Havoc`s Sword

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Lt. Jules Hainaut had barely gotten his prize schooner tied up alongside a stone quay in the harbour of Basse-Terre when the reply to his urgent flag signals came from Pointe-a-Pitre, the other harbour to the east. The Vieux Fort semaphore tower had signalled that his hoists would be relayed to Capt. Choundas as Mohican and Chippewa had beaten a hobby-horsing way inshore. Despite the hundreds of things required of him to secure both prizes, see to the surviving crews, and turn the vessels over to the local court officials, there was no gainsaying the wax-sealed letter's pithy instruction when it came aboard stained with ammoniacal horse-sweat, and borne by an equally sweated despatch rider.

"Come to me, quickly.¹" the single sheet of paper said.

Hainaut groaned with weary misery at what strenuous effort that simple directive implied. Against the winds, a despatch boat couldn't fetch Pointe-a-Pitre 'til mid-afternoon next. The quickest way was by horseback, the only road a rain-gullied sand-and-shell track rutted by cart-wheels. Thirty-two of those newfangled kilometres, at least eight hours at a trot or canter, supposing a change of horses at Capesterre or Ste. Marie was available!

Hainaut would be damned if he'd do it at a gallop all the way, Guillaume Choundas's well-feared wrath notwithstanding. Was he not a warship captain in all but name, with all the duty and responsibility that that implied? Oh, he'd make a great show of leaving with the utmost despatch… but he thought a brief sit-down supper somewhere on the way could be fitted in, explained by the plea of Stern Duty to his hapless matelots, and the safeguarding of the prizes… which prizes were rare and dearly earned money in Le Hideux's purse, too, after all. Surely that earned Hainaut an extra, un-begrudged hour!

"Timmonier, I am ordered to report to Capitaine Choundas, quick as I may. You are in charge until I return!" Hainaut shouted with the proper seeming haste and clattered down the gangplank in the uniform he stood up in, bawling at the despatch rider for a fast mount.

" Vous imposteur petit" the petty officer growled to himself as soon as Lt. Hainaut was lost in the dockside throng ashore. "Go lick your ugly master's arse! Et va te faire foutre" he muttered, as he leaned over the side to hock up a hefty and derisive gob of phlegm.

"You are certain it was Proteus" Guillaume Choundas rasped in the ghoulishly unflattering light of four finger-thick candles mounted in a single stand on the side of his ornate desk. "You are certain it was that diable Lewrie?"

"There is no doubt of it, m'sieur" Jules Hainaut replied with the properly dramatic gravity, displaying grim assuredness, and a hint of residual anger. "Hand-in-glove with two americain men of war. It was Proteus in the centre, with one each in her van and rear. Against such overwhelming force, I regret there was nothing I could do with my two barely armed and undermanned prizes to aid Lieutenant Pelletier," Hainaut gravely explained, laying out the disastrous events as best he had observed them 'til he had sailed the action far aft and under the horizon.

Hainaut had been most careful to swath his clothing at the inn where he had dined (rather well in point of fact) so there would be no betraying food stains upon his person; but from the moment he had come to a dust-cloud halt from his last galloped leg of the journey (begun at the five-kilometre post outside town to look properly winded and damp with horse-sweat) Capt. Choundas had peered so closely at him that he felt as if he were under examination with a magnifying glass, so sharp, glittery, and icily dubious was Choundas's remaining good eye on him, so high-nosed and aloof did his master regard him.

"And all three ships flew their largest battle flags," Choundas pressed. Even though Hainaut had arrived shortly after midnight, and the interrogation had been going on for more than an hour, Choundas was dressed in his best gilt-laced uniform, his neck-stock done up and all his waist-coat buttons snugly buttoned. As was his master's mind as lucid and penetrating as ever.

