Vive la Révolution
5
The Parisian sewers were not quite as disgusting as initially feared. The tunnel system beneath the Rue Montmartre existed, the Doctor knew, primarily as drainage for rainwater. They were still about a century away from the widespread installation of flushing toilets in homes, people were still doing their business in chamber pots and dumping it into the river, so that was something; there wasn't the unbearable smell of putrid faecal matter to deal with. It still wasn't a nice place to be, though, and especially not when they were being marched at sword-point through the depths. Like the Doctor had been made to carry the chest with the Glove in it, Clara had been instructed to carry a lantern that had been left near the street level entrance, as Dubois and Leclerc continued to threaten them. It said a lot about the revolution that nobody thought twice about them walking like this all the way from the Palais-Royal to the sewer entrance. Things took a turn for the strange though when they found themselves listening to a conversation between the Royalists about a woman.
"I can only say this so many times; you need to tell Esmée how you feel," Dubois told Leclerc as he whined.
"But she's low class," said Leclerc, "It would never work. Her father is a baker by trade – but what is there to bake anymore? He's taken up arms like the rest of them. When order is restored, Monsieur Desmarais will be executed like the rest of the sans-culottes."
"You can have fun with her before any of that happens, and then you won't have to stop by her shop any longer."
"I don't know how you can throw away women like this. Esmée and I have a connection."
"You haven't connected with anything, that's the problem. You'll forget about her as soon as you finish. You won't even remember her name."
"You're wrong. I'm not like you and Beaulieu, I want a wife. I want Esmée Desmarais to be my wife, for her to be Madame Leclerc," he sighed wistfully.
"You shouldn't let her class stop you," Clara interrupted. They stopped walking and looked at her. "I mean… if it's true love, with you and Esmée, then unfortunate circumstances won't change anything, will they? If they do, then maybe it isn't meant to be."
"…You see, Dubois? Women have more to offer than you think they do." The Doctor didn't look happy about Clara inserting herself into their conversation.
Dubois laughed as they began to walk again, "All they have to offer can be found between their legs, and they have nothing between their ears to make up for it."
"No. Esmée says the most wonderful things…"
"And you don't say a word!"
"I think you should tell her," said Clara, "What's the worst that can happen?"
"The worst that can happen!?" Leclerc exclaimed, "She laughs in my face! Humiliates me! I would never be able to show my face in St. Germain again."
"Why would you want to, if not to see her? It's a wretched place," said Dubois.
"I don't think she would laugh at you," said Clara, "The worst is she rejects you, but that's no different to where you are now."
"You're wrong, mademoiselle. Now I have hope. How can I give my darling Esmée the chance to rip that from my hands?"
"That's what love is," said the Doctor, now getting involved, "Opening yourself up to the potential of heartbreak, but also something wonderful. It's about vulnerability."
"Eh, they make some points," Dubois shrugged, "If you want to marry her, marry her."
"That's easier said than done! Just 'marry her,'" Leclerc shook his head.
"If you think it will make you happy, then do it. Although I don't see the point. I couldn't have a woman in my life every day. Every night is enough," he smirked. He clearly fancied himself a lothario.
"When the monarchy is restored, she will stop loving me."
"What does she know of you? Does she know about this?" Dubois sounded angry now.
"Of course not! She knows nothing of me, other than my name, and my status, which she cares for as little as her father."
"I think she sounds nice," said Clara, "Tell her you like her."
"Well I can't do it now," Leclerc argued bitterly, "She isn't here right now."
"She could be," said Dubois, "You might have accidentally told her what you're doing today. She might come looking for you."
"Non, she rarely goes north of the river."
"Not even for her fancy man?" Dubois jibed. Leclerc grimaced. "Is it a left or a right here?"
"It's that way," Leclerc pointed right, and they advanced deeper into the large tunnels with Clara still holding the rusty lantern aloft. "Please, what should I say to Esmée?" he entreated Clara, "What should I tell her?"
