Chapter Four: The Nobleman's Side

The old nobleman watched from the shadows as Gregory ran in the rain. He smiled to himself. The bald man was right, the boy would work perfectly – the way he walked and talked didn't give him away! This boy could blend into the court quickly (quicker than the other "potentials" anyway). He would fit the job nicely…

Gregory could not shake the feeling… that feeling he always got when someone was staring at him. A spot burned as hot as flame on the back of his head. He turned slowly, hoping he would find no one but knowing that they would be there even if the light did not reveal it.

He was surprised to see that a man in a black over-coat standing behind him. "Don't be alarmed good sir, but you are heading towards a bad part of town – I can see that you are new to the town and I would like to help you by offering my services as a guide. The fee I charge is only a small one for time. You will not find a better deal in all of Paris," the man tried to continue, hoping that he would make a sale but Gregory had heard all of this before.

Gregory continued on his way until he came to a café. A group of about ten men crowded around a table that was designed for no more than five people. They all spoke in low, husky voices and looked wildly about the room as their lips moved in synchronization with their drumming fingers – all of them were speaking as if they thought the world would end at any moment. Each men spoke at the same time and at a speed, which would make the waiter think that they had each had one too many cappuccinos. Gregory smiled at the frowning waiter who was writing down his order for three more creamed coffees.

"Greggy Boy! How good of you to finally join us," joked Jonathan, a friend of Gregory's from college, "How do you find the time to do all this?" His friend joked looking at his bloodshot, sleepless eyes. Both of their parents had insisted that they get a good education even though neither of their parents had been given that opportunity. Both young men tried to make a place for themselves at the school but when they saw that most students bribed the teachers, they knew it was not the place for them.

The young men were still in their teens and the streets of Paris were not a safe place. Their parents believed that school was the only safe place for them – even the other farms on the outskirts of the city were full of ruffians. Gregory's mother wrote to him constantly, begging him to come "home". He always explained that his work in the city was important: He told her that he was helping people – still, in his mother's eyes, it was he who needed help. There was no way to show his family that the city was a good place. So, eventually Gregory stopped writing letters and simply focused on the work at hand – equal rights for all and a tax deduction for the peasants.

"A letter came for you this morning. It was from that creepy man again. I thought you said that you were meeting him this morning?" Jonathan told Greg as he handed him an envelope with his name sprawled on it in a spidery hand.

"I saw him last night…He didn't really tell me anything though." Gregory breathed a sigh and shook his head. "I guess the Big Guys still don't trust us."

Jonathan motioned to the letter and gave him the "do you really think so" look. He opened the letter and tried to read it, groaning inside. The spidery writing was nearly illegible. Why had the man not just said anything at their meeting? Didn't he know that letters could be traced – if they could even be read that is! He thought about just burning the letter and ignoring the ignorant man. He was obviously an amateur to espionage and knew nothing about the revolution. It was all some crazy goose chase! Could this man really care about the peasants? There was only one way to find out – he could always burn it after reading.

He liked to think that both he and the old man shared the same goals. Still, each day seemed to show a new side to his new "friend". Were they even on the same side anymore? This man seemed to be a man who needed to keep mystery in his life… But the resistance didn't need mystery. They needed someone who could keep a secret. Mystery was not the same as a secret and Gregory knew it. He was about to dumb the letter when he saw the seal. His hands held the envelope and hovered over the insignia without moving a muscle for several seconds until he knew: It's worth the headache. And tour the letter open. Chapter Five: Margaret's Suitors

Two dark-haired women sat in a dark lounge laughing with content. The woman on the left was tall and lean with a purposeful expression on her face and dignified eyes. The woman on the right was little more than a girl. No on-looker would imagine that she was old enough to be a mother twice over. Her face had rosy cheeks and her eyes were alight even when the woman cried with delight. The two of them looked nothing alike but it was easy to see that they were close. They leaned in to each other so that their heads touch and stare into a keyhole to get a glimpse of the gentlemen sitting in the room inside.

"What about that one, Iris?" The girl on the right whispered as she gestured to the left corner of the room. The man she pointed to looked dignified with dark hair and eyes in a dark suit.