"They did, m'sieur," Hainaut answered with an affirmative nod even if he hadn't been close enough to the action to espy such details and he strove to keep his face bland, but not too bland; with no owl-eyed staring, or too much rapid blinking to put the lie to his statement. Hainaut had seen Choundas conduct harsher interrogations before, and had even been instructed in the tell-tale frailties of men and women determined to bluff their way out.

"Ahum" was Choundas's response to that, taking time to swivel to face his detestable little clerk, de Gougne, who pointedly made an additional note of Hainaut's observation at his master's cue.

No wine, Hainaut thought in worry; dry work, but no wine in the offing. How much trouble am I in? What, kill the bearer of bad news?

In Hainaut's experience of Choundas's little "chats" with those he would expose and condemn, wine was always available to those of too much self-possession, none for the visibly nervous until they had lied their way into a corner. Wine came first for Choundas, then was given to the shaky victim with profuse apologies, as if they had survived the experience-followed by the too-casual "just a matter or two more, Citizen (or Citizenness)" to dis-arm before the verbal blow that struck below the heart. Hainaut worried (and not for the first time) exactly where he stood with Guillaume Choundas this night.

The man had aged, Hainaut noted, in the few weeks since his ship had sailed on her raiding cruise. That arc of Choundas's face he still exposed to the world was much more serely pruned than when he'd wished them all bonne chance; his flesh was more collapsed upon the bones and now of a sickly, pasty cast, as if he had turned hermit, not venturing outside his headquarters unless required, thinned by poor victuals, or the loss of interest in mere food in the face of all his cares and frustrations.

Hainaut almost exposed himself with a faint shudder of dread as he suddenly realised that the vaunted, clever, and capable ogre was not going to succeed this time. Guillaume Choundas was going to fail-, and likely drag him down with him when he went! More so than ever, Hainaut now had to be free of him.

"Your prizes safely made harbour, though, Hainaut? No damage?" Choundas demanded, too solicitous of a sudden for credence, as if they didn't matter in the slightest.

"Yes, m'sieur" Hainaut answered, feigning gruffness, as if he were immune to the temptation of prize-money, too. "Two fine schooners belonging to the same 'Amis' trading company. Both are about, uhm… thirty metres, and very fast, with promising cargoes of dyewood, coffee, cotton, rough wines and brandies, cocoa, kegs of limes and lemons, cocoanuts, sugar and molasses, and tons of cigaros or plug tobacco. In excellent condition, both of them. Lightly armed of course, but stiff and beamy enough to accept a decent battery. Six-pounders would be best, if any are available, m'sieur. Cannon of four-pounder measurement if not, to match their own armament. Pardon, but they would make excellent replacements for those we lost."

Choundas stared at him, disconcertingly unblinking for a long time, as if turned to stone by Hainaut's callow presumptions to offer "tarry-handed" nautical advice to him.

"Of course, in their present condition, they could make a fast passage back to France with their cargoes," Hainaut spoke up, wilting under that obsidian gaze, hating himself for making self-deprecating gestures, for altering his confident voice nigh to apologetic wheedling. "Whatever you decide, m'sieur."

"Indeed," Choundas intoned, with the faintest, crudest lift at the exposed corner of his ravaged mouth. "Well, then. You have ridden hard and far, Hainaut, and must be desperately hungry and thirsty, no?"

"Ready to fight a wolf for the bones, m'sieur, and so dry that I could drink a river!" Hainaut exclaimed with plausible eagerness. "My poor arse… it has been too long since I even sat a horse. Once in bed, I fear I'll sleep face-down, and need a sitting pillow for a week hence! Uhm… what should I do in the morning, m'sieur? Ride back to Basse-Terre to deal with your prizes? Sail back, preferably. There is my crew to see to…"

"One last little matter, Hainaut," Choundas interrupted, almost as an afterthought, which beguilingly coo-some tone to his voice froze Hainaut's innards, "and then I will let you refresh yourself."

"Of course, m'sieur" Hainaut replied, sinking back down onto his chair with his knees ready to buckle.

