CHAPTER 67: THE LAME DEVIL

The scratching of a pen was the only sound that could be clearly heard. That, along with the ticking of a clock placed on the mantelpiece and the clinking of the glass bottle in which the owner of said pen dipped the nib to cover it with ink, which then spread onto his paper. In the distance, Harry could also hear the murmur of conversations from the street alongside the building where he was, as well as the clatter of horses' hooves hitting the cobbled road and the wooden wheels of carriages venturing through the countless streets of Paris.

The church bells in the vicinity had already chimed noon a few minutes ago, and having not eaten since morning, Harry found the wait rather lengthy as he felt the rumbling of his stomach. Nevertheless, nothing would change his mind about how the conversation with his companion should unfold, and if the latter did not bother to engage him, Harry preferred to wait until he had finished his task before interrupting him in his affairs.

His eyes wandered occasionally to the room's decor, typical of many Parisian hotels, with wooden moldings covered in gold leaf, allegorical friezes on walls and ceilings, and a faux antique setting created with marble columns topped with bees engraved into the material. The few paintings hanging on the walls all depicted scenes of ordinary life from the past century, at least if one were at the Court, painted with a certain skill and enough talent to appear genuine. The author of these works escaped him, but Harry could bet on Fragonard, unless it was François Boucher; art had never been his strong suit, but he knew how to appreciate a work when he had one before his eyes.

Unfortunately for him, the one just behind his interlocutor's desk was not unfamiliar, and a blush threatened to appear every time he laid eyes on it, perhaps for fear of being caught in the act by the other man. How could it be otherwise when you had Mademoiselle O'Murphy in such a suggestive pose right in front of you? Merlin, how had Talleyrand managed to acquire this painting?

"A marvel, isn't it?" he said, smiling slyly. "I... Sorry?" stammered Harry, feeling immediately foolish. "The O'Murphy," Talleyrand continued, seeming to enjoy his counterpart's discomfort. "A painting of great beauty, which caused quite a stir at the time." "One can only appreciate Boucher's work," he agreed. "His paintings are masterpieces of the Rococo style." "I wasn't talking about the painting itself but what it evokes," the minister corrected. "What does it inspire in you, my young prince?"

Disturbed, Harry allowed himself another glance at the object in question, and despite the seconds ticking away, he had to admit that if the author had left a hidden message in his work... he did not understand its meaning.

"Not much," he confessed, redirecting his attention to the minister. "At least, not if it has a completely different meaning than what one might be tempted to think at first glance."

"And what is that?" inquired Talleyrand.

Harry then had the curious feeling that the minister was playing with him, a feeling that strengthened when the man persisted in keeping the same smirk on his face.

"The same as you, probably," he simply said.

Talleyrand then burst into dry laughter, amusement perceptible in his voice as he placed his pen back into the inkwell.

"I see," he replied, chuckling. "The most cultured men could spend hours contemplating this painting and finding all possible meanings, even debating on human nature, the meaning of life... when there is nothing else before our eyes but pure, primal eroticism, as if it came from the depths of the most picturesque places in the capital, a naked woman offering herself to our eyes while languishing on a sofa, feigning indifference under the gaze of the curious admiring her beautiful curves... King Louis XV had many faults, and bedding the girls from the gutters of Paris was one, but he had a talent for choosing beautiful women, although O'Murphy was not fifteen, if I'm not mistaken, when she passed through the expert hands of that man."

"Why this decoration?" Harry asked, unable to imagine the Minister of Foreign Affairs inviting high dignitaries into his office.

Talleyrand remained silent for a few seconds, his hand suspended in the air as he prepared to pick up his pen to finish drafting some report or missive.

"Because feminine beauty should not be hidden at all," he said after a while. "The most narrow-minded minds would be offended by such a work, which would only be the result of the adulterous loves of a depraved man. But I see nothing but perfection embodied in the body of a young lady in need of money, willing to offer what she has most precious in the world to satisfy her needs: her purity. This woman is like a precious stone taken from the rock, still raw and waiting to be skillfully carved before completing the most beautiful of adornments. Who the devil could not see in her all the passion, voluptuousness, and desire laid on a canvas to the point of not wanting to show it off to everyone?"

"My mother," thought Harry, imagining Marie-Louise's reaction if he ever dared to return to Lamballe with a similar painting to hang in one of their salons.

"But you must know these things by now, Gabriel," Talleyrand continued. "It is said that your wife is quite pleasant to look at. I have no doubt that you have since had the opportunity to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh in her company."