"No," answered the woman on the left seeing from the man's baring that he was not the type of person her father would be interested in. "She's going to hate us when she finds out that we are nocuous with the Baron." The tall woman frowned at the thought but continued to look out the small opening.

They took turns pointing out suitable men but the search quickly turned into a joke. The two girls had to fight and pinch each other to keep themselves from laughing out loud as they pointed to the most auspicious men in the small room. It seemed like hours of fighting to the two ladies and soon the laughter could no longer be fought. After only a few minutes at the keyhole, they burst into mirth. "Ah-hem!" said the owner of a loudly cleared throat behind them. The two women turned and saw a stout man with no hair. "Sorry," they whispered as they taunted up the stairs to their chambers.

They entered the first door on the left with the bright-blue handle that told occupants that the room was sanctioned for ladies of status only. The two ladies started laughing before the door was even closed. They were rolling on the floor when they noticed the room's other occupant: a short woman with dark blond hair. It was Margaret Michelle Ramante, the Duke of Domaneti's only daughter. Her blue eyes glinted like ice as she saw the co-conspirators smile up at her.

"Margaret!" Shouted Jasmine whose young eyes showed both surprise and mirth. "What a surprise to see you here." The two dark haired attendants smiled stupidly while their mistress raised her eyebrow in suspicion. The girls were terrible at hiding secrets…

"I live here," Margaret reminded them with a flick of her hand. She saw their smiles broaden and knew that they were up to some strange scheme. She took a step closer to them when they burst out laughing yet again with double the amount of merriment as the first. "You both seem quite happy today. What are you two laughing at?"

"We were minding our own business when the butler came up from behind us." Iris lied easily – after all, it was only half a lie! Margaret had known Iris a long time but everyone with half a brain would know that she was lying now. The light that normally showed brightly in Iris' eyes suddenly left. Both she and Jasmine smiled as she continued her tale and although both Jasmine and Iris enjoyed tormenting the servants, neither one enjoyed it quite this much.

"What were you two doing?" asked Margaret with a visible frown to show the two that their games would not work today. She stood with her arms crossed and Iris knew that she would have to do better than that to trick her old friend. Iris and Margaret had grown up together and they had gotten to be able to read each other's body language very well.

"We were just looking at the gentlemen joining the court before the procession began…I mean…"

Jasmine cut in before Iris could start to babble incoherently. "I know that you really hate the idea of a forced marriage but if you don't choose someone your father will pick for you!" Jasmine's face was flushed as if the very idea of the Duke's choice sickened her. "No one knows you better than us. We can point you in the right direction and then you can convince your father."

Margaret almost smiled. It was obvious her two friends were trying to help and she was touched that they cared so much – but she knew that her father would never approve of any choice she made: The Duke would say that his daughter should not even look at the young men. They might think she was too forward and then she would never marry into a proper family. Propriety was her father's first rule to love – especially for the young.

"Thank you for trying…but my father would never allow such a thing," Margaret reminded them with a firm voice.

"Your uncle asked us to do it," Margaret gasped at Jasmine's statement. Her uncle was not known to be a cruel man but he was also entering Louis' Assembly. The court often changed people quickly! He was an ambitious man who needed an opportunity to show his power. What did he have to gain from her marriage? Jasmine began before Iris could stop her from explaining all the weeks of work they had done.

"You two have been trying to find a suitable suitor for me all this time! You have never left the palace grounds. How can you find someone that is of the proper age and rank?"

Iris looked Margaret in the eye and said with all seriousness, "All relationships take a bit of trust to start. You'd be surprised how many people have been coming and going about the palace."

Margaret sighed knowing that arguing was futile. She crept down the stairs with the other two girls to glance at the young men once again.

