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Authors: Rob Griffith
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way. It will not be easy since the city gates are all guarded, but there are ways. You can have these back by the way. We will trust you, for now, but you will only betray us once, you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.” I took the papers and weighed them in my hand. “I understand that I should have stayed in bed last week and got myself quietly arrested at a decent hour of the day and that I would now be on my way to wherever Bonaparte is keeping the rest of his English prisoners. However, I do not understand how I came to be involved in all of this.”
“Fate, Monsieur Blackthorne, just fate.” Calvet smiled.
“Well, I’ll be damned if I’ll wait for fate to get me out of it. I want to know what is going on. Whom do you work for?”
“Bonaparte and the French Government, officially. My boss is Jean Baptiste Dossonville, Controller of Administration. I also work for your Alien Office, occasionally. And I support the Royalists who hope to return a king to the throne instead of that damned Corsican.”
“If you work for Bonaparte then who was chasing me?”
“In France life is not at all simple. Many men work for Bonaparte but fortunately for our cause they mostly work against each other. A man called Lacrosse led the guards but no, I’m afraid that you are not that important. He was after the papers. He knew Wright had them, how I don’t know. I got wind of it too late to warn Wright. After your little fracas on the Seine Lacrosse suspected that Wright might have passed the papers to you. Knowing of Bonaparte’s plan to arrest all Englishmen I had already spread the word amongst others of like mind to help any of your countrymen trying to escape. It was pure luck that you went to Henri and ended up here.” He poured himself another Armangac, refreshed my own glass again and then settled down in a gaudy throne of a chair. I got the impression that he rather relished initiating a novice to the complexities of being a secret agent. At least it made him more inclined to give me more information, despite the warning looks shot from Dominique, and I now knew the identity of the man in grey who had led the guards that awful morning.
“And so it’s the papers that Lacrosse wants?” I asked.
“Yes, but not for the reason that you might suspect. Lacrosse works for General Moncey, head of the Gendarmes. But his real loyalty is to Joseph Fouché. He doesn’t care if you English get warning of the invasion or not. He just wants to help Fouché get his hands on them and get the credit for foiling the plot.”
“I thought Fouché had been dismissed?” The former French Minister of Police was infamous for his intrigues and brutality, but above all the Butcher of Lyon was known as a survivor.
“He has but, just like Lacrosse, Joseph Fouché only cares about one thing. Power. During the dark days of The Terror he held the power of life and death over anyone in France, as indeed, to my shame, did I. These days, when the guillotines are less busy, we all have to jostle for position. Each allowing certain groups to operate, to make trouble, while claiming the other does nothing and then perhaps turning on their own creations and crowing victory to Bonaparte. My superior, Dossonville, tried to bring Fouché down. Fouché had him arrested. Dossonville appealed to Bonaparte. Fouché was dismissed. Such is life in France. Without such men as Fouché, Lacrosse, Dossonville and I perhaps we could all sleep at night without waiting for the tramp of the guards and a knock on the door. I do what I have to do to survive and to see Bonaparte’s plans frustrated. We don’t want another tyrant. A constitutional monarch with their power limited by a proper assembly is what we originally fought for all those years ago.”
“Are you suspected?”
“Maybe Fouché knows my real allegiance and it suits his purpose to let me spy on him and his ilk. Maybe he doesn’t. I care little for my own life. For Dominique it is
“Yes, I understand.” I took the papers and weighed them in my hand. “I understand that I should have stayed in bed last week and got myself quietly arrested at a decent hour of the day and that I would now be on my way to wherever Bonaparte is keeping the rest of his English prisoners. However, I do not understand how I came to be involved in all of this.”
“Fate, Monsieur Blackthorne, just fate.” Calvet smiled.
“Well, I’ll be damned if I’ll wait for fate to get me out of it. I want to know what is going on. Whom do you work for?”
“Bonaparte and the French Government, officially. My boss is Jean Baptiste Dossonville, Controller of Administration. I also work for your Alien Office, occasionally. And I support the Royalists who hope to return a king to the throne instead of that damned Corsican.”
“If you work for Bonaparte then who was chasing me?”
“In France life is not at all simple. Many men work for Bonaparte but fortunately for our cause they mostly work against each other. A man called Lacrosse led the guards but no, I’m afraid that you are not that important. He was after the papers. He knew Wright had them, how I don’t know. I got wind of it too late to warn Wright. After your little fracas on the Seine Lacrosse suspected that Wright might have passed the papers to you. Knowing of Bonaparte’s plan to arrest all Englishmen I had already spread the word amongst others of like mind to help any of your countrymen trying to escape. It was pure luck that you went to Henri and ended up here.” He poured himself another Armangac, refreshed my own glass again and then settled down in a gaudy throne of a chair. I got the impression that he rather relished initiating a novice to the complexities of being a secret agent. At least it made him more inclined to give me more information, despite the warning looks shot from Dominique, and I now knew the identity of the man in grey who had led the guards that awful morning.
“And so it’s the papers that Lacrosse wants?” I asked.
“Yes, but not for the reason that you might suspect. Lacrosse works for General Moncey, head of the Gendarmes. But his real loyalty is to Joseph Fouché. He doesn’t care if you English get warning of the invasion or not. He just wants to help Fouché get his hands on them and get the credit for foiling the plot.”
“I thought Fouché had been dismissed?” The former French Minister of Police was infamous for his intrigues and brutality, but above all the Butcher of Lyon was known as a survivor.
“He has but, just like Lacrosse, Joseph Fouché only cares about one thing. Power. During the dark days of The Terror he held the power of life and death over anyone in France, as indeed, to my shame, did I. These days, when the guillotines are less busy, we all have to jostle for position. Each allowing certain groups to operate, to make trouble, while claiming the other does nothing and then perhaps turning on their own creations and crowing victory to Bonaparte. My superior, Dossonville, tried to bring Fouché down. Fouché had him arrested. Dossonville appealed to Bonaparte. Fouché was dismissed. Such is life in France. Without such men as Fouché, Lacrosse, Dossonville and I perhaps we could all sleep at night without waiting for the tramp of the guards and a knock on the door. I do what I have to do to survive and to see Bonaparte’s plans frustrated. We don’t want another tyrant. A constitutional monarch with their power limited by a proper assembly is what we originally fought for all those years ago.”
“Are you suspected?”
“Maybe Fouché knows my real allegiance and it suits his purpose to let me spy on him and his ilk. Maybe he doesn’t. I care little for my own life. For Dominique it is
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