Brief note. This chapter should be rated T+. There's some violent insanity and more Chauvelin/Marguerite stuff, but it's not too bad.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Scarlet Pimpernel. When I rule the world, I will

Falcon in the Dive

Chapter 3 : God, When Did Man Lose His Reason?

Marguerite rushed down the long corridor, scanning the faces of the prisoners in a desperate attempt to find Armand. At the end of that row of cells, the pathway split in two directions and she nearly panicked. She was hopelessly lost and hadn't the faintest idea of where to start looking for Armand; she didn't have the time or the patients to aimlessly wander the prison in hopes of finding her brother's cell.

Forcing herself to calm down, she stood at the junction and strained her ears in hopes of hearing her brother's voice or Mercier, who was supposedly trying to secure the name of the Pimpernel.

She didn't know how long she stood in silence as she waited for any sign of Armand's location, but it felt like an eternity she caught wind of distant shouting. She rushed into the corridor to her right and ran down the hallway using the voice as her guide.

At the end of the passage was a closed door from which the voice was coming. Marguerite threw open the door and burst into the room and found her brother doubled over in pain with Chauvelin's soldier standing before him. Mercier placed the heel of his boot on Armand's back and forced him to the ground, growling "Traitorous dog". He wrapped his fingers around Armand's hair and pulled his head off the ground. "Who is he?"

"Stop!" Mercier stepped away in surprise as Marguerite flung herself to her brother's side. "Oh, Armand! Are you alright? Have they hurt you? Speak to me, brother!"

"Don't worry. I'm fine." Armand casually stated, but not without wincing in pain.

"I assume Chauvelin has sent you to take care of things, hmm?" stated Mercier, effectively managing to break up the siblings' reunion.

"Yes." Marguerite sadly whispered. "You can go." At these words, Armand went rigid and backed away from his sister, slowly shaking his head and staring at her with a look of disbelief and betrayal.

Mercier nodded and headed towards the door. "I'll wait outside."

The door slammed behind him and the two stood in silence that seemingly lasted Forever. Marguerite stood up tall and took a few deep breaths before whispering "Armand…"

"You're working for Chauvelin." Armand said in disbelief. "Margot. Margot, how could you?"

"Armand, I'm trying to help you!" Marguerite cried desperately. "And Chauvelin…"

"Chauvelin's evil, Marguerite!" Armand shouted. "A demon from Hell, Satan's right-hand man sent to earth to kill the saint that is the Pimpernel!"

"Don't say such things, Armand!" she snapped back. "Chauvelin is offering me a chance to save you from death and I'd be damned for eternity if I let you die!"

"And you would throw in your lot with the devil to do that?" Armand cried in disbelief. "Christ, Marguerite, you're damned either way! Why not do what's right?"

"I am doing what's right!" was her outraged reply. "I hate myself for what I must do to save my brother, but my loyalties lie to you, Armand, my family. Not to some unknown hero!" With this, Marguerite began to weep bitter tears that try as she might, she could not hold back.

Armand softened at the sight of his sister's tears and pulled her into his embrace. "Hush, Margot. It's going to be alright."

"How can you say that, Armand?" asked Marguerite as she pulled away form her brother. "If I don't find out who the Pimpernel is, the next time I see you, you will be mounting the scaffold of the Guillotine."

"Marguerite…"

"Armand, please! Tell me who the Pimpernel is and you and I will walk out of here!"

Armand slowly shook his head. "I can't do that, Marguerite."

"Chauvelin will kill you, Armand!" she cried.

"I have no doubt he will." Armand said sadly. "But I cannot allow that fiend to win. The Pimpernel is Heaven-sent, Marguerite. Betraying him would be the worst possible crime, and I would be honored to die in his place."

"Don't say that, Armand!" Marguerite shouted. "I'd rather you live!"

You mean you'd rather the Pimpernel be slaughtered!" he accused.

"If it means I won't loose you, then yes!"

"How long have you been working for that Hell-fiend, Marguerite?"

"Don't speak about Chauvelin that way!"

"Now you're defending him!" shouted Armand in disbelief.

"He's offering you your life!" she retorted.

"After he sentenced me to death!"

"He will save you, Armand!"

"He's a snake." Armand growled.

"Stop it, Armand." She said sternly.

"A murderous brute. He's heartless…"

"No…" she whispered.

"…Cruel…" he continued.

