A characteristic screech of braking woke Romulus. He opened his eyes, but the hood still prevented him from seeing anything. Outside, the horses pawed. The carriage was stopped.
- Right! We have arrived, your Lordship!
Someone opened the door. The prior heard Yavandir Palebough descend.
- I will escort you to my future ex-employer. It's in your best interest to follow me without doing anything stupid, Prior. Remember here, you cannot be alone more. Anyone we come across can potentially send you straight to Morr if you take a wrong step.
The Human only responded with a sigh. Determined to receive everything, he allowed the Elf be guided to guide him. The latter handcuffed him again.
- Follow me.
Gravel crunched under the soles of the two men. Romulus did everything to gather as much information as possible with the few elements he had.
Pebbles… we're in the yard, and I don't feel any hard cobblestones under my sandals. It must be loose soil. The local lord – what was his name again… De Beyle, yes – Lord De Beyle must not be particularly wealthy. These metallic noises are produced by people who are training in the use of weapons. And I can hear words in Bretonnian. Palebough must be right, there are only Bretonnians here. Ah, we have crossed the courtyard, I feel that we are in a closed place!
- Careful, Prior, there is a spiral staircase.
Sure enough, they climbed a few dozen steps.
Probably the tallest tower.
After a long ascension, they took a few more steps on a wooden floor that creaked under their feet. The sound of knocking on a door resonated out.
- Come in! an imperious voice ordered.
The door opened with a slight grinding.
- Here I am back, noble Lord, with our special guest!
The juggler held Romulus back by the shoulders.
- Don't move a muscle!
Then, with a sharp gesture, the Elf tore the hood from the prior's head.
- And here you are! Is the resemblance to your liking?
- It is, indeed, a voice colder than a Kislev snowstorm answered.
Romulus shook his head and blinked, blinded by the ambient light. When his vision readjusted, he looked around to see where he was.
Yavandir had guided him to a small, soberly decorated office. There were a few simple tapestries on the walls, as well as a coat of arms presenting three red roses arranged in a triangle on a gold background. Some furniture with books on the shelves suggested that the juggler had taken him to a small study.
Romulus then spotted a portrait fixed on the wall to his left. A portrait that represented his own face, twenty years younger. His eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the image.
- Over here, articulated the voice slowly.
The priest of Shallya priest spun to his right. His heart stopped short when he saw a Human, richly dressed, standing behind his desk. This one looked at him with a mixture of anger and great pleasure.
- Our matchmaker was right, you haven't changed that much.
- What… who…
- Come on, please don't tell me you've forgotten. You must have suspected, however, I would not remain idly by after such an abominable crime.
Romulus remained silent, letting his interlocutor gloat. He was a tall, receding man with cropped hair and beard. He must have been about sixty years old. He was not, however, a bedridden person weakened by decades. On the contrary, he even seemed to be gradually regaining the ardour of his youth, as if he was fuelled by the energy of anger. The prior saw the banner fixed to the wall behind him, representing a white horse on a red and gold background. He whispered:
- I have not forgotten. You haven't changed either, Monsignor...
- "Monsignor" who? Say it. Say my name.
- Horace de Vaucanson, answered Romulus with a sigh.
The lord burst out laughing.
- That's it! Horace de Vaucanson, the father of Ignace de Vaucanson, a young, full of life and will man, that you tortured to death, Prior Romulus… or should I say, Dieter Meyerhold!
No matter how prepared he was, Romulus felt another blow in his heart when he heard that name, the name of a life of banditry he had abandoned more than twenty years before. Vaucanson smiled wickedly.
- Yes… I've spent all this time tracking you down, doing research to find the name of the murderer of my only son! I had his face, but take knowledge of the rest was not easy. But now, I eventually found you. Many thought you were dead twenty years ago, Meyerhold, but deep down myself, I have always felt your presence. As if my son were telling me from Avalon his executioner was still breathing! And I've been right, in summary.
It was only then that Romulus spotted another person left behind. He was a Human with a ruddy complexion, greying hair, and very plump under his precious tunic.
- This gentleman is Lord Henri de Beyle. He is also from Bretonnia, and was kind enough to welcome me to his castle. He manages Pourseille, and all the inhabitants of the surrounding area have sworn an oath to him.
The fat man braced himself, flattered. The prior of Shallya was not fooled.
Judging by his shifty gaze and the sweat he's dripping, it's obvious that the highest authority in this room is not the one Ludwig has validated!
He decided to take advantage of the situation.
