Chapter Summary: Chief Inspector Robert Pichette receives orders regarding his prisoners. Nico makes one last threat. Henri and Didier make plans that will allow Inspector Rousseau access to the rooms at Cote de Vallee. Antoinette draws out a detailed map for Tallis and Serge. And somewhere in France someone is very pleased at the change in weather.
CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX
Chief Inspector Robert Pichette looked at the sheet of orders that had arrived by courier. He read and re-read them, memorizing details both great and small, his face frowning in concentration. He finally placed the papers down on the desk behind which he sat, reaching for his pen, signing the final sheet that he had set aside. He dusted the still wet ink and blew lightly upon it, assuring himself that it was dry. Then Pichette carefully folded the sheet before slipping it into the leather mail pouch, replacing the lock and snapping it shut. He raised eyes to the man who stood silently at attention on the other side of the desk.
"I understand and accept responsibility," he said simply, handing the locked pouch to the man. "I shall await the men from Paris and expect them here in four days time." He nodded his head. "No more and no less. The prisoners shall be ready for transport at that time."
"Thank you, sir," the courier replied. "I shall go and telegraph Paris and be on my way." He waited until Pichette had risen to his feet before turning smartly on his heel and walking out of the door that Pichette had opened for him.
Chief Inspector Pichette watched as the man exited from the small police station in Chagny before turning his attention to Inspector Rousseau who waited behind a desk, seemingly paying little attention to what had happened behind the closed door of the borrowed office. Yet the moment a barely perceptible nod came from Pichette, Rousseau was on his feet, crossing to the other side of the station and taking a seat at the desk while Pichette closed the door behind them before resuming his own seat. He handed the papers he had been reading to Rousseau. "Read them carefully," he said quietly and watched as Rousseau slowly read each of the sheets handed to him.
"We know for certain that the men from Paris will be here in four days?" Rousseau wondered as he placed the sheets back on the desk.
"It matters little if they are not," Pichette replied as he folded his hands atop the desk. "We cannot move without them; there are just not enough gendarmes here to accomplish what must be done." He gave a slight wry smile. "Even should the prisoners be bound, gagged and completely harmless." The smile disappeared. "Which we are all too aware they are not."
"I do not envy them," Rousseau said. "What awaits them is …"
"Everything they deserve," Pichette finished. "Yet it is less than they deserve for all that they have done." He shook his head. "Listening to Vicomte relay what was done to him, seeing the effects of those actions and knowing he will have to testify to such things in court makes what awaits these men seem mild in comparison."
Rousseau looked puzzled. "Considering the state of the Vicomte's health and the fact that his wife is soon to deliver their child, can the Ministry not make considerations to prevent him from having to travel back to Paris? You would think – considering the family name and connections – that he would not be required to appear in court."
"I am sure that the Ministry will find some way to take his testimony without having the Vicomte travel to Paris," Pichette acknowledged. "Perhaps, they will send a presiding judge to record his testimony to be read in open court. I do not know but I do know that no matter what is done, the outcome of this has been decided. There is no question of guilt and no question of punishment."
"What of Inspector Menard and the prisoner that he holds?" Rousseau wondered.
"Francois Amerlaine has already been transported back to Paris and awaits his fate from a cell in the Bastille," Pichette told him. "It was not thought wise – or safe – to transport all three of these men at one time." He sighed and settled back into his chair. "Now, what of you and your meetings with our two young men? Has anything new come to light? There is but a few days left before I must tell the Ministry something. They will not allow any more time to pass without an answer."
"I am to meet with them at the inn," Rousseau looked at this watch. "Shortly, as a matter of fact." He raised his head, a grim look on his young face. "I am not comfortable with involving civilians in such a matter; especially, considering how close each of them are to the situation. I do not believe they fully appreciate just how much danger to which they may be exposing themselves. The person who devised this scheme, who laid out these elaborate plans, will not wish to be discovered." He nodded toward the papers on the desk. "Should they get caught in their efforts to find what they seek, we may find ourselves with real dead bodies on our hands. How shall we explain that to the Ministry?"
