Chapitre Vingt-Huit

La Fille Méprisée

Andre

It wasn't hard to find a place in Senon that was both private enough for them to converse but public enough that Andre could trust that it wasn't a trap. Given that it was the middle of the week, no one gathered in the Cathedral, but it was always open to any who wished to pray or confess their sins.

Andre and Josseline knelt between pews up in the balcony, pretending to pray.

"What is this proposal, then?" Andre whispered to her.

"How would you like to be a count?" Josseline whispered back.

Andre chuckled. "Please, a count? You are aware I am the son of a duke, yes?" Andre scratched the palm of his left-hand. "I dare say count is a step down."

"Oh, your family has power, sure," said Josseline, "But you won't. Your older brother will inherit your father's estate, and you'll only be allowed to live there if he's merciful enough to allow it."

"If he's merciful?" Andre laughed again and furiously scratched the palm of his right hand as well. "Have you already forgotten what a merciful man Leon is?"

"My point is you'll have no real power," said Josseline. She reached over and stroked his thigh up to his hip. "Sure, women are drawn to you now, but by then will you be so desirable?"

Andre shrugged. He hadn't really thought much about it. He always figured that long before he grew so old that women no longer lusted for him he'd be a married man.

Josseline's hand wandered between Andre's thighs, "You want to keep the life you've been living longer than that, yes?"

Andre gently pushed her hand away and shivered. "Do you mind? We are in a church..."

"Oh, don't mind me. There's no greater aphrodisiac than power," said Josseline.

"Chocolate," said Andre, flatly.

"Pardon?"

"Chocolate's a better aphrodisiac."

Josseline rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Andre! You can do great things for your family if you do as I say!"

Andre raised his hands to quiet her and glanced around the cathedral. A priest in the sanctuary down below glared up at them, so he gave back an apologetic look. When the priest turned away, Andre whispered to Josseline, "Alright. What do you want me to do?"

"My plan has two parts," said Josseline. "First, you and I must be wed."

Andre chuckled and shook his head. "You still want to be married to me? You are aware that my confession of love was..."

"False, I know," interrupted Josseline.

"In fact, my father tried to bribe yours..." Andre felt a strange itch on the sole of his right foot. He pressed it against the legs of the nearest pew and scratched it through the sole of his shoe.

"Will you just listen to me?" Josseline snapped.

"Yes, dear," Andre said in a mocking tone.

Josseline glared at him with such terrible frustration that he could hardly bring himself to believe this girl wished to be married to him. Still, she continued, "My brother is an idiot and my father... well, to him I'm just a pawn in his games, to be used in the most degrading ways now that I'm spoiled goods."

Josseline paused a moment and bit her lip. "Frankly, I don't want to see a future where the Bourdon estate lies in Émile's hands. Furthermore, I'd like to get back at my father for... for everything. So, here's what I propose."

Both of them turned their heads back to the sanctuary when they heard the main doors open. Andre looked down to see Duke Jehan enter the sanctuary and slip off into one of the confessionals. For a fleeting moment, Andre could swear he saw a silhouette of someone lurking in the curtains behind the confessional. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised; it was the perfect place for a spy to eavesdrop something useful.

Josseline continued. "You and I will go to my father's apartment here in Senon and say that we wish to be married right away."

"And, he won't know we're up to something?" Andre raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"If he seems to suspect something then we claim that I'm pregnant," said Josseline.

Andre chuckled. "Yeah... that would convince him we need to be wed immediately."

Josseline nodded. "Then, once the wedding ceremony is complete, we go to your father and tell him that we've overheard my father plotting against him."

"No!" Andre shook his head frantically. "You don't know what you ask, Josseline. If my father believes that Count Bourdon plots against him he'll have him killed!"

Josseline stared at Andre in silence.

"Oh..." Andre shivered. "Sweet Lyr! You can't be serious! You'd arrange to have my father's agents murder..."

"You don't know what it's like living with that man!" Josseline hissed. "Do you know what he did when he first found out that I was not a virgin? He hit me, called me a putain, and locked me in my room for weeks. He even threatened to have me committed to an asylum! For a year after that I wasn't allowed to leave the house, and none of my friends were allowed to come visit me. A year, Andre! A year!"

Andre cringed and shrank away as she recalled the events with such venom in her voice. "I... I didn't know..."

"Of course you didn't!" Josseline hissed again. "My father's great at sweeping such things under the rug! That connard!" She whispered a long string of profanities and curse-words, so much so that Andre was almost certain Lyr was about to turn them both to salt for bringing such vulgarity into a place of worship.

"Alright!" Andre said, interrupting her swearing. "I understand why you want him dead... I still think it's awful, but I understand. What about your brother?"

"Pff," Josseline rolled her eyes. "As I said, he's a complete moron. If he inherits the Bourdon estate after my father dies he'll drive it into the ground. That is, if he lives long enough to do even that much. More likely he'll get us all killed in a fortnight."

"So, what's your plan for him?" Andre asked, scratching the palms of both hands against a rough spot in the carpet.

"I hardly need to 'plan' for him," said Josseline. "He'll present an opportunity sooner or later. He'll challenge you to a duel again, this time for getting me pregnant, and then Leon can dispatch him. Or we simply say he's part of my father's plot. I don't really care. Dealing with him is a small matter."

Andre looked up again as he could swear he saw a second silhouette enter the curtains behind the confessional. The curtains ruffled for a few seconds, and in the silence of the Church Andre was nigh certain he heard the sound of someone's foot stomping on the hard, stone floor. Then the ruffling of the curtains stopped. Had he just witnessed a murder? A casualty of Le Jeu Fatal?