The minister smiled at this remark as Harry blushed as much from embarrassment as from anger. He and Daphné were still taking their time before going further, stopping for the moment at the stage of caresses and kisses. Still, if he were not such an important figure in the political landscape of the country, he would have certainly directed some cutting remarks at him for his audacity.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, turning his attention back to his paper. "I don't need a spy to know what's happening in Lamballe. Our... mutual friend... is an endless source of information."

Harry immediately furrowed his brow at this remark, annoyed to know that this mutual friend, none other than the king, allowed himself correspondence with him, giving him some clues about his private life. A discussion on this subject was likely to come sooner or later.

Again, silence fell, occasionally broken by a more pronounced scratching from Talleyrand while Harry, distracted by external noises, discreetly observed the man with whom he would have to work undercover. What a surprise he had when he discovered that this famous spy was none other than one of the emperor's ministers! He would never have thought of it, especially not of this limping man with graying hair who passed for one of Napoleon's closest advisers, in addition to being a brilliant diplomat. It was said that he had managed to win the favor of the Austrian monarchy, which was not easy given the current context. But after some thought, Harry told himself that no other man could play both sides as well as he did, and being able to have the friendship of the emperor and the esteem of the king could only demonstrate Talleyrand's incomparable talent. While playing the gray eminence for the former, he could thus report to the latter all the information he desired, every little reflection on a directive from Bonaparte and his attempts to win the favor of foreign courts on the diplomatic stage... In short, this plan was brilliant.

But amidst his reflections, Harry had repeatedly wondered what he was doing in this operation. His political weight was nil, weak on the military front, and he had nothing else to contribute except for the family fortune and the grandeur of his last name. Nothing that would allow him to have any influence, at least. Yet, he was the one chosen by the king, without knowing how far this plot could lead them and if it could ultimately help them achieve their goals. Perhaps it was just a whim of Louis XVIII to have a renowned agent associated with a plan linking him to such an august figure...

"Do you have a thirst?" Talleyrand suddenly asked, conjuring a wine bottle out of nowhere.

With a nod from Harry, Talleyrand conjured two silver cups from which he quickly poured the contents of the bottle he held.

"Some claim that my cellar is probably the best in the entire capital, and in all modesty, I could not disagree with them thinking such a thing," he said, a smile on his lips. "Old practices dictated that we honor our guests by presenting them with dishes befitting their nobility, and it's not every day that a prince from the old Court does me the honor of visiting my office."

"The pleasure is all mine," assured Harry. "I had heard a lot about you, and I was eager to finally meet you to have living proof that these were not just rumors."

"Oh," sighed the minister. "And what might one say about me?"

"Nothing you don't already know," he replied confidently. "It seems that your network is vast and influential enough to be informed of everything that is said even in our colonies."

The minister chuckled heartily at these words but did not contradict him.

"It's true," he said after a while. "It's always good to know what our fiercest enemies can say about us, but I'm not insensitive to everything that can be said in the empire either. Would it be blameworthy not to remain ignorant of things, according to you?"

"Let's say that prudence is the mother of safety," Harry said with approving nods from the minister.

And to be prudent, Talleyrand must undoubtedly have been so enough to have managed to survive until today and have kept his head on his shoulders for the seventeen years he had been involved in politics.

"And to get where I am, prudence has been a quality that I have employed at will," he affirmed. "I suppose your mother and, in general, your family have initiated you into the intricacies of politics; You will quickly understand that in this world, prudence, if not combined with other virtues, cannot take you far unless you add a dose of ambition, perseverance, inflexibility, and even flattery to influential people."

"And would you place yourself in that last category, Minister?" the young man asked with amusement.

The minister contented himself with another mysterious smile, but Harry could easily guess the answer to his question. No one else in Paris, at least if you omitted the military and the emperor's family, had as much influence over him as the man decorated with the Legion of Honor Grand Cross before him.

"Do you enjoy yourself in the capital?" the minister asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"I have had the opportunity many times to admire its charms, but never have I had the chance to discover it during a mission," he argued as Talleyrand turned his attention back to the paper in front of him. "I believe the credit goes to you for bringing me here..."