"Stop it." She said in a barely audible voice.

"…Uncaring and ruthless. A merciless demon from the pits of Hell. And you're working for him, Marguerite!" Armand furiously shouted. "The devil himself and you're his spy!"

"I love him, Armand!" she shouted. Quickly realizing what she said, she covered her mouth with her hands and flushed a deep shade of red.

Armand became light-headed and swayed on his feet. He was sure he was going to be sick. Chauvelin. She loved him. Marguerite and Chau-. He couldn't bear to think about it.

The utter despair and disgust he initially felt dissolved into betrayal and fury. "First you betray Percy's faith in you with the denunciation of St. Cyr, and now you betray his love! And here you are, ready and willing to betray him to Chauvelin! No wonder he couldn't trust you!"

Marguerite's eyes widened in disbelief as her brother unleashed his fury. It was simply impossible. "Armand…" she whispered. "Percy is the Pimpernel, isn't he? Tell me, Armand."

Armand suddenly realized the mistake he had made, but could not find it in himself to lie to his sister. He bowed his head and said nothing.

Marguerite was now sobbing uncontrollably and fell to the floor in desolation. "Tell me it's not true." She cried. "Tell me that Percy isn't really the Pimpernel, Armand!"

Armand began to shake. Marguerite had found out her husband's secret, and he was at fault for the betrayal of his friend and leader. He ran to Marguerite and knelt by her. "Marguerite, you cannot say a word, do you understand me? Not a word."

Marguerite heard nothing and fixed a visionless gaze at the floor.

Chauvelin stood in front of a small inn out in the countryside just outside of Paris. After leaving the prison, he went to his office to look over the large stack of denunciations sitting on his desk. He shifted through them and picked out the one that he decided was his favorite on the basis that it was anonymous, therefore unreliable, and there was no evidence against the accused. He grabbed two swords, three pistols, and hundreds of rounds of ammunition before heading out to the small inn said to harbor fugitive aristocrats.

He walked up to the door and found it to be locked. Softly humming to himself, he stepped back and drew his pistol from his belt and fired three rounds at the lock, which fell off after the first shot. Quietly laughing, he slowly reloaded his gun, placed it back in his belt, picked up the fallen lock and kicked open the door.

As he walked inside, he quickly scanned the occupants, about twenty people sitting in the small dining room. Most of them were men, but there were a few women and a single child, all of them looking in terror at the Agent of the Republic.

The innkeeper, a thin, middle-aged man, timidly walked up to address the fearsome man. However, before he had a chance to speak, Chauvelin thrust the detached lick into the innkeepers hand, declaring, "I believe this is yours" in a nearly singsong voice. Walking over to the dining room entrance, he surveyed the crowd once more.

The innkeeper was absolutely speechless. The most feared man in all of France had just walked into his humble establishment and handed him he lock to his door. It was certainly unusual behavior, if not unheard of. Gathering up the courage to approach the man, he asked in a timid, shaky voice "Can I help you?"

Chauvelin drew his gun and pointed it at the man's chest. "Were you aware, Citizen, that you are accused of harboring traitors to France?" he asked with icy calm.

The innkeeper froze in terror, and was rendered incapable of intelligent thought or speech. As the barrel of the gun pressed into his chest, he found the strength to utter a negative response.

Chauvelin cocked his head to one side. "Oh?" A smile of pure malice played across his face. "Pity." was all he said before he pulled the trigger.

The man fell to the ground and clutched at the wound, trying desperately to do something, anything to save himself. The occupants of the inn panicked. They had nowhere to run or hide, and no way to escape, for the agent stood in the only exit.

Chauvelin rocked on his heels, alternately humming softly and laughing as he reloaded the pistol, drew another one and pointed them into the panicking crowd and fired.

"You cannot allow this Englishman to taunt us in this manner, Robespierre!"

"Calm yourselves." Robespierre coolly stated. "Members of the Committee, I assure you that this Pimpernel will be brought to justice. I've got my best agent working on the case, and he assures me the man's identity no later then tomorrow afternoon."

Mutters of consent and approval echoed through the chamber where the Committee of Public Safety was holding their regular evening meeting. It was at this time that Chauvelin's personal aide, Degas, rushed into the room.

