Masquerade
By: Vanessa Sgroi
The swish of the descending guillotine blade was lost in the frantic cheers thrown up by the ragtag mass of people, but the thud of the blade as it made fleeting contact with flesh and bone was unmistakable. Sir Percy Blakeney, thoroughly disguised and milling amongst the masses near the platform felt each thud down to his bones.
Spying the next tumbril filled with the condemned rolling to a stop, he pushed his way through the crowd toward it, awaiting the planned diversion. When it came, by way of several well-placed munitions, he made his move. With the crowd and assorted revolutionaries distracted, he ghosted up to the conveyance and stealthily extracted the Count St. Alban and his son, Iven, from its confines.
With an almost magically sleight of hand, the Baronet produced rudimentary disguises from within his coat and urged the two harried souls to quickly don them. It was enough to allow them to blend; to slip into the corybantic crush of people.
When finally, some distance from the bloody blade of liberté, Sir Percy glimpsed Lord Stowmarries—a trusted member of the League—glued to his assigned post, he breathed a small sigh of relief. Jostling into Stowmarries as if in a drunken state, he whispered, "Take them and begone. Quickly. Lord Tony will have the buggy waiting as planned."
"And you, sir?"
"I will be along posthaste. Do not wait for me."
Stowmarries nodded once and ushered St. Alban and Iven away. The trio quickly melted into the crowd. Bloodthirsty catcalls began to swell around them as the expended distractions faded to oblivion. A drumroll sounded, announcing the executions would soon begin again.
Percy ducked into a nearby doorway and carried out a quick costume change before stumbling into the establishment—a taverne—and continuing his drunken charade. Slapping a coin on the bar, he loudly called, "'ere now, barman, tis a fine ale I be seekin'". He swayed to and fro before leaning his torso on the bar.
The barman wiped his hands on his dirty smock. "Ain't ye had 'nough, good citizen?"
"Eeee—nough?" Percy straightened and hiccupped, laughing and slapping heartily at his thigh. He spun to face the mostly empty room. "Eeee—nough 'e says!" More tittering followed. "Never!"
A tankard was slapped down in front of him and Percy took a healthy draught, holding back a grimace at the musky bitter taste of the poor-quality ale. "Now that warms me toes! And I needed that I did." Percy clumsily propped a foot up on the bar and wiggled the toes peeping through the holes in his shoe.
"'Ere now, keep them dirty things to yerself, citizen!" grumbled the barman. "This is a proper establishment!"
Percy made a show of lowering his foot to the ground. Keeping an eye on the barman and the few patrons who were deep into the cups, Percy waited until all was clear and slipped out the back door. He staggered around a corner then straightened, reacquiring his normal gait. He had a horse waiting some distance away to take him to the chosen rendezvous spot.
Already Percy's mind traveled ahead to their next rescue, the next mission, and all it entailed. The League's list never really got shorter as more names were added daily to the death rolls and thusly many made their way onto the Scarlet Pimpernel's list.
A triumphant cheer rose up behind him and Percy shook his head. He knew they couldn't save them all but he was determined they'd save those he could. The very thought put renewed urgency into his step.
FIN