent?"
He nodded.
"Who?"
He smiled. "I'm not going to tell you that until we get there."
"Shahin, don't play games with me. I know you have a wife. Or wives, is it? Is one of them staying with you?"
He shook his head. "As a matter of fact, I have only one wife, but she is in the village now. No, it's someone else. But I will say no more. When you see who it is, you will know why."
Mireille shook her head, figuring he must have his reasons for not telling her, and tried to go to sleep, but images of Marat came into her mind again, and she couldn't sleep. She tried reading one of the books she'd bought in Marseille: a volume of Herodotus which contained a description of the desert where she now was, but she couldn't focus her mind. "Perhaps some lighter reading would do?" she wondered, and pulled out another book, a popular romance called Paul et Virginie. She read the whole book in one night and admitted she enjoyed it, but as soon as she was finished, her mind returned to what she had done.
"You will feel better once you get there, and see who's waiting for you," said Shahin. And they continued on their journey, until they finally arrived at the Tassili n'Ajjer, and Shahin's tent.
"Here we are," said Shahin as he opened the flap of the tent. "Come, Mireille, step inside and see who's here."
Mireille followed Shahin into the tent. He lit a lantern, and she followed the light until she saw... Her heart leapt up into her throat and she felt her breath taken away from her. No, it couldn't be! The pale, fragile, blond-haired figure of her beloved cousin Valentine stood before her, dressed in a white robe, with her hair cascading down her back. Valentine, who had been beheaded before her own eyes in the prison massacres in Paris, almost a year ago. A ghost? Mireille had never believed in ghosts, not really, even though some of the Abbess' stories made her wonder.
And then she heard what was clearly her cousin's voice. "Mireille!" she exclaimed. Valentine's blue eyes lit up like the light of the sun as she threw her arms around her. "Oh, Mireille! I've missed you so!"
Mireille returned her embrace, afraid at first she'd be embracing thin air, but she felt the very real body of her beloved cousin in her arms. "Valentine?" she asked, her voice breaking with emotion. "How could it be? You... you're alive!" Tears flowed down her cheeks. "You're really alive? Not a ghost?"
"As alive as I ever was." Valentine smiled. And her smile lit up the tent like a thousand candles.
"But... but how can it be? I was lying right on top of you when the axe fell." Mireille shuddered at the memory. She gazed into Valentine's face and stroked her cousin's soft blond hair, to convince herself it was real.
"Ah, but it wasn't me," said Valentine. She held Mireille close, and they clung to each other for what seemed an eternity.
Shahin smiled and joined their embrace. "All will be explained, don't worry. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "But come, let's have a meal together first. Mireille, it will be good to have a real meal again, instead of eating whatever our falcons caught, won't it?" Mireille nodded, unable to speak. She and Valentine, arm-in-arm, walked over to a corner and held each other like two survivors of a shipwreck while Shahin prepared the meal. Words could not express their emotion, they were so overwhelmed. Her beloved cousin, alive all this time! thought Mireille.
After a delicious meal of chicken and couscous, Mireille and Shahin told Valentine about their journey from Tripoli, even though neither mentioned Mireille's killing of Marat and the guilt she felt, or her lack of sleep over it, even though Valentine must have seen how pale and exhausted she looked. When they were finished speaking of their journey, Mireille said, "Now Valentine, you must tell me what's happened to you. How is it that you're still alive? I can still hardly believe my eyes!"
Shahin said, "I must excuse myself and go to sleep. You two have much to say to each other. I will leave you to it." Each of the girls embraced Shahin and wished him good night. He carried the baby Charlot with him into his part of the tent.
Mireille turned to her cousin. "Valentine! Oh, my dearest Valentine! How did you escape from the prison? And what have you been doing all this time? How did you meet up with Shahin? How do you like my son? He should really be your son, you know. And," she shuddered at the thought, "do you know what I've been doing all this time?" Then the thought ran through her head: Valentine didn't know she'd killed Marat. How could she keep such a terrible secret from her cousin? But, if Mireille told her, what would Valentine think of her? She couldn't bear to lose her cousin's love.