"Whatever you tell her has to come from your heart," she said, "That's all that's important, honestly."
"Are you married?" he asked her.
"Uh… yes," she said awkwardly, "I am…"
"And you?" he prompted the Doctor.
"Oh, we're together, her and I," the Doctor indicated Clara.
"Ah, my sister is the same way," said Leclerc. "A woman does know the best way to a woman's heart." That was surprisingly liberal; Clara didn't want to be kidnapped and subjected to homophobia.
"Enough of that talk," said Dubois, "If Vermette is here, he'll only get riled up. I'm not listening to him talk about the boys he finds in the city again. He's going to catch something."
"Oui, probably…"
A wrought-iron gate was built into an alcove in the wall of the round tunnels, lights coming from within indicating more lanterns. Dubois knocked on the gate with the hilt of his sword and another man appeared behind it.
"Do you have it?" he asked, then spotted Clara and the Doctor, "Who are these women?"
"Women?" a second voice asked from within the room, and a taller, bulkier, more attractive man elbowed the first one away. He flashed them a grin. "Bonjour."
"Stop that, Beaulieu," snapped Dubois, "They're not interested in you. The blonde one tells us she knows things about le Gant. They say they want to witness what we're doing."
"I've got something they can witness," he smirked. Apparently they'd run into the French doppelganger of Captain Jack Harkness, or something. Beaulieu was pushed out of the way again by the scrawnier man who'd initially come to the gate, and it was him who finally dragged it open to let Dubois, Leclerc and the Oswalds into the room. Leclerc pushed them inside as the unnamed man snatched the chest out of the Doctor's arms.
"Excuse Guillaume," said Dubois, "He doesn't know how to treat women, either." This dig was aimed at Leclerc. "Où est Vermette?"
"He's gone to fetch the head," said Beaulieu, "He's late." Guillaume ignored them and opened the chest after setting it down on a table.
"Oh my god!" Clara exclaimed when she saw what was resting on the wooden table against the far wall of the room: a fresh, female corpse. It was, of course, the body of Marie Antoinette, and one of the other conspirators, Vermette, was off retrieving her severed head from Madame Tussaud. But it got the Doctor wondering about Jenny – where had she and Matilda ended up? Had they gone back to Tussaud, and if so, what would happen when Vermette arrived, unless he already had? Had they followed the body on its route from the guillotine to the sewers? At least they hadn't gotten themselves captured as well…
"Where did you put the papers, Beaulieu?" Guillaume asked, removing the Glove from the chest and lifting it to examine it in the flickering candlelight of another lantern. Leclerc took the lantern from Clara and went to hang it up on the opposite wall, illuminating the pasty corpse even more. At least it wasn't old enough to start stinking, she'd barely been dead for an hour. There was still some blood trickling from her neck stump.
"I have them," Dubois said, reaching into his coat.
"What do you know of the Glove, mademoiselle?" Guillaume asked the Doctor when Dubois handed him a bundle of letters. Leclerc gestured for them to go over to the corner away from the body so they couldn't mess with the proceedings.
"It's dangerous," said the Doctor, "Using it carries consequences."
Dubois laughed, "Mais oui, the consequences are what we need." The Doctor didn't think they understood the Glove or its power.
"If Robespierre can use it, it can't be too hard," said Beaulieu, leaning on the wall and staring at them in a way that was intended to be seductive, but he looked a bit like he had something in his eye.
"That Glove – it's not – it's not from here. It's not from this planet."
Guillaume laughed, "Then where is it from?"
"…I don't know, but it's from another world."
"It was crafted by the hand of God himself, and it is God who chooses who sits on the throne of France, and it is with God's grace that we use it tonight," said Guillaume. Of course they were religious. Atheism was something the Revolution had made trendy, so they certainly wouldn't be that. The Doctor knew she wasn't going to get through to them – to someone like that, the things the Glove did would seem like proof of a higher power. It was a power nobody should possess, though.
