Chapter Thirty Six
Simeon had climbed the wooden stairs of the old bell tower before dawn.
The small oil lamp he had used in the grain store served him well again here, as there were no windows. The stairs creaked as he stepped carefully onward to the top, one hand on the rough stonework on his right for balance.
From his previous reconnaissance, he knew that the small wooden door at the top of the tower, made to accommodate smaller people from the century before, was stiff on its iron hinges. There was no reason for anyone to be there to climb this tower as it was no longer functional. Occasionally, he knew that one of the guards had used it to map out a route for a procession or event in order to strategise security, but as it was at the other side of the city away from the political and cultural centre, it was little used.
Simeon though, had discovered it several months ago and realised it gave him a good view of the dock area and the river.
Pre dawn, it was cold and he pulled his cloak around him with his free hand, being careful not to trip and plummet down the old staircase. The Musketeer Captain was relying on him, after all, as where his soldiers, tasked to protect the King and the Cardinal this day.
The top of the tower opened onto a small cupola, with a timber vaulted roof below the outer tiles.
There were four long, narrow window openings on each wall of the cupola, originally built so that the bell, long since gone, rang out over the docks. Evidence showed they had once held wooden shutters, but these were long since gone, dried and rotten from exposure and lack of care. The large beam that had once supported the bell itself was still in situ, so Simeon had to crouch as he crossed the small space.
He pulled out a small bottle of brandy he had brought with him to ward off the early morning chill, and set it down on the floor beside him as he settled against the window that gave him the best view of the warehouse.
Below, the expanse of the Seine glittered below in the early morning light. Ships, boats and barges, moored for the night, were slowly being brought to life by their crews, in readiness for the days commerce, for these river men were a mix of nationalities and religions and did not stop, even for religious festivals.
As the sun fully rose, the shadows on the buildings below gave way in a miriad of patterns, the reds of the brickwork giving the buildings shape and substance. Simeon took a pull of the brandy and knelt up, arms on the brick sill of his chosen window, and watched as the warehouse came slowly into full view.
Below, the first of the people who had business to be out and about, began to cross the streets and hurry down alleyways. Simeon blew out his lamp and narrowed his eyes, fully focussed on picking out the members of his brother's pack who heeded his call.
/
The time of Paul Masonne's supposed rallying call drew close.
The minutes ticked by.
Simeon eased his legs back into life, the roughness of the floor timbers having dug into his knees.
The area around the warehouse was quiet, as the warehouse building was derelict. Anyone near by could only be making their way there now.
And so, they came.
Their furtiveness gave them away to the eyes of a seasoned campaigner-spy. Simeon picked them out one by one and followed their progress.
He knew from Athos and Foubier that their numbers were depleted by those who went in search of the Musketeer and the Privateer and never returned. They did not know though, that four of their number had vanished after the previous meeting, their leader too, who had taunted Masonne. Many had thought they knew what had happened to them, but did not question it, lest they suffer the same fate.
It was still a large pack, as Simeon had told Treville. Athos had given him the cryptic rallying call of the bear and the stork and it was that that had given his 'invitation' credence.
And so, the scene was set.
Simeon took out a slither of mirror from his pocket.
Angling it toward the sun, he flashed it twice and waited a beat before flashing it once more.
He then put his empty bottle and lamp away and made his way down the steps and out of the tower, quietly moving toward the warehouse and to a corner of the building where he could slip in, unobserved, but where he could see the proceedings.
The men gathered on the floor of the warehouse.
Simeon counted thirteen. Paul was not among them, for which he was glad. Wherever he was, the dockland area would no longer be of interest to him. He had set his sights higher with Richelieu. The Musketeers should now be at the Temple d l'Oratoire and Paul would soon be in custody. Richelieu would face retribution from a Higher order.
They were examining their muskets and swords and seemed in high spirits. This was the culmination of their dream for revenge.
The men gathered on the floor of the warehouse, the very one, Simeon knew, they had taken Athos from. The ruined ceiling above them opened up to windows high above on upper floors, casting early morning sun downward through the building and onto the ground floor, so that the men appeared in a pool of weak light.
He could almost understand their fervour, having seen the outcome of Richelieu's strategy for La Rochelle with his own eyes.
He drew in a breath, watching the men intently, praying his mirror signal had reached its recipient.
Suddenly, there was the click of a musket above them, and Simeon closed his eyes briefly in relief.
The men looked up through the ruined ceiling into the blank faces of over twenty Musketeers.
"I am Jean Treville, Captain of the King's Musketeers, a commanding voice called down to them. "You are all under arrest for intimidation, the kidnap of a King's Musketeer, incitement to violence, murder and treason. Drop your weapons or die where you stand."
There was a brief scuffle, but more Musketeers poured onto the ground floor, effectively surrounding them. The noise of weapons dropping onto the stone floor echoed through the building. It was a sight to behold as they were led away.
When it was safe, Simeon approached Treville, watching as his men and prisoners left the area.
"We are even," Treville said. "The odds today are now in our favour. Your brother will expect his pack but he has been thwarted."
Simeon nodded in return.
"I cannot believe they still believe The Wolf is behind this," Treville sighed, rubbing his forehead. It had been an early start for him and there was a long day ahead.
"His myth was always greater than the man," Simeon replied. "Though he was fearsome to those who opposed him, in his day."
"By now, my men should have secured the Temple. I need to be at the King's side. Will you be safe?"
"My identity is secure, Captain," Simeon replied. "I trust you will not require my presence at any trial?"
"No," Treville replied. "We have enough evidence and Athos will add his voice."
They said no more, each doubting they would meet again. Both parted and went their separate ways.
/
Outside the Temple d l'Oratoire, the Musketeers were somewhat in shock.
Richelieu's absence was not their cause for dismay; he had said he did not require they security, which could only account for why he had not made Treville aware of his change of plans. They had searched the building. That had been their concern, but no-one lay in wait for him. There was no evidence of any nefarious activity. The building was peaceful and empty. Had the pack been warned? Or was the Temple a red herring all along?
And what of Simeon's task? Had he succeeded or also failed? If the Musketeers had been fooled, had the pack been fooled too?
Anger rolled off Athos. Had he misunderstood what he had heard in the grain store? He rubbed his temple hard with gloved fingers.
"Athos," Foubier said, cautiously, picking up his mood, but Athos simply held up his hand and Foubier stilled.
"Let me think," he snapped.
His four companions fell silent, casting furtive looks at each other.
"Two turrets," Athos said, staring up, his lips pressed together in a tight line.
"Yes, they house the spiral staircase to the upper gallery," the priest replied, cautiously, aware of the strange mood of the men before him. "It does not have the decoration that Our Lady of Notre Dame has between the towers, but it is still beautiful, none the less. Don't you agree?"
"Do you think he will erect gargoyles?" Aramis mused, stepping back to follow Athos's intense upward stare.
"One in 'is own image would be apt," Porthos growled, turning to d'Artagnan and twirling his finger loosely around his own face with a grimace.
Foubier and d'Artagnan laughed, but quickly stopped when the priest turned wide eyes on them.
Initially looking horrified, though, even he suppressed a smile.
"What?" Athos said, impatiently, his eyes dropping to glare at Aramis.
Aramis replied with a shrug, clamping his jaws shut.
"My God," Athos breathed, quietly, turning to look at them. "That's it!" he cried.
To be continued ...