Talleyrand sketched the shadow of a smile, his pen continuing to dance on the paper, while outside, the August sun continued to strike more vigorously on the windows of the office in which they both were. Just graduated, and with the commendations of the faculty for being the top of his class, Harry's first official task as a member of the hussar regiment was to ensure the security of Paris for a few weeks, along with a dozen others, including Nicolas and Jules. This task was usually delegated to the gendarmerie stationed in the city or to some cavalry regiments like the cuirassiers, but unofficially, it was said that the emperor, loving military parades, detached a portion of new graduates from each regiment to parade at the Tuileries whenever he pleased. It was curious, however, that while waiting for this famous parade, only the 4th hussar regiment was tasked with a protection mission, and furthermore, from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs... Certainly, a certain limping man had something to do with it.

"A gift from the emperor for my good and loyal services," he confirmed. "It took only a little time and persuasion to convince him that a small squadron of hussars could just as well ensure my safety as cuirassiers. And even if it will only last a few days, I am sure that we can make good use of the short time we have together."

With these words, he placed his pen for the second time into the inkwell, having signed his name to the letter he had just finished. Then, calmly, he carefully folded the sheet, enclosed it in another, and sealed it all by pouring wax from a candle onto it before affixing his seal. He then searched his orthopedic shoe and pulled out his magic wand, which he used to make his letter disappear with a single wave.

"A very necessary precaution," he informed him as he put away his wand. "You can't imagine the number of curious people who might... how shall I say... hope to find compromising papers in my belongings to discredit me in the eyes of the emperor. Unfortunately for them, I keep only inconsequential expense reports for their prying eyes. But let's get back to the matter at hand..."

The minister seemed to want to get up, and Harry immediately rushed to do the same to help him stand on his two legs. However, he stopped him with a gesture of his hand and head before taking hold of his cane. The effort must have weighed much more on him than he wanted to let on because a very brief groan escaped his lips before he began to move around the room with his heavy and awkward step.

"I won't hide from you that our affairs are quite complicated at the moment," he said as he headed towards a window overlooking the hotel courtyard. "And when I speak of affairs, I'm not just talking about our little arrangement with you-know-who. Tensions with other countries are particularly high, and one would have to be particularly blind or foolish not to realize what they could imply in the near future. At least if one is part of the government. Aside from moving his troops to the border, the emperor is doing his best to conceal from the people what is brewing."

"A war?" Harry rightly assumed.

"Of course," Talleyrand confirmed. "His Highness is only waiting for a misstep from our enemies to declare war on them and use the press to make the people witnesses. I have tried to persuade him to give up the upcoming campaign, as well as the continental blockade imposed on England in all European ports over which we have any control, but he views the rapprochement between it and Russia with a very jaundiced eye, and he remains convinced that at the slightest signal, Prussia and Austria will ally with them to fight us."

"But we have managed to defeat them in the past, why couldn't we do it again?" he argued.

"The emperor is a skilled strategist, and his staff is made up of very brilliant officers who know how to lead their men perfectly. But have you ever attended a meeting between all these gentlemen?"

"No," Harry admitted.

"It's just a gathering of men dividing into two camps: Those who see in him the new Alexander, Hannibal, or even Caesar, the all-powerful victor over whom nothing can have any ascendancy, and whom they would be willing to follow to the ends of the earth. And those who, being careerists, imbued with their prerogatives and greedy for even more power and prestige, continually challenge his decisions and contest his choices. The same thing happens during cabinet meetings, but we don't have the weight of the army to influence His Majesty's decisions..."

"Are you saying that generals would be ready to foment an insurrection at any moment to overthrow the emperor?" he inquired with intrigue.

"Good God, no!" the other assured him. "The army is far too loyal to the emperor to turn away from him, and his victories, his reputation extend beyond the borders of the empire. But it's not the same for his staff, and I am convinced that a military setback, a crushing defeat on the battlefield would be enough for some to openly question what they are fighting for."

"All this is well and good, but like you, I wouldn't have access to the emperor's meetings with his subordinates. His tent is probably the best-guarded place on a battlefield, and if his main marshals, generals, and foreign princes are also there, listening at the doors would be like embarking on an adventure with death as the only goal at the end of the road."

"Who says your mission would be reduced to eavesdropping?" Talleyrand asked mockingly.

He turned to face him, looking absolutely thrilled by the discussion unfolding between them.

"You'd have to be mad to consider such a simple solution, and even with the help of magic, you can be sure that the emperor has already thought of that and has arranged various runic and magical protections all around his tent. You wouldn't take more than a step into that part of the camp that a dozen wizards would already be on you, ready to eliminate you. No, you must act much more subtly, without getting caught, of course. Your superior holds you in high esteem, am I right?"