- Lord de Beyle, since you are the burgomaster of Pourseille, your legitimate suzerain is Prince Steiner. By helping your compatriot to undermine the forces of our people, you're exposing yourself to very serious problems! Are you aware of that?
The burgomaster didn't dare answer. On the other hand, Vaucanson slapped the flat of his hand on the table, walked around the piece of furniture, and planted himself angrily in front of the priest.
- You are hardly in a position to give my guest lessons on conscience, Meyerhold! Be careful what you say or do while you are here. I plan to leave you alive for now, but if you use my patience too much, I can change that plan!
- Speaking of plans, noble Lord de Vaucanson, I have mine to carry out, reminded Palebough with an amused air. I held my end of the bargain, it's time to hold yours!
The Bretonnian growled and glared at the juggler. He went back to the desk, opened a drawer, picked out a box. He opened it, and dumped its contents on the waxed table. A rain of gold coins fell on the wood with clinks which were very pleasant music for the one who was going to pocket them.
- Two thousand golden crowns. A hundred crowns per year spent hunting you, Meyerhold.
- Like wine, you have improved over time! chuckled the Elf.
Yavandir examined the pile of gold for a long time, handed up a coin at random, examined it from all angles, and bit into it.
- Well, that looks authentic to me.
- Would you dare to doubt the word of a servant of the Lady of the Lake? Vaucanson asked indignantly.
- And you? Haven't you questioned my abilities, and this as soon as we had our first conversation? That being said, you were right to trust me, and I was right on my side. Both parties are satisfied.
- Indeed. Now, Mister Olafsson, you have received your payment, I no longer need your services, so get out of here, would be kindly.
Yavandir Palebough met the lord's gaze, while putting the gold coins back in the box. He didn't look away for a second. Finally, when he had closed the box, he wedged it under his arm, and his face broke into a long smile.
- It was a pleasure to serve you, noble Lord Horace de Vaucanson.
- I haven't shared this pleasure for a penny!
- You did! More exactly four hundred and eighty thousand, according to the current rate!
- Enough! Go away and practice your buffooneries somewhere else!
The Elf bowed exaggeratedly with a small sneer.
- Good luck to you, Prior! You will need it! My regards to Shallya!
He hopped out of the room. Romulus followed him with his gaze, then faced the Bretonnian lord.
- You've trusted the wrong person, Monsignor.
- Have I? Can you be more explicit, Meyerhold?
- For starters, his name is not "Olafsson", or whatever. His real name is Yavandir Palebough. I know him well, he participated in the foundation of Vereinbarung, indirectly. He collaborated in the research that was the starting point for the creation of the Rat Kingdom. He was... a friend.
- You should have chosen your friends better, Meyerhold. Note, it is said that "birds of a feather flock together".
- Something has gone wrong with him, Monsignor! I don't know what, but he's not himself anymore! To begin with, he made a pact with the Feral Skaven!
- As you did.
- I didn't! You cannot compare the inhabitants of the Under-Empire with the citizens of Vereinbarung. The Skaven of the Rat Kingdom are as Human as you and me in their heads, Monsignor. They are good people, who ask to live normally. Yavandir Palebough has gotten into the mess with the Feral Skaven, and for a really malicious purpose!
- Doesn't matter. He had his due, I don't need his services anymore, let that fool hang somewhere else.
- You do not know everything, Monsignor, there is something else; during the journey to this castle, Palebough met his accomplices from the Under-Empire. There was another person that these Feral Skaven seemed to fear at this interview. I didn't see who, but I think it's a powerful person, maybe a witch! And I wouldn't be surprised if she pulled the wool over the eyes of everyone! Palebough, the Feral ones, you, everyone! You will gain nothing by invading Vereinbarung. On the contrary, you will end up being cornered, and then defeated! I bet that at this hour, the Prince's troops are already on their way!
The Bretonnian lord chuckled.
- I have enough supplies and troops to resist all the Renegade Crowns!
- Even if it was true, do you think your army could also resist the forces of Chaos?
This time, Vaucanson's brow creased with perplexity.
- What forces of Chaos?
- Palebough didn't tell you who his true master was? Prospero Steiner was poisoned by the cultists of Tzeentch, the God of Change. Palebough is part of the Purple Hand sect, as is most certainly his witch accomplice. They want to pit us against each other in order to create widespread chaos, and take advantage of this to invade us. Your revenge is just one step in their plan to turn all Vereinbarung into a heap of ash. The Feral Skaven decimate our villages on one side, you annex them on the other. Our forces will spring into action, but once we've all killed each other, you can be sure whoever wins will be finished off by the Purple Hand!
