SECRETS OF SIROC Chapter Ten: Discussions
Jacqueline ushered Sancia along, through the garrison gate and up the street toward Café Nouveau. The scene replayed in her mind as she force-marched Sancia. Ramon had actually insulted a lady, and d'Artagnan was right by his side. The defenders of virtue had crossed a line simply because they thought Sancia was misusing someone they thought of as a brother. Jacqueline could almost picture the pair in red uniforms instead of gray. Their behavior was no better than that of the Cardinal's guards, for only his guardsmen ever addressed a woman in such a fashion. Jacqueline was appalled. But at the same time, she couldn't help but understand their position. Had she been ignorant of Siroc and Sancia's connection, Jacqueline had no doubt she would have been just as indignant.
Sancia abruptly yanked her arm from Jacqueline's grasp and turned quickly up an alley. She didn't know where she was going; she just wanted to get away. She had enough of men. They were bullies, rude, hurtful and power hungry. How can Sirocco have such friends! she thought. She was fit to be tied and wanted nothing more than to scream and clobber someone. She stopped abruptly, coming to a wall and the alley's dead end. She spun on her heels, ready to trudge back up the narrow alleyway, but Jacqueline stood not far behind her, waiting patiently. Sancia crossed her arms and shoved her hands under her arms, while clenching her jaw and narrowing her eyes again until they glowed.
"Where are you going?" Jacqueline asked the irate woman. She spoke using her real voice, instead of the harsh, deeper one she had grown accustomed to. Jacqueline hoped the sound would calm her. Sancia clearly had issues with men, but then again, what woman didn't? She didn't dare move closer to the fuming figure though. Sancia had the same look of rage she had in her eyes when she pulled Ramon's rapier on him.
"Away from you and this damned place!" she yelled, growling in frustration as she finished. She felt caged and she hated the feeling. A slave was always caged. Sancia longed to break through the steel bars and stone walls that surrounded her soul, to escape and never look back at the wretchedness that had become her life. She would take out the slender 'man' in front of her if that would set her free, but it wouldn't. She threw her arms back to her side and stiffened her shoulders. One foot in front of the other, she coldly brushed past Jacqueline, looking to the brilliant light at the end as if it was the gateway to her salvation.
"Sancia," Jacqueline called, not willing to let her just storm off. The blonde had so much anger. She pretended, masqueraded as if she was happy. The confrontation between Sancia and Ramon had shown Jacqueline the façade that masked her. The female musketeer felt the need to help Siroc's sister the same way she would help Siroc. Her gestures and even some of her expressions were the same as his. Siroc. Perhaps he was the key to calm the fleeing lady. "What would your brother say if he saw you behave so badly?" she asked, revealing to her what she could not reveal to her dear friends.
Sancia stopped just short of the end of the alley's intersection with the street and turned back to face the overly feminine 'man.' "You know who I am?" she asked, a little surprised. The aggression that had gripped her petite form subsided slightly, enough for the wrinkles that had creased her forehead to melt away.
Jacqueline nodded her head yes, keeping her green eyes locked with Sancia's gold. Sancia's brow began to furrow again and her hands balled into fists. Jacqueline immediately knew why she was upset; she would feel the same if their positions were reversed. "I apologize for not saying something sooner, Sancia, but Siroc asked me not to," she told her, hoping to pacify the strong-willed mademoiselle. It seemed to work.
Sancia shook her head, rolling her eyes. To Jacqueline's surprise, Sancia's lips curved slightly, just enough for her right cheek to dimple. "That would be just like 'Siroc.' He's always been secretive." Sancia laughed as she finished speaking, but it wasn't the cheery sound that the inventor loved to hear. It had bitterness to it, a longing that Jacqueline could sense but couldn't understand.
Jacqueline shifted, not sure how to respond. She knew her friend, not as well as d'Artagnan and Ramon, but she knew him well enough to know that there was darkness in his past. "Perhaps you'd let me buy you a cup of coffee," Jacqueline offered, figuring it was a good way to get better acquainted with the woman that meant so much to her friend. The image of tears rolling down his cheeks as he pulled Sancia to him flashed in Jacqueline's mind. "It would be a good way to pass the time while you wait for your husband."