"If you're talking about Lieutenant Colonel Pajol, we have good relations, yes," Harry affirmed. "But I doubt he would be cooperative regarding the idea of giving me information that he himself might have from his own superiors."

"Of course, but I'm not asking for full confessions," Talleyrand reminded him. "Any information, however small it may be, like a simple troop movement, an occupied village, the location of a camp... Anything that might interest our enemies and tip the course of a battle in their favor is valuable. Observe the disposition of the troops, the geography of the area, the poorly defended paths..."

Harry listened to him, not feeling truly involved in a plan that, even after several months, continued to leave a bitter taste in his mouth and the feeling of betraying what he had invested so much in over the years. Using Pajol as an indirect informant was probably what revolted him the most, but having given his word to the king, he couldn't turn back. And then, if he acted subtly as Talleyrand recommended, he wouldn't be at risk, right?

As if he knew what his interlocutor was feeling at that moment, the minister stopped in his diatribe, casting a heavy and penetrating look at him as Harry looked elsewhere, distracted.

"When I listed for you earlier the qualities that can allow you to reach the heights of power, I omitted to talk to you about another one, which, to be honest, is not really my habit: Loyalty. Everyone will agree to give their definition of this word according to their own principles and what they understand of it, always trying to appropriate it to glorify themselves in the eyes of others. There are those who are loyal out of love for their family, their wife, their country, their master... There are those who are loyal out of duty, and you could take all the previous examples, and it would work just as well. And then there are those for whom loyalty is an innate principle in any circumstance and who would not deviate from this rule in any way. I don't fit into any of these categories, and my past is eloquent enough to prove it, but I have a sense of duty, and I know how to be loyal when needed, but also act accordingly when I feel the wind is turning."

"Do you mean the return to the monarchy is inevitable?" Harry asked with a troubled voice.

"If, as I imagine, Europe were to unite against us again, how many coalitions would that make fought since the advent of the republic?" he asked absentmindedly. "Four, my young friend. As long as this empire remains, France will never be at peace, and I predict many more years of conflict to come as long as the emperor remains on his throne and the king in exile abroad. The stability of the continent will find its salvation only in the return to the monarchy in France, and as long as the other European states do not accept the principles that have made this country a republic and then an empire."

"And how soon do you think that could happen? You seem so sure of everything," he couldn't help but remark with a skeptical tone.

The minister observed him for a few seconds with a calculating air, as if he were assessing whether the prince in front of him deserved an answer or not, before finally sighing and heading to his seat with his awkward step.

"Several years certainly," he answered in a hoarse voice. "It will depend, as I told you, on the loyalty of our troops to the emperor, but above all on their reliability. A weakened army and the whole empire is in danger against the coalition armies. The neighboring states, which have become our allies by force of circumstance, like the Confederation of the Rhine, Holland, Italy, and Naples, are just obstacles to the advance of our enemies, but if our armies suffer defeats, you will see these same kingdoms and duchies turn against us in an instant. See how loyalty is just an empty word in the minds of many people, especially among crowned heads. So, my prince, don't stop at your first impressions regarding to whom your loyalty should be destined. It's a noble feeling to give oneself to a cause or a person in particular, but following the same line of conduct to the end prevents you from seizing the opportunities that might be on your way, opportunities that you can seize only once in your life and that you will never encounter again if you deliberately ignore them. Reflect on it, like your mother before you."

"What do you mean?" Harry questioned him, looking perplexed now.

"Come on, just look at Madame your mother's journey to realize that she herself sets limits on the loyalties she holds," Talleyrand informed him. "Princess of Savoy, intimate with the queen and familiar with the Court at Versailles, hostile to the progressive ideas of the revolution and emigrated like many other nobles with her, she returns a few years later to apologize profusely to the formed authorities, approving the same principles she once abhorred and asking for the restoration of her rights, which she obtains not without a few bribes."

"How do you kn..."

"How do I know?" he interrupted. "But... I played the role of intermediary between the emperor and your mother at the time when he was still only First Consul. A little money, a convincing diplomat, and with the complicity of the empress, her case was settled. You can't imagine Madame Bonaparte's total investment whenever a person from the old Court seeks her help. The funniest thing is that despite all that, Madame your mother continues to maintain good relations with the exiled monarchy and, by encouraging you to accept the king's deal, I have no doubt that she hopes to see you reach higher positions than you could if the emperor clings to his throne for a long time."