"Did Lewrie and the Americans," Choundas posed, leaning back in his own chair and toying with a loosely folded sheet of paper with his left hand, "seem as if they lay in wait for you? Dash straightaway for our ships? Could you see any sort of light or signal which might have drawn them to Lieutenants Houdon and Pelletier and their prizes?"

"All but the compass binnacle lights had been ordered doused m'sieur" Hainaut answered, unable to avoid looking perplexed by such a question. "They did steer directly for the two larger groups, just as soon as they heaved up in view, yes, now that you mention it. But that was near dawn, and even the binnacles had been snuffed by then. It is possible that they kept mast-head lookouts aloft after dark, or sent theirs aloft earlier than ours, m'sieur. But I did not get the impression that they lay in wait for us. It was an unfortunate thing that we were spotted by the lead ship in their patrol line furthest to the Eastward, but… did they operate together to intercept any ships returning to Guadeloupe, they surely would have known to search as far to windward as possible."

"Such a fortuitous… coincidence, though, do you not believe, Jules? Hein? Following the first inexplicable fortunate coincidence off Basse-Terre, when we lost Le Bouclier and the arms shipment? You do recall that, I presume." Choundas sneered, all arch and Arctic cold. "Or the recent loss of a rich merchantman just off Deshaies not a week ago, when Lewrie and Proteus just happened round Pointe Allegre, just at the instant that a Capitaine Fleury's ship cleared the cape?"

"I was not aware of that loss, m'sieur" Hainaut said, frowning.

"No, I am now certain that you were not, for you had no way of knowing the day, or the hour, of her sailing for home," Choundas told him. "She was betrayed, cher Jules.

"Just as you were betrayed, just as Le Bouclier and Capitaine Desplan were betrayed," Choundas gravelled in a hoarse, rasping voice. "Fleury, and that fat fool Haljewin, are prisoners on Dominica, though at least Fleury had the wit to write me of his taking, of being for a brief time a prisoner aboard Lewrie's frigate. Fleury carefully wrote a veiled account of his ordeal, in a crude but workable cypher known to me. You remember that despicable old salaud who interrogated you when you were captured in the Mediterranean, the wicked Zachariah Twigg, or Simon Silberberg, whatever he called himself?"

"I do, m'sieur" Hainaut gasped for real. "Unfortunately."

"He is here, Hainaut!" Choundas barked, slamming his left hand on the desk-top, and making clerk de Gougne nearly jump out of his skin. "Fleury described a civilian with Lewrie who named himself as a John Gunn, but from the description I conclude was really Twigg's old aide, a British agent named James Peel. Seeking my destruction, just one more time, they have brought Twigg out of retirement and paired him and Lewrie to destroy me and all my works. So far, they succeed, Jules."

"Mon Dieu" Hainaut whispered. "Surely not, you…"

"Not through luck, not through guile or superior numbers, non" Choundas snapped, "but through treachery. Twigg, Peel, and Lewrie are being assisted by a spy, a whole cabal of spies and traitors operating here on Guadeloupe, Jules. Under my very nose. On my own staff, among commissaire Hugues's most trusted people. Under my very roof, hein?"

"Su… surely you cannot suspect…!" Hainaut blustered, awash in sudden fear that his master thought it was he!

"I did, dear Jules," Choundas whispered, as malevolently cruel as a hawk honing beak and talons before tearing its quaking prey into gobbets. "Twigg had you for weeks before exchanging you for British midshipmen. The thought had crossed my mind, understandably so, n'est-ce pas?" Choundas even took a moment to roar with abusive amusement at Hainaut's gulping and blinking torment. "As false as you have played me all these years, you did make me wonder."

"False? M'sieur, really…!" Hainaut flummoxed.