Chapter Six: Marcus Watches Carlos and Anthony

Marcus watched as Anthony and Carlos whispered to each other. The two heads touched forehead to forehead and both men had their eyes closed. Neither one of them seemed to remember that Marcus was even in the room. They ignored him entirely as they spoke in hushed voices, so that they could barely hear the other speak. Marcus moved closer to the adults and hoped that he could hear. He was so close that he could touch the hem of his father's trousers but still, he could not hear what the older men were saying. After a moment the two men pulled apart. Anthony's eyes looked into Carlos's with an intensity that made Marcus stay where he was. He sensed that the conversation was not over and didn't want to miss any details of their plans. His father's eyes swiftly moved down to where his son still gripped the place where his pants met his hose.

"We're done," he said to his son. The boy smiled and was glad that his father was his again. Marcus had officially decided that he did not enjoy sharing his father. His father was his and his alone! Other men had worked with his father but Marcus had never felt any animosity towards them. Those men had seemed like they just wanted to help his father if it himself as well. Anthony only seemed to care about these secret plans.

The two men seemed to enjoy keeping secrets. Everyone likes to tell a good secret, Marcus chided himself but then Marcus remembered why he so disliked Anthony: these were not those types of secrets! Fun secrets are the kind that you tell a friend so that the two of you can be closer. Carlos and Anthony were telling secrets to keep some one out.

Marcus may be a child but he has long over-grown the stage where the mind truly believes that the world revolves around you. Marcus knew that it was not he they were trying to keep out but he also saw that they were not trying to let him in… That meant that Anthony would always be his enemy!

Carlos and Marcus walked hand in hand back to the small flat that they rented. They walked past several bakery dens and a sweets store. Marcus stopped at every one and asked questions with excitement that made his voice rise in pitch and noise level. "Are we going to eat here?" Marcus did this at every afternoon when they walked down this street. Once, before Markus's mother passed away, Carlos could have said yes. Now money was tight. Nora was no longer there and neither was her amazing ability with the needle and thread. Carlos's heart felt heavy and he constantly felt the pang of sadness but Marcus had his mind on other things.

Markus's stomach began to rumble and protest the lack of attention it was receiving. There were still a few shops left before he and his father made it up to their empty loft. The cupboards there had been bare for a long time. He hoped that his father would buy something for him from the store. "Can I get a candy?" Of course, Carlos told his son no after every one of these episodes. Finally at the last store before the residential street, Carlos told his son that he could buy a small crème. He knew that the boy needed more than that but it was all he could afford for now. Carlos could not help but feel guilty: he should be able to buy his son the food and sweets that he wanted like the snobs on Swentzer Street did. He pushed the feeling away with the promise that he would use his next paycheck to buy as much food as he could. Still, Marcus smiled from ear to ear as he ate his crème. He did not let his stomach's continuous growling bother him for the rest of the day.

The boy continued to smile as they walked into the unheated living quarters they shared – he was so happy that he had continued to smile from the store all the way home. Nothing – especially not a little chill could dampen his spirits. I should have saved the money and bought him something more…thought Carlos. After all, Don Anthony is giving me some more money for that secretive labor job.

Anthony had hired Carlos for one reason: Carlos didn't think about anything as long as he was benefited! The man was so desperate for money that he would do anything as long as he got what he wanted in the end. He did not look to see who else was hurt as long as he got the money that he so desperately needed. Human have always done their best to rationalize each action to make it right. Most people want their actions to be unselfish but still get them the thing that they desire in the end. Carlos wanted the money to be coming from a safe place. Don Anthony's actions were fare from safe but Carlos's mind let him think what he wanted.

Chapter Seven:

Gregory's Second Message

Gregory repeated the letter's message over and over again in his head, just to make sure he was not forgetting a single fact – even little things could end up being important when life was lived by the throat day to day. The mysterious "friend" who kept promising to help was only making things more frustrating. If the answer was so close why couldn't the man just say it! Gregory decided then and there that he would tell the man to explain himself or he would have to find a new partner. He ended up not having to tell the man anything…

The streets were getting more and more empty. A few peasants walked here and there but the majority of the ramble was either in a saloon, indoors basement or in jail. Gregory saw the occasional smiling face or two but most people in this part of town were foreign to him. A cloaked man stood in plain sight and Gregory knew that this was the man he had been looking for. He was out in the open, no longer bothering to cower behind a shadow or two but still too cautious to show his face. "Follow me," the man said as he stepped into a nearby coach.