Harry didn't know how to react to this truth. Because it was truly a truth, and deep down, he knew it himself. The fact that his mother could play a double game should have shocked him, but perhaps it was the conversations held for months with the monarch or his involvement in their plans to dethrone Napoleon, but he didn't even feel shocked to learn it from the minister himself. His intuition, or perhaps even his conviction, had been whispering this truth to him for months, but he hadn't wanted to admit it until someone slapped it in his face. Talleyrand was right, and even the most honest person in this world could be tempted by the lure of gain, whether it be monetary or otherwise. But could he take that step?

At that moment, a few knocks were heard on the door, and a moment later, the same valet who had led Harry to the minister reappeared, looking solemn.

"Monsieur le ministre, your appointment is here and ready to meet you. Should I make Madame Grand wait?"

"Great God, is it already time?" the minister exclaimed, turning to the clock. "Indeed... Well, tell her that I am ready to see her, I am finishing with Monsieur, and I will be all hers."

The valet bowed deeply before disappearing, closing the door behind him with a muffled thud. Harry, who was wondering about this lady, didn't have time to learn more because the minister was already getting up, and taking his cane, he gestured for the young prince to do the same.

"Punctuality has always been a golden rule I set for myself, and I have never deviated from this principle," he said with a knowing smile. "Who knows what we might miss if we were even a minute late for a tête-à-tête with someone? I prefer not to take that risk..."

"Especially if that someone is a charming lady," Harry chuckled, playing along. "Gossips spread so quickly from mouth to mouth in the salons when these ladies are upset by a man's impoliteness, so what would be said if it were the Minister of Foreign Affairs himself?"

"Many things, but so much is already said about me in the social salons that it would only add to the rest. Did you know that, to explain my great influence on the emperor's mind, some spread the rumor that I am a sorcerer?"

Both of them laughed heartily at this remark, then the minister extended his hand to Harry, who eagerly took it and shook it.

"Don't forget what I told you during our conversation, my boy," he said more seriously. "I hope we will have other opportunities to talk again. This affair is so exciting that I hope it will last a long time!"

"I doubt that the main actor in this affair shares your excitement and patience," Harry reminded him. "But I will be delighted to see you again under different circumstances: Your conversation is... to say the least, entertaining, I agree."

The minister gave him a final smile to which he also responded, and then the two parted ways, the latter already heading towards the exit at a brisk pace.

"Oh, sir, one moment, please."

Turning around, Harry saw the minister heading towards him, a paper in hand that he handed to him without further ceremony.

"Regarding our common problem, if you have any information on it, don't hesitate to write to this person; She will take care of transmitting your grievances to the individuals concerned."

Harry had just enough time to want to open the little note when, with a nod of his head, Talleyrand ordered him to do it elsewhere, out of the prying eyes of his employee. Nodding and bowing to him, he quickly left the office and swiftly crossed the various corridors of the hotel towards the exit. On the way, he crossed paths with an elegantly dressed lady who was probably this Madame Grand with whom the minister was to meet, but he did not linger, and eventually reached the entrance courtyard where his two comrades awaited him.

"You took a long time, my friend," Nicolas said impatiently as he immediately climbed onto his horse. "For simple congratulations, the minister seemed to want to take up all your free time; you didn't even have time to eat!"

"Monsieur de Talleyrand is a very talkative and curious man," Harry explained calmly as he stroked his own horse. "He absolutely wanted to know everything about my family, not having had the opportunity to see them for a long time."

"In any case, I hope he didn't give you new directives regarding our prerogatives for the day; I would be satisfied with a simple routine ride to patrol the neighborhood," he continued, cracking his neck.

"Lazy," Juliette grumbled. "Here, Gabriel, I kept your lunch in case you didn't have a chance to eat during this meeting. Our gluttonous companion kept eyeing it during your absence..."

"Thank you," he said, taking the bag as Nicolas protested next to them. "I'll just eat it while we're on horseback; our break is almost over."

"And Boulanger won't fail to reproach you for it as soon as we leave the perimeter of this hotel," she assured him, pointing with a nod of her head in the direction of the entrance where other members of their regiment were.

"But since when do we care about what he might think of us?" Harry agreed under the laughter of the other two. "Come on, my friends, let's not keep them waiting."

And as he trotted along, savoring his crust of bread, Harry forgot for a few moments Talleyrand's note, his recommendations about the upcoming events, and, to be honest, their entire conversation. Nothing mattered but the pleasure of enjoying the company of his two best friends.

But for how long?

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