Leopard in Exile (42 page)

should call misfortune down upon him. He knew too much—the secret drops and passwords, the

meeting places, and the names of enough of the conspirators to destroy the entire network. He was the

weak link, the one whose loss could destroy them all, but there had been no other way. He was the one

who had brought them all together, using intelligence gleaned from Talleyrand's files to find and recruit

them, and so he'd had no choice but to know all their secrets.

Corday did not entirely trust the Black Pope not to betray him into d'Charenton's hands. But the plan

was for Nouvelle-Orléans to be Talleyrand's bolt-hole against the hour of his master's misfortune, and

Corday did not think Talleyrand would compromise that unless he stood to gain something he valued

even more.

Corday had a nearly superstitious faith in the abilities of the Duke of Wessex. For years, Corday and

Wessex had both been pawns on the same great chessboard, and Corday had done his best not to draw

himself to Wessex's attention. When their paths had inevitably crossed, Corday had found his opponent,

though English, to be gracious and honorable—and grace and honor were not qualities prized by the

Shadow Game, the unending espionage between nations.

What coin was Wessex paid in, to hazard everything he was in the service of their contemptible

profession? Corday knew he would never know the answer to that, but still he wondered. Did the

English Duke yearn as he did for the day he could set aside the masquerade and walk openly in the

sunlight once more? Or did he think, as Corday had for so long, that the day would never come?

As he neared the city, a mounted patrol of General Victor's soldiers stopped him and asked to see his

papers. Corday showed them without surprise—such patrols were as much a part of the new regime as

the evening curfew—and after a cursory check he rode on into the city. Corday had seen Napoleon's

Paris and the great capitals of Europe. He had even seen London, called the Great Smoke by its

inhabitants. Compared to these, Nouvelle-Orléans was a mere frontier town of plank and whitewash and

wide unpaved streets, a Spanish-appearing city situated on the high ground between Lake Pontchartrain

and the Mississippi River. But for Corday it was home, and thus more beautiful than its grander cousins.

It was afternoon when he arrived at the Cabildo. He was late returning, but d'Charenton would forgive

him that if he had a suitably lurid account of himself to tender. D'Charenton pardoned the weaknesses of

the flesh, thinking them peculiarly sacred, but he was exacting in the observances due himself, and so

Corday did not tarry upon his arrival, nor stop to remove the dust of the road before presenting himself at

the door of the Governor's private chambers.

"Charles Corday, to see His Excellency the Imperial Governor."

The soldiers at the door wore the ornate livery of the Governor's personal guard. Corday did not

recognize them, but thought little of it. The requests to be transferred from the Governor's personal staff

back to active duty were frequent.

One of the guards opened the door and Corday stepped inside. D'Charenton was waiting for him, like a

white spider in the depths of its web. He rose from behind his desk as Corday entered.

"Good afternoon, Charles. It's time we talked."

In that moment, Corday knew that things had gone terribly, unforgivably wrong.

The journey back to the
Pride of Barataria
had passed in a faintly awkward silence. Lafitte did not

seem at all discommoded to be entertaining two English politicals—and in Wessex's case, a Duke—and

Wessex knew better than to allow the pirate king to see any sign of division in his forces. Lafitte had

gambled to make himself ruler of Louisianne, and now was settling for second best. That sort of change

of heart needed to be closely watched, in case Lafitte was in fact playing an even mote convoluted game

of blackmail and betrayal.

So Wessex allowed Koscuisko to lead the conversation with a stream of aimless babble, and further

allowed it to seem that his mind was occupied by his own part in the coming revolution, the execution of

d'Charenton.

When they reached the ship, though, Lafitte seemed inclined to leave the two men to their own devices,

so long as they stayed out of the way of the crew. Finding a secluded spot, Wessex resigned himself to

his interrogation.

"You could have told me, you know," Koscuisko said mock-plaintively. "That you were running under

sealed orders, I mean."

