The Game Called Revolution - - (free ebook reader for iphone txt) 📗

you just did. I take it you already know Victor?”

“He’s funny,” Hubert replied. “But people in town say the king and queen are dead. ‘Lost their heads.’”

“That doesn’t change what we have to do,” Jeanne said.

“What do you have to do?”

She held up an armored fist. “Crush Robespierre.”

The giant got excited at this. “I’ll help! He’s a bad man. Sister Marjorie said so.”

“Now Hubert, what have I told you about keeping our conversations private?” the Sister chided.

“Sorry, Sister Marjorie.”

Jeanne shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, Hubert. But our mission is an extremely dangerous one, and there’s no guarantee of success. We can’t drag civilians into it.”

Farahilde whispered in Jeanne’s ear. “Perhaps you should reconsider, fräulein. A big, strong dummkopf like him would certainly come in handy.”

“Not everyone considers human life as disposable as you,” Jeanne replied curtly.

“I don’t consider human life disposable. Just French lives. And anyway, he wants to help. And we’re going to need all the help we can get. Or do you think we can win this without risking people’s lives?”

Jeanne hated to admit it, but Farahilde was right…again. They couldn’t reasonably expect to win with only the few remaining members of the Ordre. They needed help.

In that moment Jeanne became angry at herself. Here was the renowned Jeanne la Juste in a life-or-death struggle for the very future of France, and she was reluctant to make the hard decisions. In her relatively short career, she had sent many subordinates to their deaths. But she had become uncharacteristically timid after Robespierre’s betrayal and the murder of the royal family whom she had sworn to protect. Even after her decision to reunite the Ordre and take down Robespierre, she still wasn’t the leader she used to be.

Jeanne couldn’t believe it, but she realized she needed to be more like Farahilde. The cold Austrian had no shortage of character flaws, but she also possessed the killer instinct that was needed to win this battle.

Jeanne abruptly reached out and shook Hubert’s gargantuan hand. “You are welcome within our ranks, Hubert.”

The giant gave her a confused look that said he did not understand her change of heart, but within moments he became giddy. “Yes! Gonna stop the bad men!”

“We’re going to go and find the rest of our friends. In the mean time, I have an important mission for you,” Jeanne explained.

“A mission?” Hubert said with no small amount of excitement. “What is it?”

“I want you to spread the word around Grenoble that we are looking for volunteers to join us when we attack Paris.”

“Attack Paris? Are you seriously planning on doing that?” Sister Marjorie asked.

Jeanne nodded. “We are. We have to if we want to stop Robespierre. He’s not just going to let us stroll into the Tuileries and arrest him.”

“You can count on me!” Hubert declared.

“Well, I can’t let Hubert do this on his own. I’ll help him alert the town that you’re looking for help. Although, those men earlier weren’t exaggerating when they talked about how bad things are. I don’t know how many people here will join you,” Sister Marjorie said.

“The people of this country want change, and I think they’re desperate enough to advance on Paris to get it,” Pierre said.

“Yes, but you might want to turn down those ‘earlier men’ if they volunteer,” Victor said playfully to Sister Marjorie.

“I’ll be sure to take that under consideration,” she said dryly.

Hubert ran out of the church, presumably to carry out the mission Jeanne had given him. When he was out of earshot, she said, “He is certainly a lively one.”

“Hubert has a good heart. But because of his size, he’s always been an outcast. I’ve tried to guide him through life for many years now,” Sister Marjorie said.

“It sounds like he’s lived a long, hard life,” Jeanne said.

“I’d like to think he has many more years ahead of him. He’s only eighteen, you see.”

“Eighteen! He looks and sounds a lot older,” Pierre exclaimed.

“His condition makes it seem that way. But truthfully, he only recently reached adulthood.”

“I see,” she said. Then, “Oh!” She turned to Victor. “Where is Celeste? You can take us to her, right?”

“Ah, I thought we were still talking about me,” he said in mock disappointment. “Of course, I can take you to her, whenever you’re ready to go.”

“Excellent.”

5

 

 

 

 

The Tuileries, Paris, April 2, 1789 (Infini Calendar), 7:00 p.m.

The new leader of the Alset Project, Adrien, entered the storage room with Madame Tussaud. It was very cold in the room, a necessity for storing the contents of the metal jars they were carrying.

The young man wore his usual white lab coat, his dark brown hair slicked back over it in a ponytail. His dirty glasses hadn’t been cleaned in ages; that simply wasn’t a priority with him, although he was clean-shaven.

They had to make several trips. As usual, Tussaud said absolutely nothing. Adrien found her to be a completely unnerving person, with her constant silence, the creepy smiling mask she never (to his knowledge) took off, and the massive scythe strapped to her back. Yes, she had proven herself an effective killer, but there were plenty of those around already. The real reason Robespierre kept her around was her twisted fascination with death. Every time she killed someone, she made a plaster molding of their face (which were often still contorted in terror); a death mask, in other words. Robespierre displayed these countless masks on the walls outside the Tuileries as a warning to any who would dare oppose him. His enemies could look upon them and instantly know what kind of fate awaited the poor fools.

