“Come Colette,” Marguerite said. “Round up the troops and prepare them for tonight. There’s no sense in squandering a night’s income for something so trivial as revenge.”
Marguerite finished her drink, already lost in a list of memories of bad smells.
“Of course,” Colette said. “I shall find you a booth to use for tonight.”
“Hm?”
“You may not have your old living space, but you can still put on a show, can’t you?”
“Of course I can, but not tonight, dear. I have some shopping to do. Oh, Marie, meet me in an hour’s time at the church across from South Market, will you?” She turned to Colette. “I’m sure you can spare her for the evening’s events?”
Colette nodded, and refrained from any further comments. Marguerite followed her feet overboard and away from the circus. If she hurried, she could reach a few destinations before the show hit its peak hours.
A coach ride later, Marguerite wondered at the street life she spotted on her way to Andre's city home. Her old friend had moved into a well-to-do part of the bustling blood clot of France, but Marguerite's impression of his financial situation the last time they met, nearly five years ago, made her wonder what side professions he had taken to.
The streets were well kept, and lamps were lit to illuminate the few passersby. Marguerite noted that her fellow pedestrians often sported some kind of shifty look, despite the well-off architecture. She also smelled the perfume of fine brothels from a couple of doorsteps, the wrought iron gates cleverly manipulated into suggestive shapes. She spotted numerous potential dens as well. The street corners were clear of prostitution, however, so Marguerite proceeded without need for her greatest senses of alert awakened.
The door swung open after Marguerite tapped it lightly. Andre's shaved head appeared at the crack, then his stocky frame was revealed, his arms spread in welcome.
"Marguerite! It has been too long, mon coeur."
They embraced and exchanged kisses on each cheek. Andre held Marguerite at arms length by her waist.
"My dear, you've changed so much, and I must say it is not a mark less spectacular than I recall, different though it may be," Andre said. His eyes wrinkled at the corners, a trait Marguerite never recalled that he had. Age, she supposed, must have affected her features much the same.
"Flattering as always. Andre, I hope you don't mind the hour. I am afraid it is the only time I have free with current business."
"Not at all, dear, not at all. My home is always open to you, I hope you know that."
He led her through a small front hall and into a well-lit kitchen furnished with a table large enough for two chairs and a tea set. Steam wafted from the spout of the teapot, and Andre gestured for Marguerite to sit in the chair already pulled out from the table.
"Try the biscuits," he said, passing her a plate of them while he poured the tea.
“I would love to at any other time, but I also fear that tonight’s visit must be quick and demanding.”
“I would have expected as much from you, Rita.”
“This is no joking matter, Andre. I have recently been subjected to arson.”
Andre looked over Marguerite. She could tell he smelled the lingering smoke and musk of frightened animals, however well sealed the pockets were.
“What do you remember from your days as a school boy in terms of pranks?”
Andre chuckled.
“You have an odd sense of the serious. What kind of pranks?”
“Any kind involving unpleasant odors, preferably easily transported, hidden, and conveniently timed.”
“I know just the thing. What do you have in the way of supplies?”
“At the moment, nothing. But I have an assistant waiting for us at a very convenient location for acquiring such supplies.”
“Very well then. Let’s be off.”
Andre fetched his bowler and cloak, following Marguerite to the coach. At the appointed time, they arrived at the South Market church. Marie sat in front of a statue, her legs swinging from the edge of the marble pedestal. She eyed Marguerite’s companion with suspicion when they approached.
“Marie, we are ready for some business at last. In here, if you please.” Marguerite gestured towards the church.
Marie cocked her head to view the impressive church doors, and then turned to look at the marketplace bustling across the road.
“Um… I suppose you realize the market is…”
“I never said we were going to the market, dear,” Marguerite said, flashing a grin.
The building contained the usual Catholic rigidity, perfectly Romanesque with some modern tastes in drapery adorning the altar and sconces. Andre and Marguerite led the way through the pews, the main entrance having led them into the side of the building. Upon walking down the center aisle, a middle-aged priest stuck his head out of a side door. His slicked-back hair shone in the lamplight from the altar, and as he stepped forth the left arm of his clerical clothing glinted slightly.
“Andre, what did I tell you about announcing yourself? I can’t keep this business relationship if you squander it on social calls.” He hissed. He had a nasal voice offset by a low timbre, making him sound as though he had a cold.
“Father, forgive me, but this is urgent. There are wrongs to be righted.” Andre gestured to Marguerite. The priest squinted, stepped closer, and gasped.
“You’re that woman with the abominations! You nearly cost me my finger!” He held up his left hand, causing his sleeve to sparkle again.
“Forgive me as well, Father, but I have some… unorthodox business with you.”
The priest examined Marguerite. After a few moments, he nodded.
“Fine, but only because business is slow. What room?”
Andre coughed and turned away. Marie bit her lip to keep from laughing, but a giggle still escaped. The sound danced all the way to the rafters before Marguerite responded.
“I would not have asked if that were my intention, Father.” The priest showed no sign of remorse as she continued. “I am after certain goods that Andre says you possess.”
When the priest hesitated again, Andre spoke.
“Father Edgar, please. We are in a hurry.”
Marie snickered again, causing Marguerite to raise an eyebrow at her. She quieted quickly.
“Enough of this, Andre.” Marguerite slapped Father Edgar, who yelped. She then grabbed his shiny sleeve by the cuff, pulling until the silver threads opened a hidden pocket with a key. Marguerite took it. “Now, you will tell us where we will find what we need,” she said, pocketing the key. “And we will deal fairly.” In its place, Marguerite stuffed the pocket with money. “That should cover our expenses.”
“The den two blocks from market is the storage building. You’ll find whatever you want there,” Father Edgar said, flinching as Marguerite released his arm.
“There’s a good boy. Meet us at the Cirque de la Vapeur performance tonight and you’ll have your key back.”
On the way to the storage building, Marie spoke.
“What exactly are we getting that a priest could supply?”
“Perfumes, of a sort,” Marguerite said. “Asmodeus wants something putrid, and what better source for the scent of a devil than their enemy’s watchdogs?”
“In other words,” Andre said, “we’re getting some brimstone to throw in the fire, a few pieces of incense to overwhelm anyone who might think that isn’t bad enough.”
Marie still wondered why a stink bomb seemed to require so many poetic sounding ingredients, but she decided against further questions. Marguerite had a terrifying light in her eyes. The goods were acquired without further complication. After Andre gave some ratios to Marguerite, they parted ways, and Marguerite and Marie returned to the circus.
The show was starting soon.
“We’ll have to work quickly,” Marguerite said, arranging her chemicals and reviewing Andre’s notes. “Marie, tie pouches onto some of the animals, then find Asmodeus to let him know we’re ready.”
Marie nodded and dashed off.
No comments:
Post a Comment