"Maybe you should…" the Doctor whispered to Clara, though they were clearly audible by everyone in the room, "Y'know… force choke." They wouldn't know what that meant.
"I'm all for choking, ladies," said Beaulieu smarmily. Leclerc scoffed at him.
"Now?" asked Clara.
The Doctor was about to implore her to do just that, to knock out all five of them telekinetically so they could swipe the Glove for themselves, Queen be damned. But what Dubois asked next threw a wrench in this plan.
"Are you sure we don't need both of them?" he asked Guillaume.
"Nobody knows where le Gant gauche is, except the Queen," said Guillaume, "And she never wrote it down. She will only tell us the rest of her instructions directly."
"Wait," the Doctor interrupted, "Did you say… the Left Glove?"
"They do come in pairs, no?" Beaulieu said.
"But – it's here? The other one? There are two of them, in Paris?"
"Weren't you listening?" Guillaume snapped, "Only the Queen knows where it is."
"The Queen… she gave you instructions to use the Glove?" the Doctor stared at the body.
"She penned these words herself, mademoiselle," Guillaume held up the documents Dubois had given him.
"But… but that means… that means-"
She was cut off by shouting and the sounds of a scuffle in the sewer tunnels. Dubois, Leclerc and Beaulieu all made for the gate as quickly as they could, though Guillaume remained preoccupied with the notes and the Right Glove.
"Don't touch me! What have you done with the Doctor!?"
"Oh, for…" the Doctor muttered, then called loudly, "Jenny, don't fight them! It's fine! It's sort of fine, I don't know…"
"Doctor!?" Jenny shouted back. It took four grown men to drag Jenny, kicking and screaming, into the room, including a newcomer she assumed was Vermette.
"I found her and the girl lurking in the tunnel," Vermette said.
"The – did you bring Mattie down here!?" Clara exclaimed.
"Where was I meant to leave her?" Jenny protested.
"Just calm down, Jenny, alright? Chill out," the Doctor told her seriously. She grimaced and finally stopped fighting so the men would let her go – though Beaulieu took longer than he needed to to do so. Matilda appeared in the doorway holding a large, bloody sack. All of them, again save for Guillaume, drew their swords. Clara, Jenny, the Doctor and Mattie all had a blade pointed right at them.
"What's going on?" asked Dubois, the de facto leader, "You say you know about the Glove, then you have two girls follow us down here?"
"I didn't… why are you here?" the Doctor asked Jenny.
"We saw them take the body from the grave, followed them to the Rue Montmartre and waited in a café until we saw four of you go inside. To rescue you from these men with swords," Jenny explained.
"Um…" Mattie began, "What's in this bag?"
"Merde!" exclaimed Vermette, going to take it from her immediately and nearly dropping his sword. He took it straight to Guillaume and dumped it on the table next to him. "Why haven't you killed these women, Dubois?"
"They know about the Glove," Dubois repeated.
"So does Robespierre, why should that mean anything?" Vermette argued, "Kill them and be done with it. Start with the girl, she's the weakest."
"No!" Clara shouted, "Don't you hurt her, I'm warning you."
"Or what?" Vermette frowned and pointed his sword at Matilda, who was terrified, "You don't have any weapons."
"I'll die before you can touch her," Clara threatened. Vermette was indifferent.
"So be it." The situation had turned on its head very quickly. On his way back from retrieving the head, Vermette must have run into Jenny and Mattie hiding in the sewers, after they had followed the others. And he was more heartless than even Dubois, at least towards women, and raised his sharpened sword to slash at Clara hard enough to remove an arm, gut her, or even chop off her head if he aimed it just right. Regardless, the outcome was death, and she felt for sure it was coming as he brandished the blade above her head.
"Stop!" Guillaume objected, and Vermette froze just before he could swing.
"Quoi?"