"You might have told me the real reason you'd been sent to Louisianne, come to that," Wessex pointed

out. "Negotiating a peace treaty? Really, Illya."

"That was a divinely-inspired spur of the moment inspiration," Koscuisko answered. "My original plan

had been to steal Louis from Lafitte and hide him at Hie Clouds."

"Baronner would have loved that. And then?"

"To see what our local contact—in this case, as it turns out, our old friend Gambit—could tell us about

the lay of the land. To find out why d'Charenton really came here."

"That's a question I'd like to know the answer to myself," Wessex said broodingly. "Talleyrand sent him

after the Grail—or so we believe—but Talleyrand didn't know Louis was here, I'll bet my life on that.

And apparently d'Charenton has said nothing of the Grail to his most confidential secretary. How were

you planning to destroy d'Charenton, by the way, if I hadn't turned up again?"

"In my usual splendid fashion—take him back to England and let someone else worry about it But you

think Lady Wessex may be in Nouvelle-Orléans? She was not in Barataria. I made sure of that,"

Koscuisko said, a note of apology in his voice.

"If Louis is here, why should not the others be here somewhere as well? Louisianne is as likely a place as

any other, by now."

"It is possible that you may not find her," Koscuisko said, speaking delicately. "In Nouvelle-Orléans, or

elsewhere."

Wessex turned fully to face his friend.

"No. It is not possible. Wherever Sarah is, I shall find her."

Assault upon a Queen

L
ouis awaited the return of Lafitte and Koscuisko impatiently, but not as impatiently as his companion.

Robie was incapable of being still, it seemed. Throughout all the long day and into the evening he was

constantly pacing, sitting down only to spring up again a moment later, rearranging the tol-lols and fantods

in parlor and library until his constant activity bid fair to destroy what nerves Louis had left.

"Will you
stop
that?" he said at last, crossing the room to yank the paperweight from Robie's hand and

slam it down on the shelf again.

Robie glared at him, pale china-blue eyes wide. "Oh ay, Your Majesty. Just as you say, Your Majesty. Is

there anything else, Your Majesty?"

"Stop that. I'm no king," Louis said wearily.

"You were born one," Robie said, as if accusing Louis of some crime.

"I was born a Prince, and saw everyone I loved murdered by
la canaille
before I was nine years old. If

that's enough to make me King, then I am King, but I don't notice it having made any difference yet. I

am, after all, your prisoner."

"Jean's prisoner, not mine. I'd have fed you to the sharks when I found you. You're only trouble. You

make him… dream too much."

So it was fear for his master that was behind Robie's foul temper.

"All men dream," Louis said gently. "He will be safe. Koscuisko is a good man."

"A good
Englishman
—or if not that, then working for the
Anglais
. Whose ships do you think we raid in

the Gulf? The English King would hang Jean in chains if he caught him!" Robie said furiously.

"But he won't catch him, Robie. You heard Koscuisko. Lafitte is to be First Minister of the new

Louisianne, and a trusted ally of England. And I will need him. Undoubtedly he knows more of how to

rule a country than I do."

"Jean Lafitte is a great man!" Robie said belligerently. "He doesn't need you."

"There you are wrong," Louis said, becoming irritated beyond prudence at last. "I am the
imprimatur
of

Royalty that will cloak his scandalous antecedents in the pall of respectability. A painted statue could do

as much, but oh, I am
vital
to his success, I assure you!"

The two might have come to blows, save for the fact that Lafitte chose that moment to make his

entrance.

"Put up your swords,
mes enfants
!" he said cheerfully. "My young Robie, you are out of temper. It is too

long since you killed someone, eh? But there will be killing very soon—injudicious moderation, of

course," he added, with a glance back at his two companions.

Louis looked past Lafitte to the men with him. One, he was relieved to see, was Koscuisko. The other

was the Duke of Wessex. Louis' first thought was relief that he would not be called upon to be

d'Charenton's executioner, for Wessex could surely perform that task. The second was that Wessex

must surely have word of Meriel, for his Duchess and Louis' wife were close friends, and Meriel might

well have sought out Lady Wessex after Louis' disappearance.