Valentine interrupted her thoughts with a giggle. She sounded like her old, girlish self, and Mireille was glad to hear it. "One thing at a time, Mireille. First of all, I love your son. He is the most delightful child in the world. That's by far the easiest question to answer. Now, for the rest, let me tell you my story."
VALENTINE'S TALE
Mireille, do you remember the young priest who helped me in the prison? The one who tore you out of the grip of the soldier who was holding you back when you were trying to get to me? Yes, I can see you do. Well, he saved my life that day. He gave his life for mine, and I will always be grateful to him. When you were shouting at Marat and begging him to spare my life, the young priest shoved me aside and whispered in my ear, "Run!" I saw he was pointing in the opposite direction from where you were facing.
"What?" I asked, too shocked to say much else.
"Do you want to be killed? Run, now!" And he pushed me in the direction he wanted me to go, just as Marat ordered my death sentence to be carried out. I didn't turn back to see, but he took my place, and so it was his body you threw yourself across just as the axe fell. Marat was too busy gloating over my death to notice it wasn't me.
I ran out of the prison as quickly as I could, not knowing where I was going. The only thought that ran through my mind was that I wanted to get back to you as soon as I could. As far as I knew, you were still in Marat's hands, and our uncle Jacques-Louis was absolutely useless, as always, sobbing over the table where Marat stood. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I whispered a prayer that you would be safe.
And then I felt someone tug at my sleeve, and I saw a boy of about ten or twelve, who looked like an Arab. "Come with me," he said.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"You are Valentine de Remy, aren't you?" he said, not answering my question.
"Yes."
"Then your life is still in great danger. We must get you out of France. There's no time to lose. Come quickly!"
"But how do you know who I am? I've never seen you before in my life!"
"The Game extends all over the world. We players come to recognize each other. Come, my father wants to speak with you."
"Who is your father?"
"A player in the Game, if only a minor one. He will take you to safety. But you must hurry!"
He ran through the narrow streets and I followed him, holding on to his hand through every twist and turn. "But what about my cousin Mireille? She's still in the prison, in that horrible man's hands! I've got to rescue her!"
"Your cousin is safe. She's out of Marat's hands now. That's all you need to know. My father will explain the rest."
"She's really safe? Oh, thank God!"
He nodded. Then he opened the door of a very seedy-looking inn in a narrow side street. The place reeked of strong liquor and vomit. There were bugs crawling all over the floor. A thoroughly disgusting place! The boy sat me down at a shabby-looking table and said, "Wait here. I will bring my father." Then a handsome soldier sat down across from me, and I started flirting with him.
"Valentine!" Mireille interrupted. "You had just escaped from death, and you were flirting with a soldier?"
"I can't help myself." Valentine laughed. "Just like you can't help reproaching me, just like old times." And she continued her tale:
The soldier and I were holding hands, and he offered me a glass of wine. It was vile, sour stuff. The worst wine I've ever tasted. I could barely get it down. Then the soldier and I laughed about how bad the wine at this inn was. But a tall, turbaned man, an Arab, came in, told the soldier to leave, and took his place at the table. This was obviously the father of the boy who'd brought me here, and his son sat at the table next to him. "Valentine de Remy?" he asked.
I nodded.
"My son told me how you barely escaped from the prison massacres. You are a very lucky young woman. But your life is still in great danger, and we must get you to safety, far from France. As long as Marat lives, he will move Heaven and Earth to have you killed, for the sake of the pieces."
"You know about the pieces? The Montglane Service?"
"Yes, I have known about them all my life. My people have much knowledge of the secret behind them. After all, the Montglane Service originated in my land, Algeria."
"Algeria!"