"Eww." She cringed at the thought, not thinking about what she was supposed to be pretending; once again, she reacted on emotion. Sancia bit her lip, realizing she had just betrayed the lie. But of Siroc's three friends, she liked 'Jacques.' There was something about his mannerisms, his voice that put her at ease. Not to mention Siroc had trusted him enough to reveal the small piece of information about her. Sancia would trust 'him' too, at least for now. "It is mademoiselle, Monsieur Leponte. Just," Sancia paused, noting Jacqueline's puzzled expression. "Just, please, don't ask me to explain anything."
Jacqueline walked forward and placed her hand gently on Sancia's shoulder. "I wouldn't dare ask. I have no desire to have you pull a blade on me." Jacqueline flashed a smile and giggled, a feminine laugh, but it felt good to be 'womanly' even for a moment. She spent too much time as Jacques Leponte and not enough time just being Jacqueline. Sancia's laughter echoed hers and for the first time, the slave forgot the pain in her head and her heart.
Thinking back, the scene was rather amusing to them both. Sancia barely came to Ramon's chest, Jacqueline's chin. It was hard to think that this little flaxen beauty could be so fierce in the face of the tall, swarthy Spaniard. "I would like to hear about you though," Jacqueline finally said after they had considered each other for a few moments. She took her arm from Sancia's shoulder and instead offered it in the customary way a gentleman did for a lady.
Sancia hesitated for a moment, but slipped her arm through the musketeer's. It felt good to have someone to talk too, for both women. Sancia didn't think about the trouble she would face when they returned from their jaunt. She didn't care if Vesey hit her, hurt her. In this moment, she wanted to be nothing more than Sancia Mateja Marcellus, Siroc's rambunctious twin and free-spirited sister. She wanted to remember what it was like to laugh, a real laugh, and enjoy the company of a nice person.
Sancia looked up at her companion as they approached the café, the gears in her head turned. Womanish was the only way to describe her companion. She had noted it yesterday morning, again last night in the way Jacques had looked at 'The Legend's' son when 'he' pulled 'his' friends from the room, the voice and especially the walk. There was no way that 'Jacques' was a man. Sancia let go of Jacqueline's arm as the brunette opened the door for her. She nodded in thanks before returning to her thoughts. I wonder if Sirocco knows.
It was late afternoon when Siroc's eyelids fluttered open; the warmth of the sun caressed his face. The tree's protective shadow had drifted, exposing his form to the evening light. The birds fluttered overhead, dancing in flight with other winged creatures in an endless game of chase. Their chirps were only hushed by the sound of rushing water as the river forced its way along.
Siroc stretched his arms, spreading his fingers. He looked around, slightly disoriented. It had been a long time since he had sat under this tree just watching the river rush past. It was a tranquil place, with lots of life and relaxing sounds. The smell of wildflowers and honey from a nearby hive drifted on the breeze and lingered long enough for Siroc to partake in the sweet scent.
The serious man had rested under this old, gnarled tree on his journey to Paris. Once there, he had managed to find work doing odd jobs and whatnot at the musketeer garrison after a few weeks of searching for anything to earn something for food. Duval had taken pity on the ragged, shoeless figure who had been too proud to beg, but not too proud to ask. Years of slavery had beaten him down, but had not completely crushed the thinker. It would be only a short time later that Duval would insist that he join the musketeers.
After his change in fortune, Siroc had frequented this place. He would sit, think and remember what and who he had left behind, and what the future would hold for him. Sometimes he just needed to escape the bustle of France's capital and the sneers of his fellow cadets who took exception to having someone of his 'class' at their side. His visits would become irregular over time, concentrating instead on inventing things in the laboratory Duval had given him and spending time with the only two cadets who didn't seem to judge him. He had earned the respect of many since that first year, and most had forgotten his meager beginnings.