"Don't pretend undying loyalty, Hainaut," Choundas snapped, now thin-lipped and flushed in aspersion. "I am not completely blind, nor am I deaf. You love only yourself, Hainaut. No shame in it, so long as when you dissemble energetic fealty to France you are useful to her… and to me."

"Master, I…"

"Do not even try to swear your undying gratitude, or loyalty." Choundas cautioned.

"While you were at sea, things on Guadeloupe have taken several turns for the worse, or the better, depending," Choundas gloomily said, grimacing with distaste. In the harsh, badly angled candlelight, his face resembled that of a satanic ghoul from folk or children's stories. "It seems that Paris is not happy with our unproductive little war on American trade. Commissaire Hugues has been a thoughtless glutton for money, Hainaut. He's sold privateering commissions throughout the Caribbean, in every Dutch, Danish, and Spanish port, not just to Frenchmen. Asks for an additional share of the proceeds from our local privateers, and uses his Prize Court to inflate the value of the captures for those who go along with him, and for his own gain. Naturellement, that makes for outright piracy preying on our allies, too, and threatens to upset what coalition the Directory has been able to muster against the hated British! It took me some time to discover all of this, but-"

"And now you are prepared to use it against him, m'sieur" Jules Hainaut said, more than happy for Choundas to turn his bile away from him, against another obstacle. Hainaut took a peek at "the Mouse" to see if Etienne de Gougne was disappointed that his grilling was ended, for the nonce, that the little clerk's hopes of seeing him broken were dashed, and silently relished the nonentity's tiny moue.

"I am, indeed, Jules," Choundas told him, smiling and nodding, "for Paris has seen fit to send us a senior official to look into the matter. One of the Directory's ridiculous creatures, all booted and spurred, in a Tricolore waist sash, and all those silly plumes on his hat… Desfourneaux is his name. I shall see him tomorrow, to lay my evidence before him. And suggest to him that Hugues has so ruined the credit of our privateering commissions that, for the moment, only good French corsairs remain legal, and that the best of them are conscripted into naval service whether they like it or not, to sail as warships… temporarily… to salvage the Republic's good name."

"Under your command, not Hugues's," Hainaut crowed, marvelling at his master's deviousness. "Magnifique, m'sieur. Masterfully done."

"Desfourneaux will clean up the piratical corruption Hugues has fostered, Perhaps he even has orders to place Hugues under arrest as a witless fool, who has driven the Americans into league with the 'Bloodies.' That piece of news you bring me will spur Desfourneaux into even quicker action to remove Hugues," Choundas slyly boasted.

"With Hugues, his staff, and his corrupt circle suspect as well," Hainaut congratulated with a sage snicker, "who, one wonders, might be left to become the new commissaire civil of Guadeloupe, m'sieur? With care, and a becoming outward disdain for greed, the vacant post could still prove extremely profitable… and pleasureable… for the one who proves himself capable, n'est-ce pas?"

"You see, dear Jules, all my efforts to educate you in the ways of the wider world have borne fruit, after all," Choundas agreed, with an evil little laugh. "I truly never expected such an opportunity to fall into my lap, but now that it seems possible… ah! And the last nail in Hugues's coffin will be his apparent failure to apprehend the spies who pass information to the British, because he let himself be distracted by the lure of riches. Or perhaps the suggestion that he deliberately left some untouched, were sufficiently lucrative bribes paid, hmm? Not that he was in British pay, himself, no. That would be reaching too far to be plausible, but… as soon as Desfourneaux gets his hands on Hugues's ledgers, he is doomed, and I will be seen as instrumental to his exposure.