"Yes. I am an Arab, as I'm sure you can tell, but I have a friend named Shahin, who lives in the Tassili n'Ajjer, the land of the ancient cave paintings. He's a Tuareg, a Blue Man of the Desert. His people are called that because of the indigo veils they wear, which stain their skin. The Tuareg people have made quite a study of the Montglane Service, and Shahin is a major player in the Game. It was he who sent my son and me here to rescue you. You must go to him in Algeria, and he will protect you."
"But that's so far away!"
"There's a ship waiting right now that will take you to Tripoli. We must not lose any time."
"But what about my cousin Mireille? I can't leave her behind! She's in danger, too. Your son said she's safe now, but for how much longer? Marat will want to kill her, too, just like he wants to kill me, for the pieces. And I've never been anywhere without Mireille! She's always protected me." I was sobbing violently now.
"My son is right. Mireille is safe for now. But she cannot come with you. She has a very important task to perform, and in order to do it, she must believe you are dead."
"What? You're not even going to tell her I'm alive?"
"We cannot. It is very important that she believe you are dead. Otherwise she will never be able to accomplish the task she is destined to perform."
"Why not? Mireille can do anything! She's a thousand times stronger than me."
"You are stronger than you know, Valentine. But this task would be repulsive to her, if she knew you were still alive."
"I don't understand."
"You're not meant to, yet. But all will come clear in time. And as soon as her task is accomplished, you will see her again. Come, now. We must get you on that ship."
And so they led me to the docks, to a ship headed for Tripoli. After a relatively uneventful voyage, we disembarked there, and Shahin came to meet me. I was afraid of him at first, I must admit. He was so tall and imposing, with that dark, mysterious indigo veil, and his face like a falcon. I can tell by your face that you weren't the least intimidated when you first met him, but you've never been easily intimidated. And so he led me on the journey across the Atlas Mountains and through the desert, probably very similar to the one you took later on.
That journey was a nightmare, Mireille! I'm sure you took to the desert as if you'd lived there all your life, but I hated every minute of it. So hot during the day, I thought I was going to burn up, and so cold at night, I thought I would freeze to death. And having to sleep in a tent every night! I longed for the comfort of my bed. Shahin tried his best to teach me to train a falcon, but I couldn't, and he ended up having to hunt for both of us. I see by the look on your face that you love your falcon. He's a magnificent bird, I must admit, but birds of prey terrify me. And the food we had to eat! Nothing but lizards and small birds, more bone than meat. I don't think you especially liked it, either, but at least you put up with it better than I did.
But those magnificent cave paintings! They almost made up for that horrible journey. Aren't they amazing? To think that they're thousands of years old, and they still look like they did the day those ancient people painted them. I thought our uncle Jacques-Louis would have loved them, but that reminded me what a coward he is. I'd rather not think of him. I can tell the same thought ran through your mind. But I had the hardest time climbing up the mountains to get to them. I kept stumbling, and Shahin saved my life more often than you know. I'm sure you had no problem climbing, even though now I know you were with child at the time. I remember from our days in the Pyrenees that you were always a natural climber, and you always had to help me.
What are you asking? Did the paintings sing to me? Shahin told me they do that sometimes, but I didn't hear it. I think it happens only on particular days. I can see they sang to you. That shows how special you are. Don't shake your head at me! You really are!
Anyway, it came as a great relief to me when we finally reached the village. Shahin's wife and I got along together as soon as we met, even though she doesn't speak French and I don't speak that language of theirs, Kabyle, and so Shahin always had to translate. Of course you learned their language. I heard you and Shahin chattering away in it when you came in, and you sounded like you'd been speaking it all your life, just like he has. How long did it take you to learn it? Four months? The way you pick up languages, I thought so!
After Shahin introduced me to his wife, he said, "You must stay here, Valentine, and never leave the village until I say so. It may be a very long time. Perhaps even close to a year."
"A year! I can't stay here that long! Living in a tent and eating that horrible food! I'd rather go back to France, even if my life isn't safe from Marat."