"The notes, they have specific instructions about who must use the glove."
"They don't say Couture has to do it, do they? He's dead," said Dubois.
"No, they say it needs to be… someone with a lot of empathy," Guillaume frowned as he read the papers under the light of the lantern.
"Empathy?" asked Dubois.
"Oui, someone… 'kind' must use it. Someone with a heart," he said, then his eyes rested on Clara, "If this stranger is so willing to die for the girl, she must be very kind indeed."
"No," said the Doctor firmly, "No, you're not using that thing – it's dangerous. I heard it almost killed Gwen Cooper."
"You'll do what we say, or we'll kill the others," said Vermette.
"You should do what he says," Leclerc said to Clara, lowering his voice, "He's very upset today, after Couture." Couture must have been the alleged Austrian conspirator whose execution they had witnessed immediately upon arrival in Paris. "And you'll get to do your part! Longue vie à la Reine!"
"It's not a good idea," said the Doctor firmly.
"There's no choice," said Clara. Swords didn't scare her, nor did the Glove for that matter, she could turn intangible and phase through solid objects. But the Time Lords? They could survive a lot of things, but not a decapitation, which those blades were more than capable of. "If we need the Queen to tell us where the Left Glove is, then I guess that's that…"
Beaulieu cleared his throat, "The Queen, Guillaume."
"Hm? Oh," Guillaume put down the notes and opened the sack Vermette had brought with him and somehow briefly pawned off on Mattie, removing from it the grisly, severed head of Marie Antoinette, still wearing bits of plaster Madame Tussaud had used to make the death mask. They must have waited until Tussaud was done with that to steal the head back for themselves.
"Clara…" Mattie began.
"It's alright, sweetheart," said Clara, "Just stay there, everything will be fine."
"I doubt that," said Vermette.
"Vermette," began Beaulieu, "We have four beautiful women in our midst. Do you have to ruin everything just because you're not interested?"
"Well, you can stop with that, because she's fifteen," Clara said about Mattie.
Beaulieu shrugged, "And?"
"…Okay, I clearly forgot what year it is and what country we're in…" she muttered. Guillaume set the head on the table right where it belonged, lying face-up with severed neck touching severed neck. It was strange to see her without one of the ridiculous wigs she always wore in old paintings.
"You, here," Guillaume ordered Clara. Knowing that they needed the information about the other Glove, because now they knew it was somewhere in Paris they definitely couldn't leave it behind, she begrudgingly did as told, the Doctor, Mattie and Jenny all powerless to help her. Even Jenny, who was still meant to be recovering from her fight with Will Smiles, wouldn't be able to fight off five armed Frenchmen when she didn't even have a sword of her own.
Guillaume had pointed for Clara to stand at the head of the table, which she did, and then held the Glove out to her.
"Put it on," he said, "Or we'll hurt someone you care about."
"I'll do it, alright?" she said, taking the thing. Its metal was icy cold. Under the scrutiny of nine pairs of eyes, she slid the gauntlet onto her right hand, finding the texture within to be even colder and stranger. A faint blue glow came from within the object.
"You place your hand on the back of the head," Guillaume directed her, and this she did.
"And then what?"
"You search," he said, "You will her back to life."
"It's just… willpower? That doesn't… hold on…"
"You okay, Coo?" the Doctor asked worriedly.
"I can feel something…" she said. The Glove was heating up, and not just from her hand. Placed on Marie Antoinette's severed head, it began to help her do just that, search. It was as though she was given access to a whole other world, a world of complete, frozen darkness she could see as clearly as if it were her own thoughts, with a blot of distant warmth and heat she knew she needed to go towards. The Doctor often said Clara worried too much about other people, was too empathetic, and it seemed she was proven correct. It wasn't very difficult at all for Clara to seize the soul of the Queen – if that was what it was – and force it back to life, dragging it free from that dark nether realm and into the head on the table. It felt like she was trying to catch a fish with her hands.
