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Leforte and get lost in the crowd. All we need to do is to get
him out of that square. Then we can take him to the safehouse,
knock him out with that trick ring of yours, and have Fitzroy
clock us to Boulogne-sur-Mer. But we ll need something to
disguise Leforte until we can get him out of the square.
 No big deal, said Finn.  We can throw a shawl and a cloak
over him. Now all we need to do is figure out some sort of a
diversion. How about a fire?
 It would be risky, Lucas said.  We don t want to get anyone
killed inadvertently.
 We can take steps to minimize that possibility, said Finn.
 Don t forget, we ve got some extra manpower. We ve got
league members Barrett, Moore, Smythe-Peters and the Byrne
brothers standing by. All we have to do is pick a likely building,
get one of the boys to start a small fire that ll make a lot of
smoke, then torch the place but good. We ll need a healthy
blaze to steal the show. There s enough time to pick a site, get
instructions to the boys, and start them off making Molotov
cocktails. It should do the trick.
 I hope so, Lucas said.  Well, I can t think of a better idea at
the moment, anyway. Come on, let s pick our spot.
At ten-thirty in the morning, Leforte s jailors opened up his
cell and led the stunned marquis downstairs to the courtyard
of the Bastille. The aristocrat had not slept at all that night. He
spent what he believed to be his last night on earth praying. A
man who had never paid more than lip service to religion
Leforte found faith in the last hours of his life. He had no hope,
none whatsoever. He knew only too well how much the people
hated him and how justified that hate was, he knew that he
could expect no mercy. He had known it when they had arrested
him, just as he thought that he was going to make good
his escape. Ironically, on the day before he was scheduled to
die, he had learned that the man who was responsible for his
arrest would soon be following him up the steps leading to the
122 Time Wars #3
guillotine. One of the guards had told him that Sergeant Bibot
had also been thrown into a cell in the north tower, for allowing
the Duc de Chalis to escape. The guard, a bloodthirsty old
peasant, had found the irony amusing, but the fact that Bibot
was to die brought little comfort to Leforte. Instead of dwelling
on the thought that the man who had brought him to this
fate would share it, Leforte thought about de Chalis, an old
man who had won his freedom. It seemed monstrously unfair.
De Chalis was in the twilight of his years; he could not have
long to live. Leforte was thirty-seven and in the prime of life.
He had been very much afraid, but now the fear had spent
itself. Leforte felt numb. He found that singularly puzzling.
Over and over, he kept thinking to himself,  I m going to die.
Why don t I feel anything?
They put him in the tumbrel, a crude, two-wheeled wooden
cart, and a small escort of soldiers of the Republic formed up
on either side. The driver, who reeked of garlic, looked at him
only once, dispassionately spat upon his shirt, then turned his
back on him and flapped the reins up and down several times
to get the horses moving. The tumbrel moved forward with a
jerk, going through the gate with Leforte as its sole piece of
human cargo. The marquis took a deep and shuddering breath,
resolving that he would not give the peasants the satisfaction
of seeing him cower in fear. In point of fact, he was not afraid.
He had accepted death with a deep despondency and he had
run the gamut of all possible emotions. There was nothing
left.
I will go to my death with dignity, he thought. To the very
end, I will show this rabble that I am better than they are.
The street was lined with people. He was surprised to see
how many of them had turned out to see him off. The noise
was deafening. They laughed, they screamed, they jeered and
rushed the tumbrel, trying to grab a piece of his clothing, to
touch him, strike him, spit upon him, or throw garbage at him.
The Pimpernel Plot
They followed the tumbrel as it proceeded down the street
toward the Place de la Revolution and the soldiers made only
the most token efforts to hold them back. The cart turned down
another street and an old woman tried to clamber up onto the
tumbrel. Leforte stared through her as she screamed unintelligibly
at him. One of the soldiers pulled her off the cart, then
turned to look at Leforte with a mixture of disgust and irritation. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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