‘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 ...’
CHAPTER 7
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