Robespierre was clearly annoyed at this unwanted interruption and glared coldly at the young man. "What is it you have to say, Citizen, that could not wait until a more convenient time?" Robespierre asked, straining to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Citizen Robespierre, Agent Chauvelin has gone insane!" Degas rapidly stated.

"What?"

"He came into the office not an hour ago," Degas continued, "searched through the denunciations and picked one at random." Degas' eyes widened in fear. "He was singing, Citizen. Humming and laughing, carrying on like there was no one else present. Have you ever heard of Agent Chauvelin acting in this manner?"

"No, that certainly is curious." Robespierre said thoughtfully. "Do continue."

"He then took every weapon he could find; blades, fire arms, ammunition and walked out with the denunciation and armed to the teeth!"

"And you let him go?" Robespierre shouted.

"I tried to stop him, Citizen," Degas assured, "but he is uncommonly strong. Look." Degas unbuttoned his shirt and exposed his chest. His entire torso was covered in discolorations and large welts unlike any of the men present had ever seen before.

"How did…but…Chauvelin did this?" Robespierre stuttered. Degas answered affirmative as he buttoned his shirt.

"Contact a division of soldiers, Citizen." Ordered Robespierre. "Explain the situation and send them after Agent Chauvelin. He is not to be harmed, understand? Bring him to me."

"Yes, Citizen." With that, Degas left the room.

The inn was a brutal vision of carnage at best. All occupants were dead or dying except for one man who was leaning back in a chair with one foot crossed over the other on a table. He sat with a bare chest and was humming to himself as he wiped the blood off one of his swords with his shirt.

The sounds of gasps and moans of pain came from the front of the inn and pulled Chauvelin back to the scene. Sheathing his sword, he stood up and wandered to the source of the noise. He found the innkeeper still clutching his wound and gasping for breath, trying desperately to hold on to life.

Chauvelin's face betrayed a hint of genuine sympathy for the man. "Ah…oh dear." He placed his foot on the man's chest and pointed his pistol at the innkeeper. "I offer you my humble apologies, monsieur." He said gently before firing six rounds into the man's head.

He placed his gun back in his belt and turned to leave, but stopped as he saw a maid walk down the stairs with a look of sheer terror in her eyes as she surveyed the massacre.

"Good evening, Madame." Chauvelin gallantly said as he stooped to bring her hand to his lips. "Lovely place you have here. But, sadly, I must take my leave of you presently." He began to walk out the door, but stopped to address the young woman again. "Ah, Madame?" he gently called. "It seems I have left a bit of a mess. If you wouldn't mind taking care of it…" he said with as much charm as he was capable. "Oh, and the lock on the door somehow fell off. You may want to have that repaired." With that, he turned around and left for Paris.

"What will I do, Armand?" asked a desolate Marguerite. "I must choose between my brother and my husband. How can I do that?"

"Margot, please. You must trust Percy. He will find a way. He always does."

"But how can you be sure?" she cried.

"Just have faith. He will come." Reassured Armand.

Some sort of commotion started outside in the corridor that halted the siblings' conversation, and not one minute later, Chauvelin entered the room followed closely by Mercier and Coupeau.

"Chauvelin, what's wrong with you?" Mercier shouted.

"Half the French army is looking for you, Chauvelin!" exclaimed Coupeau.

Chauvelin ignored his soldiers and made his way to Marguerite, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. His actions took her by surprise, but she quickly succumbed to him and ran her hands over his bare shoulders.

Armand was enraged and rushed at Marguerite's lover. "Let her go, demon!"

"Restrain him." Chauvelin ordered Mercier and Coupeau as he broke away from Marguerite. The soldiers immediately followed their orders and Armand was subdued before he could lay a finger on the agent. "I swear," Armand growled, "if you touch her again…"

Chauvelin ignored the man's threat and pressed Marguerite against a wall and pinned her arms over her head as he kissed the pit of her neck and ran his hand up and down her leg. Marguerite flushed, her breathing quickened and she moaned his name as he touched her.

Armand had to turn away; the sight of his own sister being so receptive to the touch of that snake made him nauseous. It was just another way to betray the Pimpernel, her husband, and she wanted it.

"You remember where my flat is, darling? Chauvelin softly asked.

"Yes, Chauvelin."

"Good." He released her and headed towards the door. "I'll meet you there within two hours. I still have a bit of work to do."

"Of course, my love." She whispered.