The head's eyes flickered open, still milky and disturbingly pale.
"Don't let go now," Guillaume ordered, "The connection must be made complete."
"Not on my watch," said the Doctor, making to approach, but Vermette held up his sword again in front of her neck. To Clara's horror, the head met her eyes, and smiled and laughed. She jumped out of her skin.
"My boys have done a wonderful job," said the severed head of Marie Antoinette, no worse for wear after it had been removed from the rest of her body by the guillotine. Bizarrely, the fingers of the corpse began to twitch as well. Was it really possible that they would both be revived just from resurrecting the head?
"It'll only last for a minute or so," said the Doctor, "So go on, ask your questions."
"A minute?" asked the head, "Who have you enlisted to do this, Dubois? This girl is an interesting creature. So many years lived, but still so full of life and heart… a minute is the least someone like this could do." Clara felt incredibly uncomfortable, perhaps the most uncomfortable she had ever been in her life.
"They followed us, Your Highness," said Dubois, bowing to her, "They say they know about le Gant."
"Indeed! And what, pray tell, do they know?" How long was left of this resurrection until it stopped? Clara could only feel it getting stronger, the glove getting warmer, more and more energy flowing into the cadaver.
"I know it's dangerous, and I know it's from another world," said the Doctor seriously.
"Another world! Which world?" Antoinette asked. The Doctor stayed quiet because she didn't know the origins of the Gloves. "Do you know who fashioned it?" Further silence. "I see."
"And what do you know of it?" the Doctor challenged.
"Everything," she said.
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
"Where's the Left Glove?" the Doctor asked.
"You want me to give up my last secret, to you? A Time Lord?" The Doctor's blood ran cold.
"How do you know-"
"Your reputation precedes you, Doctor. I know a Time Lord when I see one." There was a long pause where the Doctor was lost for words, a very rare occurrence. "Both Gloves are needed to complete the process."
"So where's the other one?"
"Are you suggesting I trust you to retrieve it for me? I will retrieve it myself, and nothing less."
"And how are you gonna do that? You're just a head."
"Decapitation is merely a delay, and little else. I can feel my body working already." The head met Clara's eyes again and whispered to her, "You can let go now, ma chérie." Clara was alarmed and did just this, removing the Glove as soon as she could. The corpse's arms started to flail more now, crawling across the table in search of something: the head. Seeing a dead body lift up its own head certainly wasn't a common spectacle, but they saw it sit up and hold the head up high enough to maintain eye level with the others in the room – but it turned its gaze on Clara directly. "And who are you? You with so much heart to give?"
"I'm Clara…" she said uneasily, disturbed, "I'm just a traveller. Passing through."
"Indeed you are…" Antoinette's eyes bored into her. She took a few steps back, towards the wall. Swords were still being pointed at her loved ones.
"You plotted this all along, didn't you?" said the Doctor, capturing Antoinette's attention. She manually turned her head. "And Robespierre got wind of it, because he found the Right Glove, and you can't do your scheme without it."
"Correct."
"It wouldn't even surprise me to hear that you founded this 'royalist cult' yourself, all for this purpose."
"I did."
"So you wrote out these instructions, sent these men to do your bidding, thinking they were doing the work of God-"
"Who says I'm not God? Or a God?"
"I do. Unless you'd beg to differ? Tell me who you are."
"My name is Maria Antonia Joseph Johanna."
"That's just who you are right now; what about before? Where did you come from?"
"Guillaume! Where is the sewing kit?" The body turned the head to face him and he jumped at being addressed so sharply, reaching into a pouch from his belt to remove a few items; a large needle and a roll of thread.
"You're not going to sew your own head back on, are you?" Clara asked.
"No, how would you suggest I do that? I can't hold my head still and sew it at the same time. I only have two hands. Guillaume will do it."
