The Silver Blade (36 page)
C
itizen Aulard was freed from the Luxembourg prison the following day. He was quite baffled by the turn of events that had led to his safe delivery from the clutches of the Tribunal. He had Iago to thank for his new-found freedom, for the parrot had spent his entire time in prison rousing the inmates and prison officers alike with his patriotic fervour and his whistling of the Marseillaise. It became apparent to all that Citizen Aulard was a man of the moment, a man of the Revolution, for anyone who had spent so much time training a parrot to speak like this could only be innocent of all charges.
itizen Aulard was freed from the Luxembourg prison the following day. He was quite baffled by the turn of events that had led to his safe delivery from the clutches of the Tribunal. He had Iago to thank for his new-found freedom, for the parrot had spent his entire time in prison rousing the inmates and prison officers alike with his patriotic fervour and his whistling of the Marseillaise. It became apparent to all that Citizen Aulard was a man of the moment, a man of the Revolution, for anyone who had spent so much time training a parrot to speak like this could only be innocent of all charges.
His release had happened so quickly that it had gone unnoticed by Basco, whose job it was to keep an eye on the day’s lists of those who were to be taken to the guillotine.
So it was that Citizen Aulard and Iago returned to the theatre to find it deserted and, having not slept in ages, the good citizen lay down on his chaise longue, and both bird and man fell fast asleep.
M
r Tull, creeping into the theatre later that day, wasn’t as set on the plan as Anselm. He was a man of limited imagination and couldn’t see how it would be possible for Yann to teach Anselm those sort of tricks. After all, Anselm wasn’t that bright. But whether he liked it or not, the lad had a point. They were broke, stony broke, for with the loss of his master went the loss of his income.
r Tull, creeping into the theatre later that day, wasn’t as set on the plan as Anselm. He was a man of limited imagination and couldn’t see how it would be possible for Yann to teach Anselm those sort of tricks. After all, Anselm wasn’t that bright. But whether he liked it or not, the lad had a point. They were broke, stony broke, for with the loss of his master went the loss of his income.
Mr Tull had never been that keen on theatres. Places like this gave him the creeps: too many things to hide behind, too many ghosts. He felt better killing a man out in the open, but Anselm was more than at home here. He knew exactly where to go and what he was looking for.
‘Do you think he will come?’ asked Mr Tull.
‘Oh, he’ll come all right.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I killed Colombine.’
At first Mr Tull wasn’t sure he had heard right. ‘No, you didn’t. She was alive when we left her.’
Anselm, his face shining, said, ‘I didn’t work with Butcher Loup without learning where to put the knife in. Let’s just say he’ll come.’
‘What’s that noise?’
‘Shush,’ said Anselm.
They waited in a dark recess.
Citizen Aulard had woken and, thinking he heard voices, wandered down to the stage, hopeful of seeing Tetu. Instead, there before him, looking quite deranged, stood Anselm.
Y
ann had not been expecting anyone else at the theatre apart from Anselm. He walked on to the stage to find him with a pistol in his hand and a knife in his belt, his eyes flickering. Then he saw Mr Tull twisting Citizen Aulard’s arm up his back and holding a gun to his head.
ann had not been expecting anyone else at the theatre apart from Anselm. He walked on to the stage to find him with a pistol in his hand and a knife in his belt, his eyes flickering. Then he saw Mr Tull twisting Citizen Aulard’s arm up his back and holding a gun to his head.
‘If you do any of your magic tricks,’ said Anselm, ‘Mr Tull here will kill him. I mean it.’
‘What is it you want with me?’ asked Yann.
‘What do you think? I want what’s mine, to know how the threads of light work. You see,’ said Anselm, coming closer, ‘Count Kalliovski meant me to have the gift of the threads of light. He promised as much. It doesn’t belong to you. Do you know why?’
Yann said nothing.
‘Well, then, I’ll tell you. Because I know I’m his son. He didn’t realise it, but I know. I heard voices, they told me it was so. They are telling me now. I am his rightful son and heir, not you.’
‘Hold on a mo,’ said Mr Tull, ‘what are you rambling on about? He didn’t have a son.’
‘Shut up, Tull, I ain’t speaking to you.’
‘I was born with the gift,’ said Yann slowly, all the time thinking how to get Citizen Aulard out of this alive. ‘My magic belongs to the light.’
‘I’m getting very angry,’ said Anselm, ‘aren’t I, Mr Tull? He isn’t hearing what I’m saying, is he?’
‘That’s right,’ replied the old rogue, his eyes glued to his worrying erstwhile protege.
Yann looked at Citizen Aulard and said calmly, ‘I’m glad to see they released you.’
‘I’m so sorry, I should have—’
‘Shut your mouths,’ said Anselm. ‘Come on. Unless you tell me the secret of your magic, I’ll kill him.’
‘Let him go.’
Anselm burst out laughing. ‘Got you now, haven’t I?’ He pulled back the trigger and pointed his weapon straight at Citizen Aulard’s heart. ‘His death will be your fault.’
Mr Tull, seeing what Anselm was about to do, yelled, ‘Wait a minute - I’m holding him!’
‘Well, don’t,’ shouted Anselm.