And then, of course, there were the contents of the metal jars. Tussaud was reportedly all too eager to fill those jars, and soon they would be needed for the completion of the Alset Project.

Once again, Adrien found himself wondering if this was really the right path for France. If it worked, their place in the world would be secure. But if it didn’t…

He didn’t want to think about it and did his best to focus his attention on the task at hand. He and Tussaud finished stacking the jars on the shelves in the room. Once they were done, they locked the door behind them. Tussaud then left without so much as a nod.

All right, he said to himself. That’s one room down. How many are left? One, two, three, four…It’s going to be a long night.

 

***

 

Le Junkyard, France, April 5, 1789 (Infini Calendar), 1:17 p.m.

Le Junkyard, just east of Paris, was exactly what it sounded like: a massive dump containing Paris’ refuse. It consisted largely of outdated parts for steam-powered machines; boilers and smokestacks, small and large, dominated the filthy landscape. However, Le Junkyard was also filled with all manner of disposed-of building materials such as walls, roofs and floors from Paris’ long history. The city had been built up and evolved many times over the centuries, and what was once new and exciting often became old and unnecessary. Thus, Le Junkyard served as the Louvre’s ugly counterpart—an unappealing museum tour of Paris’ past.

The three (former) knights wandered through the labyrinth of Le Junkyard searching for any sign of the Ordre’s head engineer, Celeste. Farahilde had remained behind in Grenoble to help Hubert and Sister Marjorie recruit townspeople for their upcoming assault on Paris (and, as the young Austrian woman put it, she had no interest in wandering through a garbage dump).

The walls of junk were a good thirty feet high. It felt as if they were trudging through a dense forest of rubbish (which, Jeanne realized, they basically were). “Are you sure this is where she said she’d be?” she asked Victor.

“Yes, I made sure we were very clear on that,” he replied. “‘I’ll be in Le Junkyard,’ she said. ‘So, you’re going to be living in piles of crap?’ I asked. ‘It’s the best place to hide the airship,’ she explained. ‘OK, good luck with your crap,’ I said.”

Pierre couldn’t help but chuckle lightly. “You could have been nicer to the girl.”

“A nice girl like her shouldn’t be living in crap,” he argued.

“Well, you’re right about that. She’s saved our lives more times than I can recall. We wouldn’t even be here right now if she hadn’t kept the Solaire in such great shape.”

“Let’s hope she’s still alive out here,” Jeanne said curtly.

“Just thinking off the top of my head, Commander,” Victor said, “But maybe you could use your God’s Eye to find some trace of her in here?”

“She wasn’t given it for your convenience,” Pierre chided him. Because of what she had told Pierre in his home village, he was probably being harsher than he would normally have been.

“I might be able to focus on an object around here and see if Celeste has come anywhere near it recently,” Jeanne said.

“I’ll save you the trouble!”

The three of them looked up at the top of the junk wall to their right. There was the Ordre’s chief engineer, smiling down at them in her dirty overalls.

“Celeste!” Jeanne exclaimed happily.

“Look at her up there, like she’s Queen of Crap.”

“Not that I agree with Victor, but what are you doing up there?” Pierre said.

Celeste pointed ahead in the direction they had been walking. “If you turn right at the end of this wall, you’ll come across a crude ramp I made. You can use it to get up here.”

The three knights followed her directions and walked to where the junk pile Celeste was sitting on abruptly curved right. They followed the curve about ten feet and found a walkway, made out of wooden boards, built into the side of the wall. Celeste had clearly taken a hammer and nails and cobbled the thing together, complete with a railing to hold on to.

Pierre, as the heaviest of them, insisted on trying it first. He slowly made his way up the ramp, and when he was satisfied it was sturdy enough, motioned for Jeanne to follow. She did so, and Victor brought up the rear.

The ramp went up the wall to the other side of the junk pile and then curved around, all the while heading upwards. Soon the ramp led them to the top of the junk pile, and they were face-to-face with Celeste, who gave Jeanne a hearty hug. “It’s so good to see you again, milady!”

“It’s good to see you, too, Celeste.”

“Have you been living out here by yourself all this time?” Pierre asked.

“Yes, but that’s OK. I’m used to it.”

“‘Used to it’? What do you mean?”

The teenage genius, however, didn’t seem to hear her. “Let’s go downstairs. I have to show you something.”

“Yes, let’s descend into your house of crap. Wait—what?”

Before anyone could question her further, Celeste bent down and removed a thin metal sheet from the top of the junk pile, revealing a black hatch. She then proceeded to open it.

Jeanne couldn’t believe it. “Celeste, don’t tell me…”

Celeste promptly smiled and disappeared down the hatch. Pierre followed her in, with Jeanne behind them. Victor again took up the rear. Jeanne found that they were in the dark corridor of the command deck of an airship.

“The Rechtschaffener Dämon, just as you remember it,” Celeste announced proudly. “Although I took the liberty of changing the name to the Minuit Solaire II.”

Pierre patted her on the back. “Celeste, you’ve done it again!”

“You managed to hide a jewel inside this junk,” Victor said, impressed.

“How did you