"I don't know how to sew." She looked at him, and he bowed his head. "Je suis tellement désolé, Madame la Reine." She tutted and turned her head to scrutinise the other four men, all of whom averted her gaze and looked at the floor.
"Really? None of you? Merde… not even you, Leclerc? Always more in touch with your feminine side. Have you spoken to Esmée?"
"Non, Madame la Reine. And no, also, I can't sew."
"What about these women? You must have brought them here for a reason. I know they're interesting, possibly the most interesting people in all of Paris, but you five wouldn't know that."
"We only brought two of them because they saw us take the Glove, they might be working for the Committee of Public Safety," said Dubois. Antoinette laughed.
"They certainly are not. No, they don't want Robespierre getting the Gloves any more than they want me getting them, despite the fact that they are mine to begin with, I brought them here with me."
"With you from where?" asked the Doctor seriously, but again she evaded the question and cleared her throat, which was quite remarkable considering her throat was cut in half.
"Sorry, how are you talking?" Clara interrupted her again, "Your head isn't connected to your lungs, or diaphragm, and your vocal chords are severed."
"Presuming I have lungs, diaphragms, and vocal chords." Clara was even more confused and looked to her wife and Jenny, but both seemed to be at a loss for an explanation. Then again, the other severed heads had also somehow managed to talk. It must be something to do with the power of the Glove. "If you don't know who I am, why are you here, Doctor? Is your machine nearby?"
"What stories about me have you heard?" she asked.
"About the Oncoming Storm? About the Time Lord Victorious? About Ka Faraq Gatri?"
"How do you know that one?" Clara didn't think she'd ever seen the Doctor more unnerved than listening to Marie Antoinette say that phrase. She only smiled, still holding her head up.
"What does it mean?" Clara asked.
"'Destroyer of Worlds,' in native Kaled. The language the Daleks used to speak, a long time ago," she explained, "But how would you know that?"
"You're very famous. Much like Marie Antoinette."
"And are you not her? Are you an impersonator?"
"Of course not! I was raised in Vienna."
"But… this…"
"Can any of you sew, or am I going to have to stay here all day? You're running out of time to save her, you know."
"For god's sake, I'll sew it back on," Clara sighed. She knew how to sew, at least. She was quite sure Jenny and the Doctor did as well, though the Doctor wasn't very good at it, but they weren't jumping at the opportunity to haphazardly stick a severed head back onto a body. Guillaume gave her the needle and thread. First she'd pulled a candle out of an eye socket that day, and now this… if only she could tell Sarah this story.
"How much time? What do you mean?" the Doctor reiterated as Clara threaded the needle.
"Who are you?" Antoinette ignored the Doctor and asked Clara, though it was tricky to tell that she was speaking to Clara because she had to keep her head very still now, resting it on the stump. "Her newest companion? Assistant?"
"Both of those things, and more," said Clara, sticking the needle into the grey skin. It wasn't pleasant, and also difficult considering unlike fabric, she couldn't get to the inside of the neck to do the other side. Well, not without turning intangible, but she didn't think it was the best time for that.
"She's my wife," said the Doctor.
"Oh, of course. So young, but so desensitised… You should know, ma chérie, nanogenes are child's play compared to the Gloves." Clara accidentally stabbed herself in the thumb with the needle, alarmed.
"What do you mean about running out of time!?" the Doctor shouted at her, getting angrier and angrier about her dodging every single question.
"The Gloves. You need them both. With only one, resurrection is still possible, but only with a sacrifice. But with two, the process is completed, no sacrifice required. The energy the Glove uses is something far beyond the ability of the nanogenes I can see." She could see the nanogenes? They were so small they were invisible unless they were healing a major injury.
"This is what Robespierre is so desperate for, this is why he killed Couture," said Dubois. Clara had nearly forgotten the Royalists were even there, they'd fallen so quiet listening to the cryptic exchange between the Doctor and the Queen.
"He wants the Left Glove?" asked the Doctor.