"S-so..." Andre stuttered, "let me make sure I understand you correctly. You want us to get married, then you want to arrange to have both your father and your brother killed. Once they're out of the way you and I will inherit the Bourdon estate?"

"Isn't that what your father would do?" Josseline asked.

For a moment, just a moment, he'd been almost convinced to go along with her scheme. Her father sounded like he deserved it, and he couldn't deny that he liked the idea of becoming a count. He'd even thought that Lucien would be proud of him for expanding the family's influence.

But the second she asked him "Isn't that what your father would do?" he snapped back to his senses.

Andre stood from behind the pew and glared at her. "How dare you?" He shook his head and sneered. "My father plays the game the same as everyone else does, but he doesn't murder pointlessly! Those he has killed he does so because they are a true threat to his interests, not just because of some vendetta, or because they happened to be in the way!"

"Andre..."

"No!" Andre turned away from her. "Don't even speak to me! You vicious harpy! My father is nothing like Count Bourdon! He loves all of us! Sure, he finds ways to use us for gain, but when all's said and done we're more important to him than the game will ever be!"

Josseline reached out to him, but he pulled away from her.

"No!" Andre said, louder than he probably should have. "I'll not be a part of this! You want them out of the way? You do it yourself, and find someone else to be your puppet husband!"

Both Josseline and Andre jumped as a man's voice from behind them shouted "Lord Andre!" The man who ran up to them wore all black, and dragged behind him a dead body. "Lord Andre, we have to get you out of here, now!"

Andre looked at the body this stranger was dragging behind him. "I... I don't understand..."

"I'm one of your father's agents!" The stranger threw the body on the floor before the two of them. "I caught this one sneaking around, trying to get to you. This is a trap, your grace!"

Andre rounded on Josseline. "You set me up?"

"No!" Josseline pleaded. "No, you must believe me, I did no such thing! Maybe my father did, but I had no idea!"

"Whatever the case," said the stranger, "This place is crawling with killers. We have to get you out of here, now!"

"Certainly," said Andre. "Lead the way."

"Quickly!" the stranger took Andre by the hand and led him down the spiral staircase and out one of the side doors of the Cathedral. Once they were outside, the stranger took Andre further down a series of alleyways between the buildings of Senon.

"We have to get you somewhere safe," the stranger shouted back.

Andre yanked his hand away from the stranger and drew his pistol from inside his coat. He aimed the pistol at the stranger's back and said, "Stop! Not another step!"

The stranger turned back to him and raised his hands. "What's this all about?"

"We both know you're not one of my father's agents." Andre's brow furrowed and without moving his head he glanced back and forth in the alley. Behind barrels and crates nearby he spotted shadows that suspiciously resembled those of men lying in wait. "None of my father's agents would have been so sloppy as to pull me from the Cathedral in full view of everyone."

"It was an emergency," said the stranger. "I had to think on my feet!"

Andre spoke louder, his pistol still trained on the stranger. "Neither are my father's agents so sloppy that I would spot them hiding behind crates and barrels." The shadows shifted a little at the sound of that. "That's right! I know you're there! Come out!"

Four men stepped out from behind the crates and barrels nearby. Each of them wore coats with patches, hats with holes in them, and had tattoos across their faces. It was a common street gang. Andre was almost disappointed.

"Trying to take me for ransom, I take it?" said Andre.

The stranger smirked. The four other men all drew pistols of their own and aimed them at Andre.

"Something like that," the stranger said.

Andre's eyes wandered over the four men, then up to the windows of the buildings on either side of them. There was no sign of help on its way. Which, knowing Fitzroy's agents, probably meant there was an army of assassins ready to rescue him.

"Ah, but I'm no good to you dead," Andre said, "Am I?"

"No," said one of the thieves. "So why don't you put the pistol down and come with us?"

"Or what?" Andre said, "You'll shoot me?"

When the thieves all exchanged confounded looks, indicating that they hadn't fully thought this through, Andre laughed. "Oh my..." he said, "You're terribly disappointing, I must say. How about I make you a deal? I'll come quietly if you answer my questions?"

The thieves all exchanged glances again. Then the stranger turned back to Andre and said, "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"I want to know who hired you to do this," said Andre. "When I asked if you were taking me for ransom you said 'something like that.' That tells me that you have a patron who is paying good money for my abduction. I want to know who."

"I don't know," said the stranger. "He came to us wearing a mask, we never saw his face."

"Describe his build, his voice," Andre demanded.

"He was fat and short. His voice was high and scratchy."

Andre thought about it for a moment, trying to recall anyone he knew of who matched that description. Really, it could have been any number of lords, but the key was to remember who he knew was plotting against the Renart family.

The sound of shuffling feet behind him yanked Andre out of his thoughts. He spun around and pointed his pistol at the thief who must have been creeping up behind him the whole time. He was ready to pull the trigger, but to his surprise the thief fell dead before Andre could fire the shot, a knife lodged in his neck.

When Andre turned his attention back to the stranger and his comrades all of them lay dead on the ground, with knives in their chests and backs.

Andre jumped back, startled.

Yes, that was the work of Lucien Renart's agents.

For a moment, Andre considered searching their bodies to see if he could find some clue about who sent them there. No sooner had he taken a step in their direction then he heard a voice right next to his ear whisper, "Flee."

He did not need to be told twice.

Andre ran from that alleyway as fast as he could, never bothering to look back.

Just as he rounded a corner onto the sidewalk beside one of the main streets, a hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back.

He yelped, flailed, and raised his pistol, only to have it knocked aside by a cane.

"Andre! It's me!" Lucien yelled, shaking him by the shoulders.