The Past (18th June 1682) - Two days later
I make a final inventory of the contents to be put into the small sack on my bed – one good set of clothes, the clothes I had taken from the Red Lion, a spare pair of boots, and a cape. I ponder adding my box with its bottle of ink and freshly cut quills, but I do not think I will need them. I wrap the fine clothes in the cape, and stuff the rough garb from the Lion into the boots. Together they half-fill the sack. I add a large piece of linen, and rope the top closed. I place my dagger in my belt. I stop and caress my chest with its compartment. I am tempted to open it, to take Father’s notes, but I will not risk them. If my study has been insufficient it is unlikely I will have the opportunity to consult them.
Gunter is in the stables. “Are you ready, monsieur?” he asks as I hand over the sack, but I shake my head.
“I must first see de Tallon. Immediately after that we ought to leave.”
“We are all prepared here, we will wait for you.”
I nod. “Thank you.” I march back into the main building, and stomp up the stairs to de Tallon’s study. The door is ajar.
I walk nearer and Henri calls out, “Do come in Jean. You did say last night you wanted to see me this morning.”
I step inside, and close the door. The room is as full of paper as ever. Henri frowns at a letter, scribbles a comment, and moves it onto another pile.
He looks up. “You are lucky, you know, not to have been bogged down in parchment from the moment you arrived.”
“I will need to be absent for some days,” I say without preamble.
He blinks. “Again? I had thought that with Pierre dispatched…”
“Our problems would be over?” I complete, though I know they were not his words. “Do you really think that?”
“Of course I don’t,” he snaps, and adds, “I had thought that you would not be needing to make another excursion.”
“Henri,” I say, leaning forward, “in an ideal world I would not have to have made the last one. But when danger next threatens it will be easier for me to act if it is already known I spend much of my time outside this place. And truly, do you think the Ambassador will miss me?”
“He might well hold it against you,” he replies.
I shrug. “Just say that you told me to keep an eye close to the ground.”
He pauses. “You came to this meeting prepared,” he says. I nod. “Do you know how long you are likely to take?”
“To be honest – no. It is probably safer to say that at the latest I will return on Monday, if only for a few hours.”
“Very well,” he says, and sighs. “It is not like I can stop you, with what we have wagered…” he lapses into a silence, and picks up the next item on his desk that needs his attention. I wait for a moment, and leave.
Gunter is as good as his word. The horses are already hitched to the cart. He shows me the little space he has constructed amidst the cargo – mostly barrels that once contained all manner of things for the kitchen. Once a week, sometimes more, some of the guards take the cart around the city picking up orders, and once a week they make another journey, returning empties. It is another trick from Bernhardt’s repertoire, and rather less dangerous than precipitating a riot. I notice my sack perched on the back.
“Excellent,” I say, and take out the boots. I smile at Gunter. “I had to look good for de Tallon.” He takes my meaning as soon as he sees the tatty clothes, and protects my privacy for the few minutes that it takes me to change. My own clothes I bundle together with the extra piece of linen. They are only casual, as such things go, but still worth enough to be treated with a little care.
I am retying the sack when the Captain appears. “All set?” he asks in Bavarian.
“I am now,” I say, and clamber into the cart. I stumble as something shifts, and land awkwardly in my assigned spot. Bernhardt passes up my bag. “Try not to bang anything,” he says, “even the dimwits watching the gates might get suspicious if there was a ruckus in the back.”
It is a poor joke, but I still laugh. Gunter calls in another guard, and under Bernhardt’s direction they pile on the remaining barrels, entombing me. I hear some muted speech, and with a lurch the cart begins to move. It is very dark, but chinks of light spear through the gloom. I close my eyes, and try not to sneeze. I pray I am not about to make a mistake.
I make a final inventory of the contents to be put into the small sack on my bed – one good set of clothes, the clothes I had taken from the Red Lion, a spare pair of boots, and a cape. I ponder adding my box with its bottle of ink and freshly cut quills, but I do not think I will need them. I wrap the fine clothes in the cape, and stuff the rough garb from the Lion into the boots. Together they half-fill the sack. I add a large piece of linen, and rope the top closed. I place my dagger in my belt. I stop and caress my chest with its compartment. I am tempted to open it, to take Father’s notes, but I will not risk them. If my study has been insufficient it is unlikely I will have the opportunity to consult them.
Gunter is in the stables. “Are you ready, monsieur?” he asks as I hand over the sack, but I shake my head.
“I must first see de Tallon. Immediately after that we ought to leave.”
“We are all prepared here, we will wait for you.”
I nod. “Thank you.” I march back into the main building, and stomp up the stairs to de Tallon’s study. The door is ajar.
I walk nearer and Henri calls out, “Do come in Jean. You did say last night you wanted to see me this morning.”
I step inside, and close the door. The room is as full of paper as ever. Henri frowns at a letter, scribbles a comment, and moves it onto another pile.
He looks up. “You are lucky, you know, not to have been bogged down in parchment from the moment you arrived.”
“I will need to be absent for some days,” I say without preamble.
He blinks. “Again? I had thought that with Pierre dispatched…”
“Our problems would be over?” I complete, though I know they were not his words. “Do you really think that?”
“Of course I don’t,” he snaps, and adds, “I had thought that you would not be needing to make another excursion.”
“Henri,” I say, leaning forward, “in an ideal world I would not have to have made the last one. But when danger next threatens it will be easier for me to act if it is already known I spend much of my time outside this place. And truly, do you think the Ambassador will miss me?”
“He might well hold it against you,” he replies.
I shrug. “Just say that you told me to keep an eye close to the ground.”
He pauses. “You came to this meeting prepared,” he says. I nod. “Do you know how long you are likely to take?”
“To be honest – no. It is probably safer to say that at the latest I will return on Monday, if only for a few hours.”
“Very well,” he says, and sighs. “It is not like I can stop you, with what we have wagered…” he lapses into a silence, and picks up the next item on his desk that needs his attention. I wait for a moment, and leave.
Gunter is as good as his word. The horses are already hitched to the cart. He shows me the little space he has constructed amidst the cargo – mostly barrels that once contained all manner of things for the kitchen. Once a week, sometimes more, some of the guards take the cart around the city picking up orders, and once a week they make another journey, returning empties. It is another trick from Bernhardt’s repertoire, and rather less dangerous than precipitating a riot. I notice my sack perched on the back.
“Excellent,” I say, and take out the boots. I smile at Gunter. “I had to look good for de Tallon.” He takes my meaning as soon as he sees the tatty clothes, and protects my privacy for the few minutes that it takes me to change. My own clothes I bundle together with the extra piece of linen. They are only casual, as such things go, but still worth enough to be treated with a little care.
I am retying the sack when the Captain appears. “All set?” he asks in Bavarian.
“I am now,” I say, and clamber into the cart. I stumble as something shifts, and land awkwardly in my assigned spot. Bernhardt passes up my bag. “Try not to bang anything,” he says, “even the dimwits watching the gates might get suspicious if there was a ruckus in the back.”
It is a poor joke, but I still laugh. Gunter calls in another guard, and under Bernhardt’s direction they pile on the remaining barrels, entombing me. I hear some muted speech, and with a lurch the cart begins to move. It is very dark, but chinks of light spear through the gloom. I close my eyes, and try not to sneeze. I pray I am not about to make a mistake.