"Whether I become governor or not, or become the senior naval officer in the Caribbean, worthy of admiral's rank at long last, and second-in-command of the island next to the new governor, either way I gain, and advance," Choundas cleverly concluded. "You are sure you would leave my employ, Hainaut, now that my, and your, prospects for gaining riches, power… and with that power, the access to undreamed pleasures, are so close to having? To discover the spies, I will need the assistance of men I trust, experienced with delving into traitors' hearts and minds, experienced with my techniques of… interrogation. Now, could a small, insignificant ship of war, with all the privations of seafaring, be more tempting than that? "

Jules Hainaut let his mouth fall open slightly as he cocked his head to one side in furious contemplation. Choundas knew him down to his boots, knew what motivated him, to what he eventually aspired, no matter how seemingly unattainable for a half-Austrian former farmhand and simple sailor. Tempting as the prospects were, though…

"If you need me so badly you must order it, m'sieur, of course," he temporised, "but… I still desire command of a warship. I am not so improved as you think. I came from before the mast, and the sea is what I know. I do aspire to advancement, but…"

"So be it," Choundas growled, as if disappointed. "This schooner you brought in, Jules, the one you claim would be a suitable replacement… you desire her?"

"I do, m'sieur, more than anything!" Hainaut vowed, though with his fingers crossed for luck, for he'd seen his master raise the hopes of others, only to delight in betraying them a moment later, breaking the spirit and heart of his victims-along with the bones.

"Then she is yours, Jules," Choundas baldly told him, so firmly that Hainaut had no fears it was a cruel ploy. "You will leave with a new commission into her. Your orders will be to arm her with the guns off both prizes, empty them and turn the cargoes over to the Prize Court officials at Basse-Terre, and assemble the crews off both ships into her. I will send what midshipmen, petty officers, and sailors I can spare, though after our most recent disaster, experienced officers I cannot offer."

"I will make do, m'sieur," Hainaut confidently swore.

"Good, for I have quick need of you," Choundas said, businesslike, picking up the folded letter he had toyed with earlier. "I have received a letter from General Hedouville, on Saint Domingue, at last. He intends to throw his support to that pompous Mulatto, General Andre Rigaud, and has urgent need for the munition ships to sail as soon as possible. With La Resolue and Le Gascon away, though, I cannot despatch the arms convoy and hope that it gets through. I can not entrust their safety to even the worthiest of our privateers as an escort, either. As soon as you are ready for sea in all respects, you must dash back down South and recall Griot and MacPherson from raiding the Americans. We must do all this before the British can act."

"I will do so, m'sieur!" Hainaut vowed with mounting joy.

"The vile 'Bloodies' sent an agent to Saint Domingue, to try to bribe L'Ouverture and Riguad," Choundas sneered, "a total ass. It was quite droll, was it not, Etienne?"

"Oh? Indeed, m'sieur," clerk de Gougne chirped back, jerked to wakefulness at the mention of his name. He had been nodding off, now that it seemed his bitterest abuser had gotten away with a whole skin, and a grand reward… again!

"That salopard Twigg does not direct every insidious scheme the British work against us, Jules," Choundas snickered. "Even he is compartmented to deal specifically with me, while others woo the ignorant noirs. Their latest agent was so clumsily disguised he might as well have gone ashore with a regimental band! He even hired a boat to take him to Ile de la Gonave, then Jacmel, that had been at Kingston to spy for us, if you can believe it… the silly shit!"

"No! He didn't!" Hainaut hooted with open glee. "What an ass!"

"Americans, from Okracoke Island, on the Outer Banks near Cape Hatteras," Choundas cackled. "Long a pirates' and buccaneers' haven, where they make their prime living salvaging the many shipwrecks that come onshore. Perhaps luring some when times are lean. Who can say? A most practical and realistic lot, with a distinct English accent. They told this idiot that Okracoke was a smallish cay off the Abacos, in the Bahamas, and the ignorant fumier bought it! Naturally, they betrayed him for extra money, as soon as they put into both ports, being rewarded by L'Ouverture, then Rigaud, then by Hedouville!"

Choundas had to pause to let his harsh laughter subside.