The first time he had fallen asleep under this tree, he had cried until his quivering form had passed out. This time was different. He didn't weep for his sister as he had then, but formulated a plan that would set her free. His former master was always up to something shady when Siroc was younger. There were many things he could use to 'blackmail' the despicable tyrant; he just lacked the proof to force the issue. But Sancia, on the other hand, was in a unique position. She said she knew too much. She dressed as a lady instead of a slave. Both these things told the fugitive that she could expose Vesey far easier than the bits and pieces of Vesey's business that Siroc remembered. Perhaps she even knew where to find the proof they would need. This was a topic for their meeting tonight.
Siroc picked himself up, brushing off the blades of grass that were stuck to his black pants and white shirt. He looked up at the gold and purplish-red sky and swore as he realized what time it was. He hadn't slept the night before and had willed his eyes to stay open while he waited for morning to pass to mid-day. By mid-day it would be safe to return to the garrison. However, his fatigue had won and the over-tired genius had slept the day away. He only hoped that Jacques had come up with a plausible cover story or he was going to be in for it with the captain.
He had a feeling some kind of drama awaited him anyway.
Siroc slipped back into the garrison without being seen. The group in the common room had been too involved in whatever story one of the sergeants was going on about that they didn't notice him, and the rest of the garrison was either attending to their duties or off having their evening meal. It was perfect luck. He didn't care to explain where he had been or where he was about to go for that matter. The only reason he had bothered to come back to the garrison at all was to change. He still had on the same clothes he had worn the day before and needless to say, fresh attire was a must.
After quickly changing his wardrobe, splashing some water on his haggard face and running a comb through his messy hair in his room, he headed for his laboratory. He moved across the darkened room to light the lamp above the table. Instinctually the inventor had known where everything was in the room and despite the lack of equipment, the layout was the same. He lit the lamp and glanced down to see the bundle that Jacques had left him the night before. There was a slip of paper on top with his name on it. He pulled it out and unfolded the parchment, reading the beautifully scripted scrawl.
Siroc,
I hope these things will help get your laboratory back to its former state.
Jacques
He untied the string and unfolded the cloth. He smiled when he saw the contents — more notebooks and herbs. He picked up the packages and unfolded the tops of each, trying to determine which ones his friend had purchased for him. To his surprise, each one contained a different herb, and all of them he used frequently. Jacques apparently had been snooping around to see what he had left in the clay containers that he kept on the shelf near the fireplace. The containers for these particular herbs had been broken. Shaking his head and making a 'humph' sound that was meant to be a laugh, he walked around the table and placed the thoughtful gift on the shelf next to the containers. At least now, when he replaced the containers, he would have something to put in them. Jacques is a good friend, he thought as he turned around to find a home for the notebooks as well. He stopped in his tracks and frowned.
Ramon and d'Artagnan stood by the door, both with their arms crossed in front of them. It was clear they were upset about something, and their demeanor reminded him of his father's look when he and Sancia would come in hours after they should have come home. Granted he had been eight, a child, the last time he saw that look. And at twenty, the look had lost its power and only served to annoy him. "Good evening," he finally said, moving back toward the table to pick up the books.
"So," Ramon started, stepping forwarding and standing just off to Siroc's side. D'Artagnan followed, leaning against the table, opposite of Ramon. "How was your day?"
Siroc frowned severely at Ramon. "Fine," he stated abruptly. "How was yours?" He rolled his eyes as he stepped around d'Artagnan's outstretched legs, heading for the shelf.
"Oh, perfect," d'Artagnan said sarcastically, exchanging looks with Ramon. "Where'ya been?"
"Where did Jacques tell you I was?" Siroc countered the question with his own as he set the books next to the others and to face the inquisitive pair. His friends had something on their minds, eating at them. The inventor would keep pretenses until they came out with it.
"Well, the curious thing is that Jacques said you were still ill, mi amigo," Ramon said, waving his arms as he spoke. "But you weren't in your room, in here or anywhere in the garrison for that matter," Ramon finished. He crossed his arms once more and tilted his head; his eyes narrowed and the expressive face wore an extreme frown.
