Memory of Flames (7 page)

Was Varencourt telling the truth? Margont hid his irritation. He was finding it very hard to find any chink in Varencourt’s armour. He would be able to begin to check what the man was telling him once he had been admitted to the group. Perhaps then he would find some hold over him.

Meanwhile Varencourt was saying suavely, ‘At the moment, for reasons of security, the symbol is known only to the members of the committee. And to the people I have passed it on to, namely the personal police of Joseph Bonaparte, I mean, Joseph I of Spain. And I have also explained
 
that
 
to Monsieur Natai ...’

‘I haven’t had time yet to study all the information you’ve passed

Varencourt was worried.

‘I see ...Then why are we seeing each other now? What was the hurry for the meeting?’

‘Well ... because you have to get me admitted to the Swords of the King ...’

Varencourt’s eyes widened and he almost choked. The news was as hard to swallow as the doctored wine.

‘You’re joking!’

‘No! Don’t tell me you weren’t informed?’

‘Informed ofwhat?’

They both mentally cursed Joseph and Talleyrand.

‘You’re not serious, are you?’ demanded Varencourt. ‘I refuse to lead you into the lion’s mouth! You will be unmasked and we will both be killed.’

‘My dear Charles, you refuse to take me and I refuse to go. The problem is that, in spite of that, it will happen. I have no choice and neither do you. These are the orders of our two friends, to whom we owe the pleasure of this enjoyable meeting.’

‘We have to change their minds! They have no idea. Why do they need you to ... when they already have me ...? Oh, I see, they don’t trust me. It’s just that, you see, it’s virtually impossible to become a member...’

‘You’re going to have to get me in right at the top, on the committee.’

‘Damn it, listen to yourself! It’s impossible. You would have had to be a member for at least two months. They would have had to investigate you and you would have had to prove your loyalty.’

‘I don’t doubt it. I’ve already thought of a way round that. If I were indispensable, they would accept me immediately, and at the highest level, what’s more.’

‘I have to admit, I like your thinking. Do you play cards?’

‘No! And now’s not the time to talk about that sort of thing.’

‘It’s always time for gaming! Life’s a game. At least that’s the way I take it - it’s easier to bear like that. But I am not interested in raising the stakes, and I must make clear to you that I refuse to play the game you propose.’ ‘Our two powerful friends will not accept that. If you refuse, they will put the police onto you. And they’ve already told me they’ll feed me to the Cossacks ...’

Varencourt was furious. But he continued to act like a chessboard king, proud and immobile as the opposing queen slipped forward to checkmate him.

‘Right. I understand. But it will be very expensive,’ he warned. ‘I’m listening. What’s your plan?’

‘I’ve looked through some of the information you’ve provided, although only very quickly, and I see that another idea of the Swords of the King is to stir up the Parisians to support them, or at least to incite them not to take up arms if Paris is threatened. I suppose those cockades sporting your emblem are meant to act as a sign of recognition among your soldiers. But how do you plan to reach thousands of people? And how can you do that without the risk of being shot? You’ll have to have bulletins and posters, but all the printing presses are under surveillance. That’s how I can make myself indispensable. You can pass me off as a printer! I print

theatre programmes, and posters for shows. Officially that’s how I earn my living. But actually I’m only interested in printing because I’ve always had the idea of supporting the royalist cause using the most effective weapon in the world: words!’

That’s too perfect to be true ...’

That’s why it will work! Because it’s so perfect your friends will want to believe it!’

‘You really should play cards.’

‘I do have some notion of the printing profession. I’ve always dreamt of launching a newspaper ... a real one,’ he added, casting a rueful glance at the papers he had put on the table. ‘How does admission to the heart of this group work?’