The coach was made of rich mahogany wood with intricate carvings going down the side. It looked like something only the richest men in France could afford. Gregory only got a short glimpse of the interior of the coach but he saw enough to know that the seats were made out of real silk. Greg felt a dread in his gut. This man could not have owned such nice things. He must have stolen it. Gregory backed away from the coach believing it to be a trap to frame him. He stopped instantly when the cloaked man suddenly pulled out a gun. "I am not asking," he ordered Greg.

Having no other option, Gregory headed for the carriage. His foot was about to touch the step to the seat but at the last second, he bolted down the street. The cloaked man made a quick motion with his gloved hand to alert five or so men down the corner. They stepped out of the ally and closed in on Greg. Each man was covered in muscles and tattoos. Gregory stepped back and braced himself. His eyes flew from left to right, praying for a way out. Suddenly, his world went black…

Greg woke to the movement of a carriage and the scrape of hoof against earth. Although Greg had only just awakened, his eyes hurt from exhaustion. The down feathers that were stuffed into the seats would have lulled him to sleep if he were not so aware of the gun pointed at him. He tried looking out the window, hoping that he could recognize where he was or where the carriage was headed.

The hillside was covered in lush bushes and trees – this could not be in Paris! Paris was a bustling city full of buildings. Gregory could not distinguish any real sign of France's country life out of the trees either. Farmland was flat and clear – ready for crops. The hillside was much too rugged and overgrown. These woods seemed to be as far away from civilization as the cloaked man could get. He must need to do what had to be done away from prying eyes!

After what felt like an eternity of silent riding, Gregory finally poked his head out of the window and looked for the cloaked man. Just as Greg thought, he was driving the carriage. The man saw that Greg was up and motioned for the young man to join him in the front. Greg did and asked quietly, "Are you going to kill me?" The man laughed a hearty laugh from deep within his throat.

"If I wanted to kill you I would not have dragged you into the coach. It would be easier just to kill you in the street."

"What do you want with me then?" The cloaked man opened his mouth just quickly shut it again and was lapsed into silence. Gregory felt a rising lump in his stomach. He knew that he should be relieved that his life was not in danger but he could not help but feel anxiety – everything was so uncertain!

A speck appeared on the horizon of the road ahead: Two pillars of gate with guards beside them. "Get into the back," ordered the cloaked man. Greg obeyed and climbed back down to his seat through the top. Greg felt more than saw the guard's eyes on him even though he had disappeared into the coach. What could they be suspicious of? Thought Gregory as he sunk deeper into the seat. There were so many questions running through his head and so few had answers. Gregory remembered the uncertainty of his destination – would it be better to run?

This could be the cloaked man that had promised the poor so much hope. This could be the plan he kept talking about… Still, Gregory knew that whoever was in charge did not trust him. If they did, he would not be riding in a carriage with a lump on his head. He would have been formally and politely invited to come. This was all going wrong. Running might be the best answer.

Once the guards were out of sight, Gregory opened up the door. He started to climb out when he saw it – the destination! It was a large mansion, not quite big enough to be a castle but very close to one in size and grander. The home had three or four stories that were surrounded by marble walls. Gregory was in awe – he just stood there with half of him out of the open door and half of him still within the coach. He didn't notice that the coach had stopped until he heard the cloaked man turn the key in the door. "Glad to see you are ready," the cloaked man said this with a smile in his voice even though there was none on his face. "Follow me… they are waiting for you."

"Who?" Gregory had so many questions that needed answers. He had tried to be patient and thoughtful while he was awake on the carriage ride but the anxiety of the moment made the need for answers a demanding presence. Greg could not wait by patiently any longer. "What is all this about? An army of men came into the middle of Bantor to bring me to a mansion in the middle of no-where… Action like that demands some kind of explanation!"

Gregory was about to continue on his rave but the cloaked man grappled him by the shirt and made him stop short.

"You seem to think that the people here owe you something. They don't owe you squat. If anything, you owe them!" The man took a steadying breath. "Now, if he wants to play at being mysterious, let him. He is just up those steps and he will answer all of your numerous questions in time."