"And we know you weren't out with Mademoiselle Marcellus," d'Artagnan added. He raised his eyebrows before continuing and locked his eyes with the tall blonde. "Now, did you say you know the mademoiselle well?"
Siroc took an audible breath. So this is about Sancia, he thought. Something told him he wasn't going to like the rest of the conversation. "Quite well, actually."
"So nothing about her would surprise you?" D'Artagnan gestured animatedly, much like Ramon had. He stood abruptly, feeling the table shift and not wanting to land on his backside for the second time that day if it did give out.
"Not in the least," Siroc shot back. He was getting tired of their little game. He glanced between the pair, scowling and waiting for them to voice the objections about her that he knew were coming.
"Siroc, if you want our opinion, it would be a good idea to avoid her, compadre," Ramon said, noting the genius' perturbed glare.
"I don't recall asking for your opinion on the subject, Ramon." Siroc moved from the shelves over to the fire place and grabbed the dark, feminine cloak that still hung there and threw it over his arm before turning to face them. "So please keep it to yourself," he added. It was clear they had something less than positive to say about his twin. He didn't want to hear it, nor would he stand for them to insult her.
"I apologize in advance, Siroc, if you find what I have to say distasteful, but I must say it. I would not be your friend if I didn't," Ramon nearly shouted, he was so insistent. Siroc crossed his arms, his chin dropping slightly and intensifying the fiery glare. "She is not the girl for you, amigo," Ramon added, determined not to let Siroc's unpleasant look deter him.
"Huh." The sound escaped Siroc as a short laugh. One side of his thin lips curved in amusement. Apparently neither of them was as astute as Jacques. "Is that all?"
"No, it isn't," d'Artagnan responded, backing Ramon up. They had agreed earlier that they would both discuss it with Siroc, neither man doing the majority of the talking. "We're not sure if you're aware of this, but she's married, Siroc."
Siroc really let a laugh ring out this time. "I assure you both, you are mistaken." His body jounced lightly as he spoke.
"And I assure you that we are not," d'Artagnan interjected. This was a serious matter and Siroc was laughing at them. "She introduced herself today as Madam Vesey, not Mademoiselle Marcellus."
"Vesey!" Siroc's face drained of all color. The thought was horrifying. His sister married to that monster. There was no way. She was a slave, beneath him. He always treated his slaves as such. "You're, you're mistaken," he stuttered. "It's just, it's just not possible." Siroc pinched the bridge of his nose and continued to ramble about the improbability of the situation.
The looks on Siroc's best friends' faces softened. Siroc was clearly disturbed by the revelation. Ramon and d'Artagnan loved him like a brother and didn't want to see him hurt. They knew they risked causing him pain by revealing the truth, but they had decided that verity now would be easier than what would happen in the long run. "We didn't want to be the bearers of bad news, Siroc. But thought it would be better if you knew before you got too attached to her," d'Artagnan finally said, trying to make it clear that their intentions were honorable in this situation.
Siroc's hand dropped from his face and he looked up. "Attached to her?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "You have no idea what is best for me, d'Artagnan. You know nothing of our situation," Siroc practically shouted. He wasn't really angry with them. But he was reeling over this new information. He still fought the notion that Sancia would ever agree to marry him. She may be a slave but … no, it just couldn't be true. He wouldn't accept it. Her current status was because he had forced it on her. She had too much pride, even for a slave, to be willing to be 'with' him.
"Our situation?!" Ramon spat back. "Mi amigo, I think you need to calm down and think about this."
Siroc bit his lip, his hands balled. "She would never marry HIM," he declared, saying the last word as if it was foul. He barely controlled the feelings of anguish and anger that were threatening to overtake him. He had to leave now before he exploded on them. Things would be so much easier if he just told them the truth, but he couldn't bring himself to discuss that part of his life either. This was a family matter, a matter to address with his other half. Without so much as another word, the inventor pushed past his friends.
"Where are you going?" d'Artagnan asked, feeling guilty about the conversation's outcome. After all, they were only trying to help, to protect him.
Siroc left his friends standing in his wake without answering.