‘Good question! That depends if they trust you or not. They will ask you questions: “Why do you want to join us?” “Who can vouch for you?” When I joined, they made me wait for two months while they investigated me. The investigation was satisfactory so my admission was only a formality. But the risk with trying to rush things is that they will be more suspicious.’ ‘Stop trying to make me change my mind; you won’t succeed. You’re the one who’s going to recommend me. When someone wants to join, they must ask the person who is to nominate them questions about the group — who else is a member? What action has been taken?’

‘We’re not allowed to say anything, except that we’re a royalist group who advocates action! We are the Swords of the King. Our leader is very strict about it: we’re not to say anything else. Because if we had revealed more than that to those trying to join us, our group would have been crushed long ago. The imperial police are
 
very
 
efficient.’

‘Are there any other ways you want to put me off?’

Varencourt shook his head. He wore a strange expression, halfway between anger and interest. He seemed to consider their situation like a roll of the dice from which he could either gain an enormous amount or lose everything.

‘Our fates are linked but I know nothing about you, Monsieur Langes. Are you a policeman? No, you don’t look like one.

Policemen love order and discipline, which is not generally what journalists want. Are you a soldier?’

These days, everyone is a soldier.’

‘Are you an officer?’

‘Ah ... you’ll have to find out.’

‘At least tell me your real Christian name.’

‘Quentin. Quentin de Langes.’

‘You still don’t trust me and yet your life depends now on my talents as a liar.’

Margont was nervous. ‘And vice versa, Charles. Concentrate on convincing the Swords of the King to agree to meet me.’

He nodded towards the copy of
 
Le Journal de Paris.
 
‘Keep it. I’ve hidden the address where I can be contacted and a few details about me. You’re supposed to know me, so learn the notes by heart and then destroy them. You’ll see that we’ve met several times at various gaming tables in Palais-Royal. I’ve lost against you, owe you money and have signed an acknowledgement of debt. We have a meeting to discuss this and that’s how we discover our common interest - the royalist cause. Happy reading I’ll wait for you to contact me so that you can introduce me to you friends. But don’t leave it too long ...’
 

MARGONT left the cafe and wandered about the streets, hoping to throw off any spies that Varencourt, the Swords of the King or Joseph might have set on him. He couldn’t be too careful. But the more he complicated his route, the more he had the feeling he was being followed. He started to see figures in every dark recess. At this rate suspicion would soon drive him mad.

He finally made it to Pont d’lena. The bridge had been built by order of Napoleon, who named it after one of his stunning victories against the Prussians in 1806. Old Marshal Blucher, who had commanded the Prussians troops, told anyone who would listen that as soon as he had taken Paris he would blow it up.

Margont pulled his collar up against the cold and moved away from the oil lamps like a wary insect fleeing the light. He went over to the greyish green waters of the Seine. A few weeks ago enemy shakos had suddenly appeared in the water, carried along by the current. Passers-by would stop, incredulous at the sight of the

thousands of hats covering the surface and floating dreamily past. A few days after the appearance of the shakos, Parisians learnt that after Napoleon’s defeat of the Austrians, Hungarians and Wurtembergers at Montereau, he had ordered his soldiers to fling the shakos of the dead and the prisoners into the Yonne. He thought that when the people of Paris saw them floating in the Seine, they would understand that a great victory had been won. But it would take much more than that to save France, and Margont imagined the Seine disappearing abruptly under a ground swell of three hundred and fifty thousand shakos.

He jumped when Lefine joined him. ‘Were you there when I met him?’ Margont immediately asked.

‘Of course, as agreed.’

‘Where were you hiding?’

‘Here and there. I was mingling with the customers. I don’t like the look of that Varencourt. He was too much at ease. Here we are with the world collapsing around us and he seemed not to have a care in the world. I almost envy him ... In any case, he didn’t spot

me. And I didn’t see anyone watching you furtively. At one point you made him very angry, and that was definitely genuine!’

‘Joseph had “forgotten” to tell him that he would have to help me become a member of the Swords of the King. Where did he go after he left me?’