Greg hated having to wait but he had little choice. He took a deep, claming breath and nodded his head as he followed the cloaked man. The man stopped after they had traveled through a large entryway. The floors were made of pink marble tiles and covered in thick Persian rugs. The walls were painted with bold colors (each wall was a different color) and large murals and paintings. Greg was surprised that none of the paintings had a scenery in them – they were all portraits of unhappy people with a dark background.

"Walk up those stairs to the second floor. Turn left and walk through the third door on your right. The master is expecting you," the man explained to Greg in a slow, steady voice.

Greg simply nodded and started to make his way up the steep steps. Hope surged through him. Could this be the mysterious man who swore that he could help their cause? With all this luxury just lying around the man could certainly afford to help people. Greg turned left at the top of the stairs and immediately noticed the difference in decorations between the two floors. The bottom floor was covered in the most expensive things and the newest trends. This second floor looked more like a lodge: the floors were made of wood and the walls were covered with displays cases showing everything from rare books to dime store nick knacks. This man looked rich but he may be eccentric enough to be on their side any way!

He opened the door and was surprised to see five faces starring back at him. "Oh, wonderful!" said a cracking voice from the back of the room. "Everyone this is the boy I was telling you about. Meet Gregory Luce!"

"Oh yes! He will do quite nicely!" Agreed one man.

"He looks young… Just the type of person who will catch attention."

The men in the room went on like this for some time before they noticed Gregory's confused look. "Have you not told him?" the tallest man asked the man in the back.

"It has not been safe to… I suppose that now is the time. You'll excuse us of course." The other four men stood up and left the room, each congratulating Greg on his way out of the room. Now it was just Greg and the old man with no hair who stood in back.

"I am sure you have many questions." Greg nodded to say that he did and was about to open his mouth and ask the multitudes of questions that had been spinning around in his head for hours when the bald man held up his hand and continued in his speech. "Instead of asking everything at once let me try to answer several… Let me begin by telling you a story.

"You know about Louis and about the peasants – Oh yes, I have been reading your pamphlets! You have some interesting ideas and a good voice; especially for an uneducated man." Gregory was about to correct the man but he closed his mouth, thinking that it may be best to let the old man finish.

"Still, even with all of these things your ideas and your dreams have not become realities. You are going to need more than pamphlets and hope to begin this radical social change and even more than that to keep it going. You need money – you need to get those with money to hear what you say – how can they agree with you if they do not hear?"

"I doubt nobles will want to help the poor even if they heard," Greg had thought about that too: If he had money, people would listen but not the right people. Mobs of peasants heard him lecture but still, nothing had changed. They needed an influential person to take requests to the king and the court.

"The nobles would help if the king told them to help." The bald man winked at him before continuing. "Louis can make them do anything – all you have to do is convince the king that your cause is right. You've already convinced mobs of people. How hard can it be to convince one more person?"

"Why can't you talk to the king? You are already a member of the court and in high standing."

"I am afraid that I have gained many enemies in court… They have spread rumors about me. Luckily, the king trusts me enough not to have me arrested or charged. Still, he does not trust me. Having me show him your pamphlet will only delay things further."

"How do we do this then?"

"I will tell the court that you are my nephew from Italy – my three sisters married Italians. The court will believe me."

"You just announce that I am your nephew and they will let me in, just like that?" Gregory knew that it couldn't be that easy. There was something that the man was not telling him – there was always something important missing when members of court were telling a story. Greg had been getting letters from "the master" long enough to know that this man was worse than even the others at Versailles when it came to lying.

"Well, getting in will be easy but staying in will be the hard part. They will expect you to prove that you are a gentleman of high standing. Luckily, none of them has been to Italy in years. If you mess up we can explain that it is an Italian custom…" The man's voice faded away lamely. "We will teach you what we can of course!"

Gregory stood still for several minutes, taking all of this in. "How long do I have?"

"Two weeks should be enough to teach you the basics. Like I said, we can hide behind Italian customs."

Gregory breathed a sigh of frustration – this was not going to be easy!