"Mercier, Coupeau, lock that boy up." He ordered as he walked out of the door. Chauvelin's men threw Armand into the cell, locked the door and walked out of the room. Coupeau paused and called "Come along, mademoiselle."

As Marguerite turned to leave, Armand called out to her and she turned to face him. "Tell me, Marguerite." He said with a voice full of contempt. "Do you enjoy being Chauvelin's whore?"

His harsh words struck her heart, and she turned and left without a word with tears hanging in her eyes.

Despite the hundreds of people in the streets and the multitude of soldiers looking for him, Chauvelin managed to creep unnoticed to the base of the Guillotine. It wasn't until he actually mounted the scaffold that Citizen Robespierre noticed him from his office window and rushed out to meet him.

Chauvelin ran his hand along the smooth, steel blade. "Are you upset, Madame?" he quietly asked. "Have I disappointed you? I have denied you the blood of those traitors and took them myself." He moaned as he kissed the blade and laid his head on the cool surface. "I am unworthy to be your servant. Tell me how I shall atone for my sin and earn your forgiveness."

Robespierre watched in fascination as his most valuable asset spoke to and lovingly stroked the blade of the Guillotine. Degas was right; the man was completely loopy.

The Captain of the Guard ran up to Robespierre with a division of men in tow. "Would you like to tell me, Captain, how Agent Chauvelin managed to get within the city walls, walk to the heart of Paris, and mount the scaffold without you or any of your soldiers noticing him?" Robespierre calmly stated. It was for this exact reason that Chauvelin was such an incredible spy and in the position of power that he occupied, so it didn't surprise the Committee leader at all.

"Forgive me, Citizen. We'll seize him immediately."

"No." he ordered. "I want to see this."

"It's hardly an adequate substitute for the blood of the traitors you shall never taste." Chauvelin drew his sword and ran his hand along the length of the blade, cutting a deep gash across the width of his hand. "But your hunger must be appeased." He gently said as he ran his bleeding hand down the blade of the Guillotine. Moaning, he dropped to his knees and laid his head and bare chest against the blade and began to quietly sing to the instrument that had possessed him.

The Captain looked on in astonishment at the display. "Shall we restrain him?" he asked as he turned to face Robespierre.

"No," he slowly said, "I think I like this change in my agent. Leave him to his own devices." Robespierre said as he walked away form the scene and Chauvelin's escalating laughter.

Marguerite stood in the living room of Chauvelin's flat trying to make sense of all that had happened that day. She had been reunited with her brother, she had accepted Chauvelin as her lover again, and her husband was the Pimpernel.

Very little of it made any sense, and none of it could work out in her favor, and her life would be forced to change. First off, she needed to choose between her husband and her brother, both men of which she loved dearly. One of them had to die, and that one's blood would be on her hands.

Then she had the self-imposed choice between Percy and Chauvelin. Percy, her husband, the Scarlet Pimpernel, a hero, she loved him more then anyone in the world. Except, of course, for her brother. And Chauvelin. Chauvelin, so silent, so mysterious, so passionate. She loved him; she could no longer deny that.

She violently shook her head in an attempt to clear her confusion. She was convinced that she didn't love him this morning; what was happening to her?

She was so absorbed in thought that she didn't notice Chauvelin until he wrapped his hands around her arms and kissed her neck.

"My Margot. Darling. Little love. What do you have for me?" he whispered as his hands moved to undo the laces of her dress. "Who is the Pimpernel?"

Marguerite shivered, and before she could stop herself, said, "I have his name, Chauvelin."

"Oh?" He chuckled slightly and pushed the sleeves of her dress off her shoulders. "May I inquire into the man's name, my love?"

Things were moving too fast. She didn't expect him to bring this up until tomorrow morning at the earliest. She needed a chance to think, a way to save both Armand and Percy. Chauvelin ran his hands over her stomach and she lost the ability to think clearly. Before she knew what she was saying, she confessed, "It's my husband, Percy."

"Ah…so Blakeney is the Pimpernel, hmm?" he purred. "Unexpected, of course, but that makes sense." He paused and kissed her shoulder before smoothly stating "Clever girl. You've done surprisingly well." Pulling her closer against him, he left a trail of kisses down her neck and along her collarbone.

Marguerite shivered and felt the familiar excitement as her pulse quickened. "I love you, Chauvelin." She moaned as she lost herself in his embrace.

"I know, darling." was all he said as he carried her to the bed.