"As insurance, to save his pathetic revolution," said Vermette, "If the National Convention can't be killed, they can't be ousted. But the same rule applies to the monarchy."
"So you're saying if we don't get you both of the Gloves, Clara's going to die? You're going to… drain her of life force, or something?" Jenny asked.
"Or something."
"Then tell us where it is, so we can go get it," said the Doctor through gritted teeth.
"If only I trusted you," she smirked, then winced, "Careful with that needle."
"Careful while I sew your head back on?" Clara asked incredulously, "And you threaten to slowly kill me?"
"If you hurry up, you might not even notice the effects of our connection. It might be severed with my complete restoration before anything bad can happen to you."
"Or… we could just destroy the Glove," said the Doctor slowly, "I've heard of them being destroyed before."
Antoinette laughed, "And how do you propose to that? You're going to steal a sword and cut it up? Stab it? It's coated in pure cobrian." The Doctor grimaced.
"What's that?" asked Mattie, who, like the Royalists, had barely been able to say a word when faced with this bizarre situation. Clara was debating ordering her to use the emergency teleport and return to the TARDIS, perhaps retrieve help from Rose, or Jack – who'd dealt with the Gloves before.
"Very strong metal. You could probably destroy it with a big gun – do you have a gun?" the Doctor asked Jenny.
"Me? No," Jenny said, "I didn't bring one. You said we were going to the Louvre to look at paintings, and they search you on the way in."
"That's the only reason you didn't bring a gun to the Louvre?" Clara asked her incredulously. She just shrugged.
"I will take you to the Left Glove directly, as soon as your wonderful wife finishes her task."
"Maybe if you shut up…" Clara muttered. The Royalists gave a start, all objecting to her addressing the Queen in this way, though the Queen herself only laughed again. She didn't seem to be taking anything seriously, including her own death and not to mention Clara's, which was apparently looming over them. But Clara was trying not to think about that, or she'd have an existential crisis while she was meant to be sewing.
"Oh, calm down," said Antoinette, "She might die tonight, she can say what she likes. And with such a pretty mouth."
"…I'm just… going to ignore that…" Clara mumbled.
"Please don't flirt with her while threatening to kill her," said the Doctor. "Tell me who you are, what you are, and where you come from. Why you came here, too, while you're at it. And why you've been pretending to be a Viennese princess for forty years."
"I haven't been pretending to be anything or anyone," she said. "But it is such a rare thing to see – the Doctor and her offspring in the same place and time. I've only witnessed it once before." She looked at Jenny as she spoke. It sounded like she'd met them before, the two of them, but they both drew a blank. "Vermette – I'm sick of seeing this sword, put it away. The girl isn't going to attack you." Vermette grunted and did as bade, finally sheathing the sword he'd been aiming towards Matilda for quite a while now. "Take Dubois with you to go and fetch a carriage, we shall need one shortly." They did just this without making a fuss, which was a great relief to Clara because as far as she could tell Dubois and Vermette were the most likely to kill them. Dubois had been the one to kill Jacques the soldier, after all. She didn't think much for Guillaume's bitter attitude or Beaulieu's flirting, but was glad that Antoinette hadn't gotten rid of Leclerc. He was the only one she didn't dislike.
"A carriage to go where?" asked the Doctor.
"To Versailles."
"Versailles!? We don't have time to go all the way to Versailles!"
"I'm joking."
"You're-!? Well, don't!"
"I thought you're famous for your sense of humour?"
"I'm famous for a lot of things, like getting rid of obnoxious aliens who won't tell me who they are or what they're doing, but I'm not famous for laughing at jokes that involve Clara's death," she grew louder and louder.
"Sweetheart," Clara began, "Just calm down."
"Calm down!? You're connected to her with that Glove! She's feeding off you, like some sort of vampire!"
"Bit rude," said Jenny, "To vampires, I mean."