"No, it is extremely important that you stay here. And absolutely vital that you should not see Mireille until her task is accomplished. My friend told you that already. Mireille will come here one day, and eventually you will be reunited. But not until she does what she has to do."
"What is this task? You've got to tell me!"
"I will at the appropriate time. All I can say is that all our lives, and the future of the world, depend on it. If she fails, the Montglane Service will fall into the hands of our enemies. You know how evil they are. Just think what they would do if they learned the secret of the Montglane Service. The world as we know it would come to an end."
I couldn't help but gape in wonder. "It's that important?"
"Yes."
"Can't I do it?"
"I don't doubt you could, but it is not your assigned task. It's your cousin's. You have your role in the Game, and she has hers."
"And you have yours as well."
"Exactly."
"So what do I have to do now?"
"Just stay here and get to know the people of our village. That shouldn't be too hard for you. You're always made friends easily. I know you have a hard time with the language, but there are a few others besides myself who speak French. And you'll be able to communicate with hand gestures. You'll see."
And so I did. Shahin's wife became a good friend to me. I know you've never met her, and now I know why. Shahin had to keep us apart, you with him and me with his wife. I made other friends in the village as well, including some young men. Oh, don't look at me that way, Mireille! It was nothing serious. Shahin's wife taught me to cook the kind of food they eat here, and I have to say I came to enjoy their food very much, once I realized it wasn't just lizards and bony little birds. I love couscous, and I can make a good couscous with chicken or lamb, I must admit. I can see you love it, too. But I was horribly worried about you the whole time. Shahin refused to tell me what your task was, but I knew it was terribly dangerous. I also knew, though, that if anyone could do it, it would be you.
The months went by, and my life in the village continued rather uneventfully. It was in January that Shahin left to cross the desert to Tripoli. He wouldn't tell me at the time why he needed to go, and his wife couldn't explain. Even if we spoke each other's language, of course, she wouldn't have been allowed to tell me. Now I know that he was going to meet you, and lead you on your journey across the desert, where you gave birth to your son-dear little Charlot. If I'd known he was going to meet you, I would have insisted on going with him, of course. But now I know that would have ruined everything. It wasn't until after you left again, in June, that I knew you had been here. Shahin came back to us, with Charlot. I was amazed to see him! I took care of him as if he'd been my own, with help from Shahin's wife. But I was angry with Shahin at first. "Mireille was here, and you didn't even tell me!" I shouted.
"Calm down, Valentine," he said. "I couldn't let you see each other. Her task is still unaccomplished."
"Then why did she come here?"
"To learn a secret. The secret behind the Montglane Service. Which she has. And to give birth to her son, who was destined to be born here. And now she's gone back to France to fulfill her task."
I shook my head. "Always this task of hers! Won't you tell me what it is? No? And why is it taking her so long?"
"I think she does not yet know what has to be done. But she will, soon enough."
"You mean she doesn't know what her task is? But she's always been so intelligent! Much more so than me."
"It's not a matter of intelligence. It's a matter of necessity. She doesn't yet feel the necessity. But she will soon. And I gave her a clue when she was in the desert with me. She was repelled by it, though. I told you, it's something she will never do, unless she thinks you're dead. That's all you need to know. And, as I keep telling you, it will come clear in time. And then you will see her again. It will not be much longer now. Perhaps even within a month."
And so I waited restlessly, worried to death about you. And then one day Shahin came into our tent with the newspapers. He was overjoyed. I'd never seen him look so happy before. As you know, his face is always so impassive, and impossible to read. Such a man of mystery! But he was grinning from ear to ear, and practically started dancing, if you can believe it. He embraced his wife and me, and said, "At last it is done! The monster is dead!"
"The monster?" I asked.
"Marat, of course. The man who almost killed you, and would have, if my friends hadn't rescued you."
"That horrible man! Thank God he's dead! We're safe now! But tell me, how did it happen?"