‘Rue Saint-Denis, his personal address, according to the file we have on him. But he’s very difficult to follow. He’s always on his guard. What are you going to do now?’

‘Co home. To my new home. And you’re going to go and meet Monsieur Natai to tell him two things. That you’re the man I’ve chosen to help me — you’ll have to tell him where you can be contacted. Secondly, tell him that I need access to a printing works by tomorrow evening! He’ll pass all that on to Joseph.’

Margont told Lefine how to find Monsieur Natai, explained his idea and hurried on, not giving his friend any chance to comment. ‘Next, get someone to spy on Charles de Varencourt. I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone. Don’t tell him anything, just pay him to watch our man. Joseph will reimburse you through

Monsieur Natai. Do the same for all the members of the committee — their addresses are in the police reports. I will spend my time fine-tuning my act while I wait for Varencourt to give me the sign. If you need me, you know where
 
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be. Have you had time to find lodgings?’

‘Auberge Arcole, practically on your doorstep. The street doesn’t even have a name, but it’s on the banks of the Bievre, between two tanneries. Monsieur Fernand Lami. What am I to Chevalier Quentin de Langes?’

A soldier who served under me in the 84th. You support the King because you think that will earn you money and because you’ve had enough of the war.’

A role
 
almost
 
tailor-made for me! I’ll go and find Monsieur Natai tomorrow morning and see what reports he has for me. Then I’ll be able to tell you all about them in the evening.’

‘No. I don’t think you should do that. I’m not supposed to know the members of the organisation. If you tell me a lot about them now, I’m worried I’ll give myself away when I meet them.’

‘I don’t agree! The more you know about them, the better you’ll be able to adapt your conversation and tell them what they want to hear, if they’re going to accept you as one of theirs.’

The first meeting with them will be fraught with difficulty. The strain of it might make me reveal something written in the police reports ...’

‘You’ll just have to be careful! And if you do ever make a mistake, you can always say that Charles de Varencourt told you about them.’

‘No. That’s against their rules and you can’t assume they’re stupid. The Revolution tried to paint the aristocracy as imbeciles and degenerates. But it never does to underestimate your enemies. No, I’ve made my decision. My strategy is going to be to get into the skin of my character as much as possible, and Chevalier Quentin de Langes doesn’t know much about them. So it must be the same for Lieutenant-Colonel Margont. You mustn’t talk to me about them until after I’ve met them for the first time. That leaves you enough time to study as many police reports as possible.

Afterwards, in my other meetings with them, if I mention something I’m not supposed to know, then I’ll be able to say that I researched them after I had been admitted to the group. That’s exactly what Chevalier de Langes would do.’

‘Well ... all right, perhaps you’re right. You decide - it’s you who has to be Quentin de Langes ...’

Rue du Pique looked unprepossessing. It was dirty, and the smell! The emanations from the tanneries, hide-makers and dye works mingled with the stink of mounds of rubbish ... Number 9, which had been converted into an inn, was so dilapidated it looked as if it might crumble to the ground at any minute. Margont presented himself to the owner as Monsieur Langes and was given the key to a room under the eaves.

He studied the documents Joseph had given him. To help him memorise the events of his life, he imagined them unfolding before his eyes. When he was capable of reciting the life of Quentin de Langes, he burnt anything compromising and got rid of the

ashes.

The room had been suitably furnished before his arrival to suit his new persona. But he spent a little time rearranging things so that they better suited his own preferences. He chased away the cockroaches that scuttled under the floorboards at the approach of his candle, leafed through the books and scribbled notes in some of them, went to the window and hailed a water-carrier, who brought him up a bucket filled with water from the Seine. He ground his teeth when he opened the trunk. All the clothes were brand spanking new! He decided to throw them away and go to a second-hand clothes shop the next day. He would also buy a Bible. He thought about his situation, he was worried ... He felt like a ferret about to be released into an earth filled with foxes and expected to pass himself off as one of them.