"Your Grace, I must have words with you," Louis said, coming over to the Duke.

"Louis. I'm sorry, I don't know where she is," Wessex said quietly.

Shocks quickly delivered were said to hurt less, but the blow was still painful. Louis bowed his head,

steeling himself to accept it.

"A woman?" Lafitte had seemed wholly occupied with Robie, but his ears were sharp.

"My wife, Captain," Louis said evenly. "She was with me in Baltimore when I was taken, and I do not

know what became of her."

Lafitte looked to Wessex.

"After Lady Meriel realized you were gone, she wrote to Lady Wessex of her plight. Naturally, Her

Grace came as soon as she could. By the time I was able to follow, there was no trace to be found of

either lady."

"
Sarah
is gone?" Louis said, bewildered. He could not imagine that anyone could easily vanquish the

wondrous Duchess of Wessex. Wessex's face was expressionless, but his eyes were filled with a

formidable resolution.

"It would help if we knew just how it was you came here," Koscuisko said. Louis shrugged.

"Captain Lafitte was kind enough to rescue me from a gentleman whose company had grown tedious—a

certain Captain Franklyn of a ship called
Merchant's Luck
. I know no more than that. I was drugged

when I went to the bank in Baltimore, I think, and awoke just as the
Luck
was being boarded."

Wessex turned his gaze on Lafitte. The pirate king was quick enough to understand the unspoken

question.

"For my part, it was a day like any other. She flew a Dutch flag, but—
eh bien
—if we are not at war with

the Dutch now, we may well be someday, and a prudent man takes his work where he finds it. The late

Captain Franklyn said he acted for d'Charenton in the matter, but perhaps he was only trying to impress

me." Though Lafitte kept his face grave, his eyes sparkled with a buccaneer's enjoyment.

"So d'Charenton's agents took Louis from Baltimore, but not his wife. Lady Meriel and Her Grace made

their disappearance from Baltimore at a later date, either separately or together," Koscuisko said,

summarizing matters.

"Perhaps d'Charenton will know." The words Wessex spoke were idle, but Louis shivered inwardly

when he heard them. The Duke and the pirate were both what Louis knew he could never

be—dangerous men. Men who could kill.

"And you shall certainly have an opportunity to ask him," Lafitte said, "but not before you have sampled

what poor hospitality my Chandeleur can offer. We will make Frenchmen of you both, so that you can

walk the streets of
La Belle Orléans
in safety. And to be sure of it, I will send my little Robie to Town to

discover the freshest news. You see,
mon petit
?" he added, directing this last to Robie. "No

imprisonment lasts forever."

"Free at last," Robie breathed in relief. "I'll go tonight. Don't do anything fun while I'm gone." The young

pirate nearly ran from the room, his blond braid swinging behind him.

"Was it the hour? Was it the company?" Koscuisko asked plaintively.

"He's young," Lafitte said dismissively. "And has no love for great houses—even mine. His experiences in

such have not been happy ones. But come. We are all comrades now in this great adventure, and there

are many details for us to work out before the curtain rises upon the last act."

Robie stopped in Barataria proper long enough for a meal and to find someone who would row him

across to the mainland. Grand Terre was two hours from Nouvelle-Orléans by coach, and it would be a

long walk. He could have had one of Jean's horses, but a dock-rat coming into town on a blooded

saddlehorse would cause talk. If he had to leave town in a hurry, all he had to do was take one of the

horses from the smithy in St. Philip Street, for the smithy and everything it contained was only one of the

false-front businesses that Lafitte owned in Nouvelle-Orléans.

He walked through the night without fear, swinging a dark-lantern, for in addition to his knives and

pistols, Robie wore several powerful
gris-gris
concealed in his clothes, and so had no fear either of

ghosts or vaudois. His pistol would drive off a panther, and so long as he stayed away from still water, he