He showed me the newspaper. I'm so glad he got one in French. He had another one, in Kabyle, to show his wife. It said that Marat had been stabbed in his bathtub, and it was our old friend Charlotte Corday who did it. I was very glad when I heard the news, I must tell you. But Shahin was shaking his head. "Something's not right," he said.
"What do you mean? What could not be right? It's the best possible news there could be! I can go back to France now, and see Mireille again!"
"It wasn't Charlotte Corday who was meant to kill him."
"What do you mean?"
"I think it didn't happen the way the newspapers said. I need to find out more. I must leave for Tripoli at once! If I'm right, your cousin will be here very soon. But if I'm wrong..."
"Mireille? But isn't she safe in France now? Let me come with you! I want to join her."
"No, she's coming here. At least, I pray that she is. If not... Let's not think of that. And if I'm right, neither of you will be safe in France for quite some time."
"Why?"
"Marat had allies. This evil man Robespierre, for example, who some say is even worse than he was. You've never encounted Robespierre, but he's in the Game, too. He will want to avenge Marat's death."
"So Charlotte will go to the guillotine?"
"I'm afraid so. She probably already has. But my worst fear is that Charlotte won't be the only one. Someone much more dear to you..."
"Mireille?" I exclaimed in horror.
He nodded. "We must pray that she will be on that ship in Tripoli. If she isn't, I fear the worst." And I saw a glint of tears in his eyes, if you can believe that. I don't think he's ever cried in his life.
"Shahin, why is Mireille in such danger? With Marat dead, isn't she safe? Yes, I know Robespierre is still alive, but he isn't as much of a danger to her as Marat, right?"
"Valentine, if I'm right, it was Mireille who killed Marat. You see, that was the task she had to do."
"Oh, I hope it was Mireille! I'd be so proud of her if it was!"
"That's what I hope to find out." And so we embraced, and he left to meet the ship in Tripoli.
"Now tell me, Mireille," said Valentine, "were you the one who killed Marat?"
Mireille shuddered. She was as pale as a sheet. Slowly she nodded, and her voiced cracked as she spoke. "Yes, I was. I killed Marat."
Valentine embraced her. "Oh, Mireille, I'm so proud of you! You've saved us all! Except poor Charlotte, of course. What happened? Did you and she trade places or something? You always did look very much alike."
"Yes, that's what happened. She visited me in prison, just an hour or so before I was supposed to go to the guillotine, and told me I was the one who had to live. You see, Valentine, she told me I'm the Black Queen!"
"You're the Black Queen? I thought it was the Abbess."
"She was the Black Queen, but she's resigned from the Game and given her place to me. And of course, my birthday is the fourth of April and I have the birthmark with the figure 8 on my palm, just like she does."
"Of course! Why didn't I see it in the first place. Silly me! I've never been nearly as intelligent as you! Or as brave. Oh, Mireille, you're my hero!" And she embraced her cousin once again.
Mireille shook her head. "Valentine, I'm not a hero, I'm a murderer!" she shouted. "Your cousin is a murderer! How can you be proud of me?" Tears poured down her cheeks.
Valentine wiped her tears with a handkerchief. "You are not a murderer. He wasn't a man, he was a monster. And you saved thousands of innocent lives."
"If I'd known you were alive, I would never have done it. Can't you think how horrible I feel? I've killed a man for nothing! Not even to avenge your death, because you're not dead."
"No, it was not for nothing. Didn't you just hear me? Think of all the lives you saved. I would have killed him, too, if I'd thought you were dead at his hands."
"No, you wouldn't. You're the kindest person imaginable."
"That has nothing to do with it! If I'd thought he'd murdered you, I would not have hesitated to kill him!"
"You're just saying that to make me feel better."
"I am not!"
"Valentine, believe me, I would never have killed him if I'd known you were alive. Now think of all the guilt I must carry around all my life!"
"No need to feel any guilt. Shahin was right, you see. You had to think I was dead."
"Shahin!" Mireille shouted. "He manipulated me into this! He's going to hear it from me!" She jumped up and ran towards Shahin's bedchamber. "Wake up, Shahin!"