The Lord of Vaucanson crossed his arms, and seemed to think. For a brief moment, Romulus found himself hoping that he had given him valid arguments to "change his plans". He quickly became disillusioned.
- Whatever, Meyerhold. This pathetic buffoon will never be able to mount a sufficiently effective invasion plan. Even if he does, I'm sure my army will be able to subdue these unsavoury individuals. You do not believe me?
- I find it hard to believe you, Monsignor. We got a little taste of what the Purple Hand agents are capable of, it's no joke.
- So, let me show you I'm not joking, either.
Vaucanson leaned out of the window and shouted towards the courtyard.
- De Villefort? Come up, will you?
A moment later, a tall man in knightly armour entered the room. This newcomer was a gentleman fifteen years younger than Vaucanson. His eye was sharp, his beard and his salt-and-pepper moustache finely trimmed. Even if his youth had flown away, he remained athletic in appearance. There emanated from his person a certain confidence, as well as an impression of unfailing loyalty. The man's eyes widened in surprise when he saw Romulus.
- Reginald de Villefort is my aide-de-camp, explained Vaucanson. Of all the Bretonnians in this world, he is the most faithful to me. No need to try anything as you did with de Beyle, it will be a waste of time, better you know right away. De Villefort, here is our man. Yes, it is Dieter Meyerhold. You may be surprised, this Elf didn't trick us.
- Glad to see it, my Liege, answered de Villefort in a clear voice. What are we going to do with him?
- We shall take him to his cell, but before that, I want him to see our numbers, and that he understands that his hopes are in vain.
- At your command, my Liege.
Vaucanson glanced briefly at de Beyle.
- Now that the introductions are done, you can go back to your daily routine.
The fat man quickly left the room, without saying a word. Romulus pouted. Vaucanson realized this.
- The way I talk to my compatriots is none of your business, Meyerhold. Admittedly, de Beyle is the host at the moment. But when I'm done with your heretical friend, I'll be the only true Prince. De Beyle has already made up his mind to this idea. Now let's go down. De Villefort?
- My Liege?
- Stay behind that bandit. At the slightest suspicious move, knock him out.
- Right, my liege.
The three men left the office, went back down the stairs, and reached the courtyard. Romulus blinked, and looked around carefully. The space was about three hundred yards long, and two hundred yards wide. The wall that surrounded the place was about fifteen feet high. Besides the dungeon they had just emerged from, there were several outbuildings within the castle grounds. The prior distinguished a small chapel which he imagined consecrated to the Lady of the Lake. He also spotted the stables, a barn where peasants piled up sacks of food, and at the back, the building furthest from the main entrance, the barracks, where the dungeons were. It was towards this building that they set out.
Romulus saw several dozen soldiers in typical Bretonnian uniforms. Some practiced with halberds, others practiced sequences with a club. In a corner of the courtyard, a few yards from the barracks, about fifteen of them were using crossbows.
A knight approached. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and bronze-skinned. He ran his gloved hand through his blonde mane, and smiled as the three men approached.
- Monsignor, my respects!
- The Lady of the Lake watches over you, Lombard. So, where are we now?
- As you can see, my Liege, our troops continue their training tirelessly. The use of these weapons no longer holds any secrets for us. The men of Pourseille are motivated, and there are already several dozen local villagers who have listened to the voice of reason and agreed to strengthen our ranks.
Sir Guillaume de Lombard waved around with his arms.
- See! The army of your Prince can come, it will smash against our walls. Here, we are well settled, well equipped, we have enough food. What do you think?
Fearing a violent reaction from one or other of the Bretonnians before him, Romulus remained silent. But he couldn't help but think:
Right, there are a lot of them, their equipment looks good quality, but they are still far outnumbered by our army! Unless they have a secret asset, when Ludwig's troops arrive, it will be a massacre!
Guillaume de Lombard's assurance seemed to him even more laughable. The standard-bearer was as reckless as an illiterate Goblin who had nailed three planks under a pot and claimed to heat an entire country more efficiently than with a giant Dwarven boiler. He preferred to change the subject.
- It's surprising, I thought that Bretonnians didn't use more elaborate weapons than bows?
- We still reject gunpowder weapons, but I decided to adapt. For half a dozen seasons, I have trained relentlessly in the handling of the crossbow. And I can affirm, without exaggerating, to be an expert in this discipline.
