The Companion - Time For Eternity Part 30

Can't you be quieter?

She froze as she heard voices. They weren't in the corridor though. Maybe the courtyard. She put her finger to her lips so the prisoners could see it and tiptoed around the unconscious body of the guard to the archway that now cast light into the corridor about twenty feet away. Peering around the edge of the wall, she saw a phalanx of guards moving off toward the main gate. They were carrying something inside the square, but she couldn 't see what it was. The tramp of boots faded. She heard the main portcullis being raised. There wasn't much time.

It took several tries before she found the right key.

The huge lock snicked loudly and cracked open. It was the work of a moment to take it from the metal clasp.

She opened the door.

The shadows inside moved forward. A man with brawny arms inside his soiled shirt stepped out into the corridor.

"I need a diversion," she said.

The man grinned. "Pas de probleme."

Francoise put the key ring in his outstretched hand. Then she watched as he went down the line of cells, opening doors. He tossed the keys to others and gestured three or four men into a huddle. Cells opened down the line. Francoise grabbed the hand of a middle-aged woman who looked like she had her wits about her.

"Collect the young and the weak and keep them quiet." The woman met her gaze. They both knew that people would be killed today. The woman nodded and gestured to two others.

At the end of the long corridor, a torch showed a figure taking the keys downstairs to a lower level. One of the leaders grabbed the sword from the unconscious guard and half a dozen prisoners went down to the guardhouse.

Francoise waited. The place had to be in chaos before she could make her move. It didn't take long. A guard somewhere raised a shout. Others came running. The six prisoners came back from the guardhouse with swords and even a pistol or two they tossed to the able-bodied. The corridor had filled with gaunt men, dirty men, but men who knew that their lives and maybe the lives of loved ones depended on this one desperate chance. They surged out into the courtyard, armed or not.

Shouts, screams of pain. As soldiers fell, their weapons changed hands. Prisoners dropped and bled. Guards appeared from everywhere, but the prisoners must have found other keys on other rings, because prisoners began to surge out from every archway.

Francoise shoved through the tide like a fish struggling upstream. She knew her way to Henri 's cell. Down the stairwell, and down another, as though she were descending into h.e.l.l.

Better hope he's in good enough shape to walk out. You'll never be able to carry him.

"Be quiet."

But when she got to the cell, panting, the door was open and the shackles were empty.

Had he escaped with the others? Was he in some other cell? She looked around wildly. But no other cells were near. She stumbled back up the corridor and started to climb stairs.

When she got to the place where the prison break had started, the cells were all empty. The melee still echoed in the courtyard.

The young guard was groaning as he tried to sit.

She knelt beside him. "Where is he?"

He looked dazed and rubbed his throat where a livid bruise was beginning to form.

"Where is he?" she shouted, shaking his shoulders.

Don't be stupid. Let him answer.

"The devil?" he choked. "They executed him this morning."

Twenty-Two.

Nausea threatened to overwhelm Francoise.

You couldn't have stopped it.

Francoise pushed herself up. She couldn't give in to Frankie now. "You're still here. That means he's still alive. It's not too late."

She picked up her skirts to run.

She wasn't alone. Prisoners streamed out the gates of the Conciergerie into the Quai de l 'Horloge, past the great clock tower and over the Pont Neuf. Escaped prisoners and a few blue-coated soldiers were joined by the hoi polloi racing onto the bridge to see what was happening. Confusion reigned. Some escapees commandeered boats tied to the quays and were setting off downriver. Fights had broken out, it seemed indiscriminately.

Francoise pushed her way single-mindedly toward the Quai des Tuileries, past the grand palace without a king. This was the shortest way to the Place de Revolution. If she were going to find Henri alive, it would be along this route. It seemed the entire city had gone mad in the early morning light. It was only that which gave Francoise hope.

The sunlight will burn him. Francoise could feel Frankie shudder.

She swallowed her own fear and shoved her way through the gathering crowds.

The mob didn't seem to care who was fighting whom, or for what purpose. Whatever they thought was happening, it looked like an excuse for looting. She saw people running hugging whole hams or baskets of fruit to their chests like babies. This was the result when all society began to collapse and people were desperate.

A group of mounted soldiers pushed their horses into the crowd gathered at the garden in front of the palace. She hoped they wouldn't restore order too soon.

A familiar face under a red queue of hair jogged past her, going in the opposite direction. "Jean," she shouted. Could it be? He turned. It was Jean.

"Mademoiselle Suchet," he cried, breaking into a run. "Are you well?"

"I thought you left the city." She wanted to hug him.

He shook his head. "I stayed with my brothers hoping the search would die down."

How many siblings does this guy have?

"They're taking Henri to the guillotine."

His expression grew grim. He pulled her around and began marching her away. "I saw him in the tumbrel." Francoise felt the blood drain from her face. "Did they execute him?"

"Not yet. But when they do it will be a mercy. You can't save him."

She pulled out of his grasp. "Listen to what I tell you," she hissed at him. "You will go to Madame Vercheroux. You will beg, borrow, or steal her carriage, and you will bring it to ... to ... the churchyard at St. Sulpice. Do you understand?" St. Sulpice was abandoned since the churches had been nationalized.

He looked dumbfounded.

"Do you understand?" she shouted as people streamed around them.

He nodded, shaken.

"Then go." She pushed him in the direction of the Faubourg and began to run.

The Place de Revolution opened up in front of her. People streamed across it. A crowd was bunched around the raised platform with the huge contraption in the northeast corner of the park near the Jardin des Tuileries. The giant frame stuck into the morning air. The blade was up, ready to descend, its gleaming edge a threat. Francoise could feel Frankie 's revulsion. That was her Companion shuddering at the threat of the death it tried to avert at all costs. An executioner and several soldiers surveyed the crowds pouring into the square with puzzled expressions. Francoise only glanced at the platform; for there, plunging and snorting in fear, was a horse harnessed to a cart. A tumbrel.