At that moment, as Mr Tull let go of Citizen Aulard, Iago flew on to the stage, straight at the startled Anselm. His pistol went off.
Yann saw the smoke, and for a fraction of a second relived the nightmare that had haunted him since boyhood, the moment the old magician Topolain had failed to catch the bullet. He concentrated all his powers and reached with his mind’s eye for the missile.
Yann looked at his hand. It was covered in blood, but he had caught the bullet.
Citizen Aulard stumbled into the darkness backstage. As Anselm reloaded, Yann threw out the threads of light to catch the pistol, missing his target as Anselm darted up the stairs to the fly tower. There among the ropes and lanterns he looked down on the stage, took aim at Yann and fired. To his astonishment, his second bullet found its mark in Mr Tull’s shoulder.
Yann followed Anselm up the fly tower. He flicked out the threads of light and, lifting him off his feet, hung him like a pendulum above the stage.
Mr Tull rose unsteadily, murder glittering in his eyes. He had had enough, more than enough of Anselm Loup. Seeing him hovering there, he knew what he was going to do.
‘Get me down, Tull,’ shouted Anselm.
Mr Tull pulled back the trigger and fired his pistol at Anselm’s rotten heart.
E
very citizen in Paris would be able to tell you exactly where they were on the day of Robespierre’s execution. Paris was in a holiday mood, the streets hummed with people, there was an air of excitement. The Terror was ending and France stood at the dawn of a new era.
very citizen in Paris would be able to tell you exactly where they were on the day of Robespierre’s execution. Paris was in a holiday mood, the streets hummed with people, there was an air of excitement. The Terror was ending and France stood at the dawn of a new era.
The two lovers, oblivious to everything but each other, walked, hand in hand, against the tide of the crowd.
At the Jardin du Luxembourg they strolled along a winding gravel path.
‘Without the Revolution,’ said Yann, as they sat under a grove of chestnut trees, ‘we would never have been together and I wouldn’t be able to ask you this. Will you marry me?’
Sido, her blue eyes shining, said, ‘With all my heart, yes.’
‘Even if your aunt and uncle don’t give their consent?’
‘Yes. As long as you promise me we won’t have an ordinary life, and that whatever we do, we’ll do it together.’
He laughed and, wrapping her in his arms, kissed her. ‘It will be filled with adventures. This is the just the beginning, I promise.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
H
enry Laxton sat in his study in Queen Square, having just finished reading the letters that had arrived that morning from Paris. Leaning back in his chair, he looked out of the study window at the sun-dappled leaves of the oak tree in the garden and remembered the day he had first seen Yann. Who would have thought then … ? Oh, well. Life is a strange affair.
enry Laxton sat in his study in Queen Square, having just finished reading the letters that had arrived that morning from Paris. Leaning back in his chair, he looked out of the study window at the sun-dappled leaves of the oak tree in the garden and remembered the day he had first seen Yann. Who would have thought then … ? Oh, well. Life is a strange affair.
Among the letters, one had finally arrived from The Travellers Arms. It was not, as the writer, a Mr Suter, reported, the cleanest of inns. Hence he believed that the letter he had found might have gone undiscovered for longer still, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had taken a room at the inn to recover from the effects of seasickness. Seeing the painting of the galleon upon a wild sea, he had turned the picture to face the wall. In doing so he dislodged Sido’s letter. Being an honest man, Mr Suter had posted it, and he hoped that whatever the letter had to say, it hadn’t arrived too late to be of use.
It contained a hurried and frightened note from Sido. A few weeks ago this note would have brought Henry comfort, but now the circumstances were well known to him and his wife. Poor Juliette had suffered badly, and her condition had not improved when she heard that her niece had no intention of returning to London before her wedding. A wedding that Juliette still believed to be ill-advised.
Now Cordell’s letter outlined the situation perfectly. Regardless of any objections her aunt might have, Yann and Sido were to be married, and there would be another revolution if anyone tried stop them. He added that in his humble opinion Sido could do no better.
Were it not for Yann there would be many Frenchmen and women from all walks of life who would not be alive today.He is a young man with a future, and I hope we can persuade him to employ his extraordinary talents and bravery on our behalf in the years to come.To the matter of Mr Tull, Kalliovski’s agent in London and Paris: he was arrested for the murder of Anselm Loup and sent to the guillotine four days after Robespierre, convicted as an English spy.
The next letter was from Yann.
Dear Mr Laxton,I know very well that I am not the one Mrs Laxton would have desired for her niece and perhaps you too would have wanted someone better.I have loved Sido since I first saw her all those years ago in the Marquis de Villeduval’s chateau. I loved her before I knew what love was.I know in my heart that I am a ghost child of my mother’s one true love. His spirit is in me. My father, the father who raised me and deserves the name, is an extraordinary man named Tetu. I have so much for which to thank him: for the courage he has given me, the love that has surrounded me, and a feeling of home without the inconvenience of four walls.I promise to look after Sido, to honour her, to love her. She is my soul, she is my life. We will walk together always.Fortune smiles kindly on us. I pray that you will too.Your blessing on our marriage would mean a great deal to us both.
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