Pichette let out a long sigh. "Perhaps it is time to thank these young men for their efforts and tell them to cease and desist; I do not wish to see any other innocents hurt. We shall tell Paris what we believe and let them handle the issue in their own way. This has gone on too long and – I think – has gone far beyond our reach. There are ways of dealing with people from a certain class that those in the Ministry understand far better than either you or I." His gaze strayed beyond the closed office to the world beyond. "And, rather selfishly, I wish to return to Lyon to my wife and children and my familiar office and duties." He returned his gaze to Rousseau. "I think there are a great many people involved in this who wish to return to their normal lives." He rose to his feet. "Go to your meeting with the young men," Pichette said as Rousseau rose to his feet, "but be careful," he warned. "Do not let yourself be recognized for we do not wish to put them in danger. And I shall go and inform our prisoners of their impending change of location."
The two men left the office together, pausing as Rousseau slipped into a long leather coat, wrapping a scarf about his lower face, placing a fedora on his head, pulling the brim down low. Pichette nodded his approval and waited until the young man had walked into the November afternoon before turning toward the cells where his two prisoners were held. He waited as the guard unlocked the outer door before stepping into the stone room that held four cells. Pichette nodded at the two armed guards at either end of the cell block.
"Was that a door?" Pichette heard Louis call out. "We have a visitor," he chuckled.
Pichette turned his head slightly as Nico moved toward the bars of his cell. "Have you talked to my toys?" he wondered. "Do they miss me? Did the pretty lady bring me her new toy yet?" He sighed and smiled. It was a smile that did not reflect in the deadness of his eyes. "I have so many games for my toys," Nico said. "Old games for my old toy and new games for my new toys." He bit the end of a fingertip. "Do you wonder how long it will take for the pretty lady listening to the little toy scream before she lets me do what I want? Do you wonder if my old toy will let me do what I want to him if I promise to leave the pretty lady and the little toy alone?"
Pichette fought down the nausea he felt at the calmness of Nico's words. "I think it does not matter," he began.
"It does matter," Nico hissed as he grabbed the bars of his cell and began to shake them back and forth. "I am not finished yet! I am not finished yet!" He screamed, the spittle flying everywhere. "I am not finished yet! They are mine! They belong to me!"
It took the barest of nods from Pichette before the armed guard behind him was before Nico, his rifle pointed at Nico and just beyond his reach. Nico backed down but there was still an unsettling sense of madness swirling about him.
"They are still mine," he said softly as he backed away from the bars, sitting on the hard wooden plank that passed for a bed.
"But far beyond your reach," Pichette said softly and took note of the hands that appeared upon the bars of Louis' cell. "I have come to inform you both that in four days time both of you shall be transported to Paris, there to wait in the Bastille for your trials. I am certain that you both know the outcome of the trials for there is no doubt of your guilt. I have heard that hanging is most unpleasant should the executioner fail to judge the proper length of the rope." Pichette was silent as he allowed the meaning of his words to sink into the minds of the two men. "I am sure that such a thing could be averted should either one of you be willing to come forth and name the person behind the abduction and torture of the Vicomte."
"What of Francois?" Louis wondered.
"Already awaiting his trial in Paris," Pichette said. "He has told us all that he knows and received due consideration for such cooperation as he was able to offer." Pichette heard Louis snort and the hands that clasped to the bars of the cell disappeared.
"I know less than him," Louis replied. "I would rather take my chances with a failed noose than whatever any mystery person could do to me." He chuckled. "And do not even ask my friend over there, he is too far gone to know anything."
"I know I shall find my toys again," Nico said loudly and grew quiet. "That is a promise," he said softly.
"As you will, then," Pichette told them and turned, leaving the cell block, hearing the door lock behind him, Nico's final promise echoing in his head and sending a chill up his spine.