Shahin slowly stoop up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Mireille? Why so angry?" he asked as soon as he saw her face, which was as red as a beet with rage.
"You knew Valentine was still alive! And you knew I wouldn't have killed Marat if I'd known. You manipulated me into killing a man! For nothing! Now I have to live the rest of my life knowing I've killed a man. Don't you know how that feels?"
He grabbed her arms. Her hands were balled into fists, about to strike him. "Mireille, calm down. I know exactly how it feels. Don't you remember my telling you I've killed men in battle? It's hard to live with, I know, but you will. You're a very strong person. And it was not for nothing. Didn't Valentine tell you what I said to her? That if Marat had gotten his hands on the Montglane Service, it would have been the end of the world as we know it? Yes, I see that she did. Mireille, that was your task from the beginning. And you had to be the one. I knew you were the Black Queen, you see. And only the Black Queen is strong enough to kill the White King. But I also knew you would never have done it if you hadn't thought Valentine was dead."
"You manipulated me!"
"Yes, I admit I did. But it was for the sake of the Game, and of all the world."
"I'll never forgive you!"
"Yes, you will. It might take some time, but you will. And Valentine will help you."
Valentine put an arm around Mireille's shoulders. "Mireille, I know you feel horrible now, but one day you will realize you had to do what you. Shahin had to manipulate you, so you could bring yourself to do it. And remember, I love you, no matter what."
"Yes, that is certainly true." A smile came to Mireille's face, and she returned her cousin's embrace.
Shahin went in silence back to his bedchamber, and the two girls prepared their own beds. "Valentine, even though you don't hate me for killing Marat, I think you have another reason to hate me," said Mireille.
Valentine looked puzzled. "What can that possibly be?"
"I stole Talleyrand from you. Charlot is his son and mine, as I'm sure Shahin has told you."
"Mireille, Talleyrand was yours all along. Not mine."
"But he loved you! Until we both thought your were dead."
"No, Mireille. He loved me, but as a child, not a woman. I always knew that. I wished it were not so, I admit, but I know now that he never thought of me as more than a child. But he thought of you as a woman all along."
"How can that be? We're the same age!"
"Oh, but you always acted so much older than me. You seemed like my mother or older sister, reproaching me when I misbehaved. And I deserved your reproaches! You've always acted older than your age, and I've always acted younger than mine. Talleyrand could see that, as much as anyone. So, to him, you were always a woman, but I was a child. No, there was never a chance he could have loved me in that way. And I hope that, when the Terror in France is over and we can return, the two of you will find each other again. I think you will be very happy."
"I hope so. But if he knows I killed Marat..."
"Get that thought out of your head! He will be as proud of you as I am. No, Mireille, I will be very happy with a soldier."
Mireille smiled. "I was thinking that we should go to England soon. Before I killed him, Marat told me I have a new enemy there, the White Queen. Her name is Catherine Grand. You see, I sent our pieces of the Montglane Service to England with Talleyrand when he went into exile. I didn't know about her until Marat told me. Now the pieces are in great danger. Will you go to England with me?"
"Of course, my cousin ... my hero. I will go anywhere with you. Even though I'm sure the cold and damp in England won't agree with me any more than the desert does. But the task is much too important. We must rescue the pieces."
"Good. We will leave as soon as we can. Shahin will insist on accompanying us."
"Mireille, you have got to forgive him."
"I will, one day. Probably sooner rather than later. And we will take Charlot with us."
"Oh, I'm so glad! I love that child."
"You would have been a much better mother to him than I am."
"Don't say that. If you say one more word about your stupid guilt, I'll shake you!"
"It's not that. You're much more motherly than I am. You've always loved children. I was always rather indifferent to them. Except for him, of course."
"Yes, I do love children. We will raise him together! He will have two mothers."
"And two fathers? Shahin will be like a father to him, until we can find Talleyrand."