"I assure you, I'm not one of those wretched creatures. Cursed to never step foot in the sun? If that was my existence, I wouldn't care for the Gloves at all. I'd rather they let me die. You know, you're not as charming as they give you credit for when you're faced with something you don't understand," Antoinette quipped, then winced. "Ow! What are you doing?"
"Just trying a knot," said Clara defensively, "Unless you want me to leave it so your head just falls off again? Will this heal?"
"It'll happen to you, slowly," said the Doctor, "That's what she's doing."
"Oh, fine," said Antoinette, "The Glove is in the Tuileries, but you shan't find it without me. It's hidden very well. Robespierre hasn't managed to discover it yet, after all. And my dear, what sort of a person would I be if I didn't return the favour of bringing me back to life by freeing the girl from her bondage? Unless she doesn't want to be free."
"I very much do, thanks…" said Clara, passing the needle and thread back to Guillaume.
"Then so it shall be, and we will adjourn as soon as Dubois and Vermette return with a carriage. I can't walk thought he streets like this."
"Sorry – you want to go to the Tuileries Palace? The headquarters of the National Convention?" the Doctor asked "You're gonna walk right in there to get your magic glove? The headquarters of the National Convention?"
"We shan't be walking in through the front door," she said, "It will be quite alright." She jumped down from the table quite spryly, Clara watching her head very carefully to make sure it didn't fall off. It was already wobbling a little – she'd have to find a better way to keep it attached. Maybe she could get some bolts, like Frankenstein's monster.
"When was Mary Shelley born?" Clara asked the Doctor.
"Not for four more years. Why?"
"Just wondering if she happened to be hanging around in Paris ready to witness this… thing," said Clara.
"Wouldn't advise wearing any of those wigs in this condition," said Jenny, "Y'know, what with your spine being cut in half."
"Madame la Reine," Guillaume began, "When are we going to gather our allies to seize the throne?"
"I have already determined the best route to get you to safety in Vienna, Your Highness," Beaulieu added.
"What? Oh, yes, we'll think about that later," Antoinette brushed them off, "The Tuileries comes first."
"Shall I send word ahead to our allies in Prussia and Bavaria?"
"No, I will send my own messages with my seal, so they know the truth," she said.
"But the Convention grows more powerful by the day," Beaulieu continued, "There are rumours that the Duke of Orléans is going to be beheaded soon."
"Well, Phillippe should have been more careful."
"It's too dangerous for you to go to the Tuileries, I'm afraid I have to insist."
"I'm afraid I don't care. Monsieur Beaulieu, le Gant gauche is the most valuable object on this planet, far more than every jewel or diamond in all of France, and it belongs to me. Nothing on this rock will prevent me from recovering it, and any further suggestions of this nature will be considered treason."
"I would never-"
"Another word and Leclerc shall be forced to deal with you."
"Excuse me?" asked Leclerc.
"He doesn't have the stomach," said Beaulieu. She glared at him, and he finally stopped talking.
"I do have a stomach," said Leclerc.
"Oh, Fabien," sighed Antoinette, "He means you're a coward."
"I am not! If you want me to stab him, I'll stab him."
"Think for yourself for once," snapped Guillaume.
"You must speak to the girl," Antoinette addressed Leclerc.
"And so I shall! You'll see. If Mademoiselle Desmarais will have me, then I'll stay with her always." Beaulieu made a retching sound to make fun of him, and he crossed his arms and leant against the wall in a huff.
"No woman will ever 'have' a man, they are the property of their fathers and then their husbands," said Beaulieu.
"Perhaps I will stab you myself, Beaulieu," the Queen remarked, "No woman has ever been, nor ever will be, the property of a man. The very idea is an insult, and if you are not more discriminate you will meet the same fate as Couture."
Splashing footsteps became audible in the main sewer tunnel.
"Mes amies!" It was Dubois. "We have secured a carriage!"
"Fantastique!" Antoinette smiled, "Allons-y!" The Doctor felt her blood begin to boil.