A chill also crept up the spines of those seated in the warmth of an inn as the front door opened, a November breeze admitting a man into the shelter and camaraderie of the roadside establishment. Heads turned, eyes wide, looks demanding until the man shut the door. Heads then turned and conversations resumed, no one particularly caring who it was behind the scarf, beneath the hat for they had all come into the inn bundled in much the same way against the sudden chill that had descended upon the surrounding valley. The man shook off the snowflakes that had not yet melted from the heat of the inn and loosened his scarf careful to keep the bottom of his face covered. He looked about him, seeking and finding that which he sought. He turned to the barmaid, nodding at her and nodding at a table in a dark corner of the inn, trusting that she would know what it was he wanted. He moved easily across the crowded, noisy inn, an air of indifference following his wake. He stopped by the table in the corner, looking down at the two faces that looked up at him. "Do you have room for a stranger?"
Henri and Didier lowered their heads, looking at each other, before Henri turned back to the man standing beside their table. "If you can find no other to welcome you," Henri said in an exceedingly loud voice meant to carry across the two rooms that encompassed the public area of the inn as he motioned toward the lone empty chair at the table, "then, please, feel free to join us." He waited until the man had sat down, his face covered by the shadows in the corner. Henri waved at Arlette who was walking toward them. "A drink for my friend!" he called out merrily.
Arlette had a large smile on her face as she stopped by their table, placing a steaming tankard smelling of apples and spice down. She laughed as Henri wrapped an arm about her, pulling her close. "You are always three steps ahead of me," he chortled.
"I need to be with you, sir," Arlette said as she squirmed out of Henri's grasp, leaning over to peck him lightly on the cheek. "I shall do what I can to see that you have as much privacy as possible," she whispered into his ear before straightening. "And do not think you can monopolize my attention!" she grinned and turned, laughing at the light tap Henri gave to her bottom.
Henri and Didier watched as the man lowered his scarf and took a sip from the steaming tankard. "Nothing like mulled cider to chase away the chill of encroaching winter," Inspector Rousseau said as he arranged his scarf so that he could speak but still keep his face hidden.
"You would not believe the chill that has descended," Didier said with a smile that was anything but warm.
"Ah, then," Rousseau replied, "allow me to share some news I picked up along my travels that may brighten your heart." He lowered his voice. "Foucault and Mircea are to be transported to Paris in four days time to await trial. It is to be done at night so as to raise as little commotion as possible. The best gendarmes are on their way here even as we speak to accomplish this task. And Amerlaine is already waiting in the Bastille."
Both Henri and Didier managed genuine smiles, Didier raising his own tankard to his lips and sipping at the foamy ale within. "That is good news, indeed," he said softly. "One more step to regaining the peace and tranquility of our little town."
"To peace and tranquility," Rousseau said as he raised his tankard. "Wherever it may be found – home and hearth or the open road." His meaning was not lost on the two men with whom he sat.
"True peace and tranquility can be very elusive commodities," Didier said, a slight smile on his face. "They can be very difficult to find."
Rousseau was silent for a moment. "I was afraid of that," he finally said. "I believe I shall find my chances on the road to Paris far better – though a bit more perilous – than I do this charming village."
"Oh God," Henri breathed.
"You cannot!" Didier echoed Henri's sentiment and tone. "You do not know what you are doing!"
Rousseau leaned across the table. "Gentlemen," he whispered. "We are running out of time. Once the prisoners are under guard and on a train for Paris, my inspector and I have been ordered to return to Lyon. The Ministry will be sending their own inspectors down here to settle this matter and all consequences be damned."
"No matter what my cousins may wish?" Henri asked. "Raoul is just settling back to something of a normal life. They cannot come down here and tear it all asunder again!"
Didier laid a hand on Henri's arm. "Remember what is at stake!" came the urgently whispered words and he turned his attention back to Inspector Rousseau. "I have not found the one thing for which we have been searching. I have scoured rooms where I thought it might be found." Didier paled a bit. "I was even found looking in places I should not have been."