"Before they left Jacmel, an aide to General Hedouville handed them his letter… this letter, and brought it and that twit straight to Antigua at the same time, then hared off here to Guadeloupe on the very next tide!" Choundas all but tittered, wiping his good eye with a handkerchief. "And he never knew a thing about it! They even taught him sea-chanties, and to dance a horn-pipe in his sailor's costume!

"Mon Dieu, what a hopeless…" Hainaut wheezed, himself. "Well, I will get a few hours' sleep, then get back to Mohican as quickly as I can, to ready her…"

"No real rush, Hainaut," Choundas countered, so easily turning grim and business-like after savouring his little coup. "Your orders will take time to write, extra crew to assemble… The British agent promised much more than he can possibly deliver at short notice. It will be weeks before his blandishments are assembled and loaded, while ours just wait for the arrival of our ships to escort them. A midnight repast, a good night's sleep, face-down if you must, and a hearty breakfast before you depart will be allowed."

"Very good, m'sieur," Hainaut gratefully agreed.

"Time enough for me to discover the spy network, so this time I do not tip my hand, or the day or hour of departure to Lewrie and his spy-master," Choundas mused, looking rather weary and ill no matter if he should have been chortling over his clever master-stroke. "I have two small, additional things for you to do for me, dear Jules, if you do not mind."

"But of course, m'sieur," Hainaut replied, anxious to seem full of eager cooperation, now that all his dreams had been launched.

"First of all, uhm…" Choundas grunted, arthritically twisting in his chair, no matter how comfortably padded, and with his eyes carefully averted. "Before the arrival of Hedouville's letter and the news you brought, I was beginning to despair. Oui, even me, Hainaut! Time lingers heavily when plans are set in motion, and one cannot see or know how they progress, n 'est-ce pas? Go to my bed-chamber and… you will understand. A slight, amusing diversion," he said crankily. "She's very young and pretty, so you might even take joy of her, too do you find her pleasing. If not, dispose of her. Discretely."

Hainaut chilled with foreboding as he rose and crossed to the double doors that led to his master's ground-story chambers. Hainaut gently pulled them back and stepped inside, fearing what he'd find.

A single candle burned on a night-table, a small bottle of good brandy lay on its side on the carpet, empty, along with two abandoned glasses. And a girl lay tangled in the bed-linens, her nearly White cafe au lait complexion a tawny contrast to the white of the sheets. Her hair was raven-dark and curly, now undone and bedraggled, down to the small of her back, and spilled like dried blood over the pillows.

Hainaut stepped to the side of the high bed-stead and swept her hair back from her face. She was beginning to purple with bruises his master had inflicted in his "passion," her lips split and caked with a colour darker than paste. Dried tears streaked her artful makeup, but she was indeed very pretty. Not over thirteen or fourteen, as most of Choundas's bed-mates always turned out to be, slight, slim, and petite. Child-women, with spring buds for breasts.

Hainaut put a hand under her nose and half-opened mouth to feel for breath, touched the side of her neck to see if life still throbbed in her. Yes, she was still alive. Hainaut knelt and sniffed the neck of the empty brandy bottle, and detected the aroma of laudanum, which Le Hideux had used to drug her into deliriously sweet helplessness, if not complaisance. Into furtive, whimpering silence, instead of wails or screams that could draw unwelcome attention from neighbours. Snuck in the back way, as always, long after full dark, muffled in anonymous cloaks or blankets. Carried out, before dawn, and still insensible.

Hainaut heaved a disgusted sigh before pulling the sheet up over the girl's bare shoulders and stepping out of the room, quietly closing the doors on her fate.

"Allow to me ask, m'sieur" Hainaut said, almost tip-toeing, and his voice a whisper, in some form of deference for that pitiful chit, "but what degree of disposal did you have in mind?"