Vaucanson looked for a few moments at the crossbowmen in practice. He gave the prior a satisfied smile.
- Yes, your Prince can send his troops, we will be ready to receive them. We will patiently await their arrival.
He picked up one of the crossbows lying on a table, and cocked it.
- By the way, if by misfortune you had the nerve to try to leave the cell in which I am about to have you locked up...
Vaucanson glanced briefly at the sky. With a gesture, he raised the weapon, and squeezed the trigger. The bolt went vertical. A moment later, a buzzard fell on the gravel, its body pierced by the metal projectile.
- A headshot would kill you, it would be too soft for you. On the other hand, a bolt left in your calf will rot your leg, then the rest of your carcass, which will be infinitely more appropriate.
Romulus did not answer, terrified by the gesture Vaucanson had just made.
He is a sharp-shooter... but above all, he has just broken the code of chivalry which prohibits ranged weapons! And Lombard didn't react! The notion of honour must no longer represent anything for these people!
- Good, carry on, Lombard.
- We will reign over Vereinbarung, my Liege.
Romulus then noticed a small detail: the aide-de-camp, Villefort, had said nothing, but his look was hardly approving. As if he was doubting.
All three arrived at the end of the courtyard, where the barracks were located. They descended a staircase adjacent to the building, down to the basement. Villefort took a big bunch of keys from one of his pockets and opened the door. They entered a long, dark and damp corridor, with closed cages on each side.
- You will be accommodated in the back room, the one with a reinforced door.
Passing the cells, Romulus felt his heart compress. On the other side of the bars, he saw Skaven. Men, women, children, all naked and covered in chains. Some raised their muzzles as he passed. Their breathing was irregular, panting, their eyes blank. Some adults bore obvious signs of beatings on their bodies.
- What have you done, Vaucanson?
- Bretonnian justice, Meyerhold.
He saw a young female rat crying silently. This time, he couldn't hold back his anger.
- You lock up innocent women and children? Where did you leave your compassion? At the bottom of the latrines?
- I've caged dangerous animals. Note they are not abused, I feel like the citizens I confiscated them from care about them.
- Of course, they care about them! These prisoners you call "animals" are not cattle, but their children and grandchildren!
- This makes them all the more docile. Vereinbarung is not such a difficult place to conquer, it would seem.
Romulus stopped, and glared at the Bretonnian lord.
- You are a criminal!
- I am not a torturer of young people, unlike you.
- Whatever I could have done in the past, it doesn't give you any rights over these Skaven! You must return them to their families!
- Oh, I will. Perhaps in this state, perhaps in the state of corpses. Everything will depend on their behaviour, and yours.
Vaucanson nudged Romulus. They continued walking to the end of the corridor, and passed through a heavy door with a small screened opening.
- Here we are. This is the place where you will await the end of your days.
The Prior of Shallya felt his heart beating wildly. He was not so afraid for his life, but he had a lot of resentment towards Vaucanson.
- You've caused a lot of pain, and you're about to make things worse! Your plans for annexation will cause even more deaths, as well as within our ranks than yours!
- I've devoted twenty years of my life to this revenge, Meyerhold! Nothing will stop me, especially not your beautiful words!
- But what about your people? I know I'm not the best to point this out to you, but have you thought about the inhabitants of Montfort? Has your revenge not taken you away from your duty as suzerain?
Vaucanson clenched his fist and brandished it just in front of the prior's eye. He whispered under his breath, his face contorted with anger:
- You are right, Meyerhold. You're not the best to point this out to me. I have not failed my vassals. I never did. And I will go even further: it is not only about revenge, but also about justice. The Master Mage of the Rat Kingdom is dead now. Prospero Steiner was the link between us and that vermin you claim to be equal to us. Without him, everything will fall apart. Men and Ratmen will kill each other within weeks, maybe a month. And during that time, my troops will assemble. With the blessing of the Lady of the Lake, my knights and my soldiers will clean up all this aberration which your Prince calls "Vereinbarung". Fertile land, with good climatic conditions, relatively isolated, which will not arouse too much covetousness. I will leave Montfort behind me, and all the bitterness that bogs it down. The Rat Kingdom will become the Val du Cresson – the root of the name of my lineage. And I will be a worthy Prince, who will be able to compete with the lords of this accursed native country which has brought me nothing but disappointment!
- Will your King allow such a thing?
- Your Emperor doesn't care what happens outside the borders of his Empire, as long as it doesn't threaten its security. King Louen Leoncoeur is not different!