Francoise was already running. There was no driver. A man was trying to steady the horse with a hand on its harness, but he didn't look like he knew what he was doing. It was ... it was Robespierre. He must be there to personally see that Henri was executed. His revolting mistress must be here somewhere. Francoise looked around. The b.i.t.c.h herself was over near the guillotine.

The crowd of gawkers began to disperse to join in the free-for-all. Francoise couldn't see anything in the back of the cart. No, wait. There was a post just behind the driver's seat and ... and something was chained to it.

Don't think about it.

Francoise and Frankie knew what they would do. Robespierre be d.a.m.ned.

Francoise hurried up to the cart. She didn't look in the back, but climbed up into the driver's seat and picked up the reins. The little lawyer was still trying to prevent the horse from bolting and taking Madame Guillotine's prey out of striking range.

"I don't know how to drive a cart," she muttered as she struggled with the reins.

I do.

"Stand away," she ordered Robespierre. "I've got him."

But he looked up and saw who it was. "You can't save him." He wrenched the horse's bridle down and to the right. The horse squealed, but all four feet were on the ground.

"You there," Robespierre yelled. "Help me get this tumbrel to the guillotine."

Two other men diverted from their course and started for the cart.

It's now or never, girlfriend.

"The horse will bolt."

So what?

She shook the reins over the horse's back. "Yahhh," she yelled. The horse neighed in fright and pulled the harness from Robespierre's hands as he jerked away. Robespierre lost his footing and fell under the plunging hooves as the horse took off at a gallop. The cartwheels b.u.mped over an inert object. The cart careened away. Francoise's heart leaped into her mouth.

Fast is fine. People will get out of our way. Just gather up the reins a bit.

The crowds did move too. The horse steadied as it felt someone in control. She headed back to the Pont Neuf. It was the closest bridge. The cart clattered across the nine stone arches, past the fighting crowds around the Conciergerie, and headed up into the winding streets on the Left Bank as fast as they could go.

The tumbrel clattered behind the horse's pounding hooves. St. Germain-des-Pres was closer than St. Sulpice, but it had a prison attached to the abbey, and that meant soldiers. She hauled the horse to the right. In the distance she saw the mismatched towers of St. Sulpice. She turned into the churchyard and pulled around to the porch doors. Only when she had climbed down did she allow herself to look in the back of the tumbrel.

It was worse than she imagined. Henri was naked, his flesh swollen and suppurating. He was bloodied from dozens of sword wounds. But the fact that he bled meant he lived. His wrists were locked to the post by heavy manacles. He seemed insensible.

That was just as well.

Don't you dare start crying, Francoise. Just get him out of the sun.

Francoise turned to the church. The altar cloth. She could cover him.

No time. Just open the doors and drive the cart inside.

A horse and cart inside a church? Sacrilege? She didn't need Frankie to chastise her for even asking the question. She pulled on the great, carved doors, hoping they hadn't been locked. But they were open as they had always been. She propped them wide with two stones. Then she dragged on the harness and the horse, tired now from his exertions, walked calmly inside.

The nave was cool even in July. The perfect hiding place. "Mother Mary and Jesus, forgive me if this is a sin," she murmured, crossing herself as she knelt. Even from the far end of the long nave she could see there was no altar cloth, no golden candlesticks, no chalices. The church had been stripped. But the light from the stained-gla.s.s windows still painted the dim interior with vibrant color. The church was still alive. And so was Henri. She whirled to the doors and kicked the stones away. They swung shut. The horse stamped, the sound ringing down the nave.

"I don't suppose you know how to pick a lock?" she asked Frankie.

Why would a vampire need to know how to pick locks?

"Then how are we going to get Henri out of those shackles?"

How tough can locks be in 1794?

Francoise unpinned the military medal-looking brooch from her bodice. The pin was about two inches across. She climbed up into the wagon and knelt beside Henri.

Don't think about him. He'll live. Once the drug pa.s.ses, he can heal this. He can.

Francoise swallowed. She pulled her eyes away from Henri's ruined face and tried to focus on the lock. The dim light was good for Henri, but not ideal for picking locks.

You're supposed to just feel it.

"Right. When I have no idea what I 'm doing," Francoise grumbled. At least the horse had calmed. He stood quietly, sides heaving. She poked around in the keyhole for what seemed like forever.

Lift. You're supposed to lift with it. I saw it in The Pink Panther.

The Pink Panther was a movie, and Francoise knew what those were. Shocking. She hadn't really had time to be shocked by Frankie and what Frankie's world was like. She'd make time for that later. "You are always full of such good advice."

I'm more experienced than you.

"An experience you are trying to get rid of, I might note."

The mechanism clicked. Francoise opened it gently and laid Henri's arm at his side.

Not bad for a novice.

"Be quiet." She poked her pin inside the second shackle.

Once the locks were open, she tore up her underskirts to make bandages for his wounds and tied them up the best she could.

Then she sat down to wait. It seemed hours until she heard a carriage outside.

She hurried to the doors and cracked them open. "In here," she called. "What took you so long?" Jean jumped down. Madame Vercheroux opened the door and stepped into the churchyard.

"Is he alive?" she asked anxiously.

"Madame, what are you doing here?"

"I find that Paris has become intolerable. I believe I am emigrating." She raised her beautiful brows. "You are going to Le Havre, n'est-cepas?" She didn't wait for an answer but returned to her question. "Is he alive?"