Read Online For the King by Catherine Delors - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Delors
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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safety of the First Consul. That was supposed to be the exclusive province of General Duroc and his Military Police.”
“Enough, Miquel. Do not compound your incompetence by your insolence. I will not tolerate either much longer.”
Roch had no opportunity to respond. The Prefect was now looking at Bertrand and his other subordinates. “I will expect every night on my desk a detailed report from each of you. Even from you, Miquel.”
Dubois rose and announced that the meeting was over. Roch’s colleagues, casting furtive glances in his direction, left promptly. Only Bertrand tarried. Still grinning, he bent towards the Prefect, covering one side of his mouth with his giant hand, as though to share confidential information. The Prefect, smiling, nodded in silence. Roch clenched his fists to hide the trembling of his hands and returned to his own office.
10
T he reward of 2,000 louis offered by the Minister of Police produced immediate results. Crowds flocked to the Prefecture and waited in long lines to be heard by the next available policeman. People reported their friends, foes, neighbors and relatives for speaking ill of the First Consul, for carrying a few hundred francs in their pockets, for going to the tavern and getting drunk. Roch had to listen patiently as a man told him in hushed, breathless tones that his next door neighbor had given a dinner to “several people around a table lit by four candles” on the night of the 3rd of Nivose.
A woman described to Roch the activities of her cousin, who spent his spare time crafting miniature windmills in his attic. Those devices had always attracted the deponent’s distrust, but now it was all too clear that those were models for bombs like the one used in the Rue Nicaise attack. Roch was mesmerized by the woman’s fingers, mimicking the clockwork movement of the wings of the windmills. He had long stopped listening to her drivel. He was thinking of the meeting in the Prefect’s office. Of course his superior had always disliked him, but now the new turn of events had given free rein to the man’s animosity. Dubois was no longer afraid of Fouché. And that was very unfortunate news for Roch, who was completely dependent upon the Minister’s patronage.
Roch started when an usher interrupted the woman’s narrative and his own train of thought to hand him a note.
“From the Prefect himself ,” announced the man with due solemnity.
Roch held his breath. For a moment he believed that he was being dismissed, without even the benefit of a personal interview with his superior. But no, the note only ordered Roch to go question a Citizen Vigier, who had reported hearing someone or something fall into the Seine River next to his bathing establishment.
This was better than anything Roch could have expected. Not only did he keep his position, at least for a while, but he remained part of the investigation. He rose, thanked the windmill woman and pushed her firmly towards the door, assuring her that he would keep her informed if her cousin were arrested thanks to her testimony. He reached for his hat and left the Prefecture.
Vigier’s Baths consisted of two separate barges, one for men and the other for women, moored next to the Pont-Royal, the Liberty Bridge, formerly the Royal Bridge. The place would have been bustling during the heat of summer, when Parisians flocked there to enjoy the pleasures of cool water, but in winter it was deserted. Yet a fine day it was, the sky the lightest shade of gray. The thin haze that rose from the river veiled the towers of Notre-Dame in the distance.
Sobry, a scowl on his face, the collar of his coat turned up, already stood on the deck of one of the barges, under a sign that advertised in bold letters: Private and Public Ladies’ Cabins, Showers and Baths . He watched as his men, armed with nets and long poles fitted with hooks, dredged the bottom of the river from a dozen rowboats.
“Any luck?” asked Roch.
The other
“Enough, Miquel. Do not compound your incompetence by your insolence. I will not tolerate either much longer.”
Roch had no opportunity to respond. The Prefect was now looking at Bertrand and his other subordinates. “I will expect every night on my desk a detailed report from each of you. Even from you, Miquel.”
Dubois rose and announced that the meeting was over. Roch’s colleagues, casting furtive glances in his direction, left promptly. Only Bertrand tarried. Still grinning, he bent towards the Prefect, covering one side of his mouth with his giant hand, as though to share confidential information. The Prefect, smiling, nodded in silence. Roch clenched his fists to hide the trembling of his hands and returned to his own office.
10
T he reward of 2,000 louis offered by the Minister of Police produced immediate results. Crowds flocked to the Prefecture and waited in long lines to be heard by the next available policeman. People reported their friends, foes, neighbors and relatives for speaking ill of the First Consul, for carrying a few hundred francs in their pockets, for going to the tavern and getting drunk. Roch had to listen patiently as a man told him in hushed, breathless tones that his next door neighbor had given a dinner to “several people around a table lit by four candles” on the night of the 3rd of Nivose.
A woman described to Roch the activities of her cousin, who spent his spare time crafting miniature windmills in his attic. Those devices had always attracted the deponent’s distrust, but now it was all too clear that those were models for bombs like the one used in the Rue Nicaise attack. Roch was mesmerized by the woman’s fingers, mimicking the clockwork movement of the wings of the windmills. He had long stopped listening to her drivel. He was thinking of the meeting in the Prefect’s office. Of course his superior had always disliked him, but now the new turn of events had given free rein to the man’s animosity. Dubois was no longer afraid of Fouché. And that was very unfortunate news for Roch, who was completely dependent upon the Minister’s patronage.
Roch started when an usher interrupted the woman’s narrative and his own train of thought to hand him a note.
“From the Prefect himself ,” announced the man with due solemnity.
Roch held his breath. For a moment he believed that he was being dismissed, without even the benefit of a personal interview with his superior. But no, the note only ordered Roch to go question a Citizen Vigier, who had reported hearing someone or something fall into the Seine River next to his bathing establishment.
This was better than anything Roch could have expected. Not only did he keep his position, at least for a while, but he remained part of the investigation. He rose, thanked the windmill woman and pushed her firmly towards the door, assuring her that he would keep her informed if her cousin were arrested thanks to her testimony. He reached for his hat and left the Prefecture.
Vigier’s Baths consisted of two separate barges, one for men and the other for women, moored next to the Pont-Royal, the Liberty Bridge, formerly the Royal Bridge. The place would have been bustling during the heat of summer, when Parisians flocked there to enjoy the pleasures of cool water, but in winter it was deserted. Yet a fine day it was, the sky the lightest shade of gray. The thin haze that rose from the river veiled the towers of Notre-Dame in the distance.
Sobry, a scowl on his face, the collar of his coat turned up, already stood on the deck of one of the barges, under a sign that advertised in bold letters: Private and Public Ladies’ Cabins, Showers and Baths . He watched as his men, armed with nets and long poles fitted with hooks, dredged the bottom of the river from a dozen rowboats.
“Any luck?” asked Roch.
The other
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