Rousseau grew grim. "We were afraid of that," he said and shook his head. "You have both done far more than either of you should have done. You have gone above and beyond where a civilian should go. You have placed yourselves in a danger I do not think either of you even realize and I am afraid it must stop here and it must stop now."
Didier's firm, emphatic, "No!" broke the stunned silence at the table. He shook his head. "No," Didier repeated. "We cannot stop now."
"You must," Rousseau told the two young men who were staring at him in a mixture of shock and disbelief. "You both came to us with an offer to help and – while noble – that offer has not lead to anything. Now, with what you have said regarding being seen looking in places where you should not have been, that volunteerism must end. We cannot guarantee your safety …"
"No one can guarantee my safety," Didier said bitterly. "If I do not find what it is everyone seeks, if I cannot bring a long hidden truth to the light of day, then I am doomed. I will be caught up in the lies of my family and my future – any future – for which I may have dreamt, will be for naught. Every child wish will be but the foolish hopes of someone far better suited to babbling on a street corner then running what remains of a noble heritage."
Henri felt a sharp pain stab through his heart at his friend's words. "I will not allow that to happen." He turned to look at Rousseau. "My family already half-despairs of me anyway and would barely give a second thought were something to befall my person. I need not remind you that there is still an unborn child who may very well be in danger. I cannot and I will not allow anything else to destroy the lives that my cousin and his wife are slowly rebuilding." Henri frowned, angry determination crossing his face. "And I will permit anything to happen to that child – not while I still draw breath."
"Gentlemen…" Rousseau tried.
"No!" Didier and Henri interrupted him in chorus. Didier nodded at Henri.
"There is to be a celebratory dinner at Chagny tomorrow." Henri shook his head and corrected himself. "It is actually to be a formal tea since my cousin still tires easily and has asked for an early meal. Everyone is to be there."
"It would be a good time for a rather quiet search," Didier finished.
Rousseau leaned back in his chair, taking a sip from his tankard. "And how am I to accomplish that?"
Didier grimaced. "I can play games as well as the next person. I can feign illness and beg off."
"No, no, no," Henri said as he shook his head, knowing what his friend meant. "You cannot take that stuff again."
"What choice do I have? What choice – what chance – do any of us have?" Didier asked him. "I shall only take a small pinch, barely enough to make me ill."
"What stuff are you speaking about taking?" Rousseau wondered, slightly confused before it began to dawn on him what the two young men were talking about. "If you are speaking of the drug that was given to the Vicomte, then I must heartily agree with your friend – it is not safe and it is most certainly not wise."
Didier could not be swayed. "You cannot change my mind," he said softly. "I know that my cousins are due to leave for Chagny at three in the afternoon and are not expected back till well after eight in the evening. That should give us enough time to find something – anything! – that will either prove or disprove what we know."
"It is too risky," Rousseau said.
"I agree," Henri chimed in, biting his bottom lip. "This is far too dangerous for you to face alone." He brightened, a large smile turning up the corners of his lips. "Therefore, I shall make some poor, pathetic excuse to get me away from this damn tea and join you. Philippe will probably be expecting me to find a way out of this; it shall not be a surprising thing on my part."
"You would do that for me?" Didier asked, a light of wonderment in his eyes.
Henri could only nod.
Rousseau looked back and forth between the two young men, his heart sinking as he realized he would not be able to deter them from their plans; there was only one thing he could do. "Very well then, gentlemen," he said as he once again leaned forward. "I will meet you both at five p.m. and we shall see what we can find." Carefully he slipped a piece of paper from a pocket in his jacket, placing a charcoal pencil beside it. "Draw me the safest way to approach so that I might not be seen."