"Scruples, dear Jules?" Choundas mocked. "This late in our association? My, my. Nothing drastic. She's a pretty little whore, but a whore nonetheless. Return her to her master at the bordel where she is employed, with a second purse beyond her rental. To compensate the bordel owner for his loss of earnings 'til she's presentable once more. The whoremonger has been warned what could happen to him if he makes a fuss. Have her out before the town wakes," Choundas grumpily ordered, reaching for his walking-stick leaned against his costly desk, and painfully getting to his feet at last, swaying with weariness and wincing at the pain of an old, old man. The low candlelight limned him as an ancient, grizzled dragon.

"The last matter I mentioned may be done at the same time you return our wee putain. That chore is official, public, and provides a mask for the first."

"Very well, m'sieur?" Hainaut assented, perplexed again.

"Please be so good as to step out on the porch and summon the front entrance sentries," Capt. Choundas grimly ordered.

"M'sieur?" Hainaut gawped in sudden, renewed dread that all he had been offered, told, had been but a cruel charade, that all along Choundas had been toying with him like a sly cat would torment a fear-frozen mouse, teasing it this way and that with soft, claw-sheathed paws.

"That spy, John Gunn or James Peel, whatever he calls himself, boasted a little too much to our Capitaine Fleury, Jules," Guillaume Choundas continued in a more-familiar growl, rage back in his face and voice, "accidentally revealing to him that the 'Bloodies' have a spy so close to me that the British might as well be sitting in this room this very moment. Now who could it be, Jules? Who could it be? Does it not make you wonder?" Choundas threatened, taking a clumsy pace or two towards him, stick, boot, and brace ominously going clump-shuffle-tick!

"He is here now, m'sieur?" Hainaut stuttered in surprise, and near-terror, did Choundas still suspect him, though he'd said… He turned his head to look down at Etienne de Gougne, for he knew it was not him. Besides, he'd never laid eyes on this anonymous Fleury, and could not recall snubbing or insulting anyone by that name. If this Fleury person had laid a charge against him to cover the inept loss of his precious ship, but how…!

"He is here," Choundas forebodingly confirmed, and slowly swept his own gaze away and down, to peer at de Gougne as well. The little clerk began to rise, but Choundas drove him back into the chair with a shove of his left hand.

"The mouse? Surely…!" Hainaut scoffed, never so relieved in his life.

"All these years you reported behind my back to the Directory, and their spy-master, Citizen Pouzin," Choundas gravelled. "You think I would not learn of it, Etienne, when Pouzin seemed to know too much and so quickly, on the Genoese coast, and ever since? Don't dare deny it! Did you think he would rescue you, should you ever become a liability to me? Where is Citizen Pouzin now, and where are we hein? "

"M-m-m'sieur," de Gougne blubbered in fright, barely able to find breath with which to protest his innocence. "Master…"

" That sort of treachery I could abide, Etienne," Choundas menacingly rumbled, "such pettiness. Was it your sly, meek way to get back at me for using you like the insignificant worm that you are? But to take British gold to slake your wretched, pitiful, mousy shop-clerk's, ink-sniffing, clock-watching, time-server's, slippered bourgeois, land-bound peasant spite on me? You will pay, Etienne… you know you will. I will break you into slivers. I will make blood-and-marrow soup with your bones, and make you drink it, before you die, with just enough of you left to ride the tumbril to the guillotine, so everyone can witness the reward for treason, and see justice done.

"But before that, Etienne," Choundas promised, leaning forward to whisper as sibilantly as a hideous boa constrictor, "you will name for me every traitor on this island you work with or… quel dommage," he suddenly mused, standing upright, and instantly bemused, as if his ire had gushed away like the hot air from a Montgolfier balloon.

For clerk Etienne de Gougne had pissed himself, had even fouled his trousers, as he fainted dead away, slumped bone-white to the floor.

^"Him?" Hainaut gaped, quite unable to believe he had it in him.

"Oui," Choundas confirmed, jabbing with his walking-stick. "Get this gaoled in Fort Fleur d'Epee. And get that trull out of my house, too, Jules. Now, vite, vite!"