"Of course. What a lucky child, with two mothers and two fathers. We never knew our parents, of course."
"I know. I wish we had. Well, I suppose we'll be off to England soon. And while we're there, what would you say to a young poet instead of a soldier?"
"A young poet? Perhaps not so bad!" Valentine smiled. "Who is this young poet? Is he handsome?"
"Very much. His name is William Wordsworth. He came to visit Uncle Jacques-Louis, and I happened to see him. I think he's on our side in the Game, and I'm sure we'll meet him in England."
"I don't have my heart set on a soldier so much as that. A handsome young poet would be perfectly acceptable. But I wouldn't be stealing him from you, would I?"
"Not at all. Though I have to admit, I might have loved him if I hadn't fallen in love with Talleyrand. No, Valentine, he's yours, I think."
"Unless i'm not his type. Perhaps he likes redheads."
"Perhaps. But we won't worry about that until we're in England, right?" Mireille smiled. "Now I think we should get some sleep, shouldn't we? I certainly need the sleep. I haven't been able to sleep much since that night... No, don't shake me! But even though I'm exhausted, I'm still wide awake right now. I think I'll read for a while, if you don't mind."
Valentine laughed. "Still the bookworm, aren't you?"
"Always." Mireille got her volume of Herodotus out of her bag and began to read it. Valentine looked over her shoulder.
"Mireille!" exclaimed Valentine. "Don't tell me that book is in Greek!"
"Of course it is."
"But you can read it just as easily as if it were in French."
"Of course I do."
Valentine shook her head. "Mireille! Where in the world did you learn Greek?"
"At the Abbey, when we were twelve years old. The Abbess taught me."
"I never saw you."
"You never looked. You were too busy making eyes at the kitchen boy, if I recall."
"And I'm sure it didn't take you very long to learn, right?"
"About four months."
"Mireille, no one can learn Greek in four months!"
Mireille shrugged her shoulders.
"Well, you're a genius with languages. I always knew that. Oh, I'm not sleepy, either!"
"Would you like to read, too?"
"I never read. You should know that by now."
"You might like to try it. Here, I've got a book you might like." And she pulled the copy of the popular romance Paul et Virginie out of her bag. "Here, I got this in Marseille and I read it in one night. I enjoyed it very much, as a matter of fact, even though I couldn't really focus my mind because... oh, I won't mention it again, or you'll shake me, I know!"
Valentine grinned. "You're right about that. Let me see." She looked through the pages of the book. "This doesn't look so bad, after all. I think I'll try it. Oh, Mireille, the most important thing of all is that we're together again! I feel like I can go through anything, as long as you're with me."
"And I feel the same way. What a miracle, just seeing you alive again! I still feel such guilt, but having you with me has already helped more than words can say."
And so they embraced, then they read until their eyes became heavy and they fell asleep.
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT (possibly the basis for another story, possibly not)
Shortly afterwards, they left for England, where they discovered an important piece of the puzzle. They met Wordsworth, but he was more attracted to Mireille than to Valentine. He knew, though, that Mireille loved Talleyrand, and accepted it. Eventually Valentine married a soldier, who joined Bonaparte's army and was killed in battle several years later. The two young women had many more adventures, and, many years later, Mireille figured out the secret of the Montglane Service and used the formula to make the Elixir of Life. By that time, it was 1830, and they were both fifty-five. As soon as Mireille realized the elixir had made her immortal, she offered it to Valentine. Valentine hesitated to take it at first. "Never to die? Do I want that?" she asked.
"I don't think it means we'll never die. But we will have a much longer lifetime than all other humans. Perhaps like the people in the Bible who live to be seven or eight hundred years old."
"I don't know. I long to see my husband again, in Heaven."
"And you will. But not for many, many years. And, if you die, I will be very lonely here without you. Of course I have my children, and now my grandchildren, but there is no one I'd miss more than you."
"Very well. I will share eternity with you." Valentine sighed, and swallowed the elixir.
And they became immortal together.