Cautious approaches were also being mapped out on a sheet of paper that rested upon a dining table in the north of France. The pencil markings upon the paper traced out a rabbit's warren of twists and turns, lines that doubled back on each other, lines that curved in spirals only to end abruptly. There were little circled x's that dotted the lines at varying intervals. Finally tissue paper was laid over the whole, the map and markings beneath visible through the thin sheet. Four hands – one set belonging to a man, one to a woman – held the two sheets in place as the hands of another woman attached the sheets together using sewing pins. Once the sheets were attached, hands holding the sheets steady were withdrawn and a red sewing marker appeared. One hand traced a well-remembered path over the seemingly random and aimless map. Slowly and carefully, a straight path began to appear over the haphazard lines. The path avoided all the circled x's and the lines that ended in nothing. It seemed to those who watched the pathway being created that it resembled nothing more than a child's game tracing their way through a maze. Yet everyone about the table knew that the maze was deadly and it was not a child's game they played.
"I believe that is it," Antoinette Giry said as she stood, stretching her back and gazing at the map resting upon her dining table.
"You believe?" Serge asked. "We are risking our lives for a man who might not even be in this maze and you believe this is correct?"
"He is there," Tallis said softly as a finger traced the red line, burning it into memory.
"Understand, Herr Count, that I have not been to the opera house in almost two years," Antoinette addressed the younger man. "Seasons have passed since that time and I am sure that vandals have come and gone." She tapped a finger against the map. "This is how I remember it. This is the route that I used whenever I would come and go from Erik's lair. If the elements or mankind have changed things than that is something completely beyond my control."
"Pray, accept my apologies, Madame," Serge said with a polite nod of his head.
Antoinette raised a hand to rub at her forehead. "Thank you," she replied. "I find this is very tiring." She smiled sadly at Tallis who was still studying the map, her finger tracing over and over the red line. "I have spent so many years pulling Erik from the depths of his own darkness that I find it rather hard to entrust such a thing to another." She smiled as Tallis raised her head, a look of hurt bewilderment upon her face. "Yet I know that I am no longer the one who can do such a thing. I do not have the strength and I know he will no longer listen to anything I might have to say to him. Now it is your turn, my dear. Now you must be the one to save Erik from himself. Are you sure you have the strength to do such a thing?"
"No," Tallis admitted reluctantly. "But I must try. If I do not try, I shall spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been, berating myself for my stupidity and foolishness and mourning my loss. I have no desire to live with such regrets. I need to know that I at least tried!"
Antoinette and Serge exchanged a meaningful look before they both turned to Tallis. "Even if you should fail?" Antoinette wondered.
"Most importantly should I fail," Tallis nodded her head. "If I fail, if I am too late, then I shall live with a broken heart for the rest of my life. I shall spend all my days and nights in prayer for Erik and in penance for myself but at least I will know that I tried." She laughed, it was a sad, hollow little sound. "That shall be – at least – some consolation."
"That is what I wished to hear," she said as she rested a hand upon the one Tallis still had on the map. "I could not trust Erik to a better soul." Antoinette took her hand back. "Now, let us go over the map one more time before we retire and then in the morning, we shall go over it again and again until you both must leave for the opera house."
Serge and Tallis returned their eyes to the map as – once again – Antoinette began tracing the safe pathway to Erik's lair. They listened intently as she described the different routes they would need to take if the safe pathway lay in ruins, paying close attention to her description of the traps and the ways to avoid them.
That night, after everyone had retired to bed, after the citizens of France snuggled beneath comforters and duvets, dreaming away the quiet, still hours, a particularly fierce storm blew in from the depths of the Russian steppes. It was a storm driven by bitter cold winds and heavy intense snow that fell for hours, blanketing all of France in a frigid white blanket. Yet even as the snow was blown away across the English Channel, the bitter cold remained and somewhere beneath a feather-filled duvet a person rolled over and looked out a window at the now white rolling hills beyond. A single hand reached out and was quickly drawn back under the duvet.
"How appropriate and what a nice change," the person muttered as sleep began to claim the mind again. "Hell has finally frozen over."