- He cannot allow one of his knights to debase Bretonnian Courtesy.
The Bretonnian hit the prior with a hard punch in his stomach. Romulus fell to his knees, gurgling. Between two painful inspirations, the prior heard the biting voice of the old man.
- What do you know about Bretonnian Courtesy? You, a common murderer? Your argument has no validity, Meyerhold. I do what I want, as long as the Lady of the Lake doesn't tell me clearly to stop! And if it does not suit the King, I shall explain to him how I am acting in the interest of our country. And when this province is annexed, he will make me a hero!
- You forgot the Feral Skaven and the Purple Hand…
- You repeat yourself again and again! So I repeat what I have already told you: let them come! I will exterminate them all! And the citizens of Vereinbarung – the Humans, the real ones – will be on my side! They will fight alongside me to protect these lands, which will remain their home, but which will be mine! Come on, Villefort, I've had enough. Let this child murderer rot.
The two Bretonnians left the cell. De Villefort closed the door and turned the key in the lock. The prior managed to get to his feet.
- Now, you wait. When our success is total, you will come out of this cell in order to completely consume your failure. Only then will I deliver you for eternity from this life of which you were not worthy.
Romulus decided to go all out. He threw himself on the door, and shouted through the small opening:
- You don't realize the reality, Monsignor! Vereinbarung's army is twice, three times, five times larger than yours! Even if it will have to fight against several adversaries, its numbers will remain much higher than your forces! You have no chance! All you'll get is a crushing defeat and even more hundreds of snuffed lives! Listen, Monsignor, stop this madness! You wanted me, you got me! Do whatever you want with me, but spare our two peoples!
Horace de Vaucanson didn't even slow down. Romulus sank onto the straw mattress, his hopes reduced till nothing.
Once again outside, the aide-de-camp allowed himself to express his opinion.
- Declaring war on Prince Steiner was perhaps not a good idea, my Liege.
- Was it? Can you tell me why?
- I think back to what the prior said: the rats are going to send their army here, and it is not certain we will win.
- I have confidence in our troops and in de Beyle's, as well as in the solidity of his castle. In any case, much more than in the words of a murderer. Don't forget that prior murdered my son. As for Prince Steiner's minions, they won't be able to afford to send their full army, and we have enough to hold a siege. Olafsson assured me their forces will be divided on several fronts, and therefore cannot be effective.
Villefort grumbled.
- I don't like so much that rascal Elf, my Liege.
- Me neither, but I must admit he is competent in his field.
- Aren't you afraid he used you? It was he who pushed you to send Guillaume de Lombard to provoke Prince Steiner about the murder of the Master Mage. Perhaps Olafsson hopes to see you knocked down by the giant rats?
Horace de Vaucanson's face flushed.
- Do you have any doubts about our victory, Villefort?
- I have no doubts about our troops, be it their loyalty or their abilities. But I'm trying to understand what the interests of this Olafsson are, and ours?
The two men were still walking along the rampart. The soldiers stood to attention as they passed. Vaucanson explained:
- Olafsson has his own plan, let's face it. I don't know how, I don't know why, but I don't care, it's not my problem. If this fool gets in our way, we'll sweep him away. And as for our interests… remember we are doing this for the glory of Bretonnia, Villefort.
- The glory of Bretonnia… are you sure?
The Bretonnian Lord stopped, and turned to his aide-de-camp.
- What are you insinuating, Villefort?
- Aren't you confusing the interests of Bretonnia with an unhealthy thirst for conquest?
At these words, Vaucanson threw himself on Villefort, and seized him by the collar with both hands. The aide-de-camp was about to react when he saw his overlord's face contorted with rage, but the latter froze. His face relaxed, he released his grip, and straightened Villefort's clothes.
- Please excuse this temporary loss of control, faithful Villefort. I understand your questioning, but I assure you that I am doing this for Bretonnia. You said it yourself: Olafsson is a rascal. Once we have overpowered the regular army, we will march on Steinerburg. If he is there, he could die during these sad events... and the world won't be any worse for it. We will annex this Rat Kingdom and make it a colony for the Montfort. Our home land, hitherto considered one of the most ungrateful in Bretonnia, will experience unprecedented growth thanks to our efforts and thanks to the resources of Vereinbarung: the riches of its lands, and its workforce. Giant rats will make perfect slaves.
Vaucanson resumed his walk, Montfort followed him.
- My Liege, what will the citizens of Vereinbarung say? I mean Human citizens?
- Our laws will allow them to escape the most difficult work.
