In memory of France

coz1 Cheers. Matters with Bertrand are developing, as they say. I have plans!

J. Passepartout Just don't fall over while you're hopping.

Draco Rexus Who is to say Bertrand will escape, or even need to escape, justice in the past. He could be a complete innocent! And yes, the Red Lion gang are proving very useful. Too useful?

Rensslaer I think the phrase is: you can't make an omlette without breaking eggs. And he didn't actually know Bernardt would orchestrate a riot, in his defence.

Stuyvesant And there I was thinking that post was one of the more straighforward ones! I have to admit I've gotten slightly irritated of all the news-breaking about the poison. It has meant I've written a lot of conversations that have rather reptitive segments, but there was not a lot I could do. Thankfully I seem to be past that for the moment.

And I am glad someone commented on the cloak and dagger! A little childish in some ways, but it made me chuckle.

Nil-The-Frogg Well of course Jean, in 'the present' does have a rather better prodecure to get out, if you read one of the beginning updates. And it is a good question about the helpfulness.

Further discussion All very interesting. As regards to the language question (and I know this is not original) it is not really French that is spoken in Paris. It is simply badly-pronounced, lower-class, provincial latin.

Update in a moment. Sorry for the delay but my phoneline has been on the blink. I can receive incoming calls, and connect to the internet (Broadband connection) without any difficulties, but cannot make outgoing calls. Been spending time trying to work out if it was the phones' fault, or what have you, but no joy so far. Hopefully the engineer will make some sense of it tomorrow.

The Past (June 15th 1682) - Continued

Four of us set out from the Red Lion a few minutes later. Accompanying Red Charles and me was his uncle, Tall William, a towering lanky man with long arms, and Alonso. Alonso had married one of Red Charles’ sisters, and thus joined himself to the English clan. However we did not have time for more than basic introductions.

“We will go to the Rose offices,” Red Charles said as we leave. “It is where Bertrand is most likely to be, and if he is not it is where he will return. If something has happened and Henry returns to the Lion they’ll send him to us, and we can consider our options.”

We walk swiftly, and do not waste time talking. Williams walks with his legs swinging beneath his waist like a pair of pendulums. It is he who sets the pace. Red Charles walks alongside, equal in height and superior in build. He strides with purpose, drumming his feet onto the stones with every step. Alonso is smaller, a little shorter than myself. He has a dark, round face that had lit up with a grin when we were introduced. Now he has his head down and paces furiously so as not to fall behind. His fists are clenched and his arms jerk back and forth. I simply do my best to keep up, and I am soon breathing hard. It is fortunate that we do not have very far to go.

The Rose Trading House maintained its offices on a wide, uninteresting street. The identical buildings stared at each other across the road, with small plaques to tell the one from the other. In any other city the architecture might draw comment, but in Mad Carlos’ rebuilt Madrid the fine lines and impressive fronts are repetitive and dull. Charles stops us in a small square at one end.

“I’ll go ahead and see if Henry is in place.” He says. “By myself I won’t attract too much notice.” It is true enough, though the three of us standing idle arouse suspicions, but I do not think the crowd is paying us too much attention. A herald and some soldiers enter the square. In a loud voice he announces a curfew has been decreed, starting at nightfall. The church bells will be rung to give warning. Few people react, most hurry on their way. The herald and his escort depart, and a moment later Charles returns. With him is a short man with dark hair.

“This is Henry,” he says to me. “Bertrand is in the building.” We gather round into a small circle.

“He returned there about an hour ago,” Henry says.

“Do you know when he will next come out?” William asks, looking around.

Henry shakes his head. “Can we raid the building?” Alonso asks.

“I do not think that is wise,” I answer. “There will be at least one guard, and that might be all it takes.”

Charles agrees. “Too risky,” he says. “We either wait until he leaves, or we try some way of flushing him out. Giovanni, might some message do the part?”

I think it over. “It’s a possibility,” I allow, “but without surety.” Most of all it would depend on my accurately forging the Comte’s handwriting and signature, and that is far from a certain feat.

“There could be problems if we wait until the curfew,” Henry says. “There has been some sort of riot and the soldiers are nervous, as are the officers. I think bribes are unlikely to work.”

Alonso shifts from one foot to another. As he sways a small gap opens up between him and Henry, and I have a clear view down the road.

“Gentleman,” I say, “do be careful but I believe Bertrand is heading this way.”