- Do not forget the words of Meyerhold: the Skaven of the first generation were all raised by Humans! Those consider them as their children. If we make them slaves, Human citizens will most certainly take it badly! Look already what was the reaction of our "guest". He was sincere! He associates the Ratmen with our race! Others necessarily think so!
- We have succeeded in bringing the inhabitants of the surrounding villages to heel. The citizens have sworn their allegiance to us, and the giant rats are in jail.
- You are right, but these are small villages with little or no defences. It will not be the same for larger cities, or the capital! Even when we subdue them, the people of Vereinbarung will protest, maybe revolt!
Once again, the old Human's gaze turned pitiless.
- Let them protest, they will have no choice. Let them revolt, they will suffer the same fate. We shall see if they will always be so quick to consider this heretical offspring as their equals. Besides, I doubt that all Humans consider Skaven as their equals. I rather think that many of them would be delighted to see them returned to the only place they are entitled to occupy. Now I'll take a rest. Make sure our forces are ready to receive Prince Steiner's soldiers when they come.
- At your command, my Liege.
Vaucanson thought he heard disagreement in the voice of the aide-de-camp, but did not want to think further.
Instead of returning to the office, he went to the reception room. It was a large, low-ceilinged room, with a large bearskin stretched out at the foot of a platform on which was fixed a heavy marble throne. At a glance, this object was worth more money than all the rest of the furniture in the whole castle. It was undoubtedly the most precious possession of the Lord de Beyle. He had had to save money for years, while taxing his vassals, from Bretonnia or the Renegade Crowns, as much as possible to buy it. The Bretonnian crossed his arms, and stared at the seat.
Soon, it will be the throne of the Rat Kingdom! I'll have him moved to the palace of the Little Couronne! De Beyle will only have to get back Steiner's. Lombard told me it was wooden. It will be perfect for these places, and it will remind de Beyle of his rank.
Horace de Vaucanson liked to foresee and anticipate. He was good at making his presence felt, too. And so he had taken down Beyle's banner, stretched behind the throne, to replace it with his own. The golden horse reared up against a red background.
He pulled the banner slightly, revealing a hidden door behind it. He climbed the few stone steps that led to a room under the eaves of the tower. It was his personal armoury, where he had stored his weapons, his ceremonial armour, and that which he used to wear for combat. Several well-made swords were placed on a rack. He grabbed one at random, then made a few reels. He placed himself in front of the training dummy placed in a corner of the room, and chained passes.
The years had accumulated, but Lord Horace de Vaucanson had never neglected his training. A true knight worthy of the name must be able to take up arms and use them to the end of his life, even if that must come by time rather than by combat. After a few minutes, he put the weapon back on the rack. He wiped his forehead with the channel of his vest, and wanted to do another exercise.
He approached a wall-mounted display on which was his personal crossbow, much better quality than the ones his soldiers were training with. He seized it carefully, checked his calibration, placed a bolt in the notch, armed the weapon, and leaned at the window. He spotted a flight of ducks above the neighbouring lake. He pulled the trigger. A few seconds later, the unfortunate volatile lay at the edge of the clear water, which dyed in red.
Nothing and no one can escape me, flattered the Lord of Vaucanson. He took the time to grease the weapon, then he recharged it before putting it back in place on the display.
That's when he heard it. A youthful, energetic and somewhat mocking voice rang clearly in his ears.
- So you're about to reach your goal, after all this time...
Without turning around, Vaucanson muttered:
- Yes. I found and captured him.
- Good, really good! Finally, your patience is rewarded. And what about your heart? Do you feel relieved?
- Hmm… Not yet. It is too early to tell.
The Bretonnian leaned against the window sill, and gazed at the horizon.
- Soon, soon I will be done with these heretics, and you will be able to find rest.
- Maybe yes… and maybe not? Who knows where things may lead us? Will you find rest?
- No matter.
- Are you sure that you are not taking a path from which you could no longer turn away? A bit like a boat caught in a torrent?
- Please… Villefort gave me the same speech.
- Maybe he is right? The boat is in great danger of crashing onto a rock!
Vaucanson turned towards the interior of the room and shouted:
- Enough!
His furious eyes scanned the room, watching for the slightest movement. But he saw nothing. He growled, his teeth clenched:
- I've devoted twenty years of my life to this revenge. Don't show ingratitude, do you. When I'm done with the rats, I'll take care of Meyerhold. Everything in its time.
There was no response, this time. Satisfied, Horace de Vaucanson left the weapons reserve.