The Ruby Talisman (12 page)

Juju leapt free from Henri’s restraining hand and lunged for Jacques, sending him staggering. The open snuffbox flung a cloud of snuff in the air, which Jacques inhaled, coughing and choking. He clutched the pistol, drawing it down to fire at Juju. Tilly lunged, heedless of pistol and long skirts, and shoved Jacques with all her strength.

The pistol dropped and skidded across the floor, firing with explosive sound, the bullet burying itself in the wainscoting. Jacques floundered and fell. Juju leapt on his chest, snarling fiercely – her powerful jaws snapping at his throat. Henri swept up his sword and unsheathed it. Tilly leapt to retrieve the dropped pistol, pointing it shakily at Jacques.

‘Well,’ remonstrated Tilly in a croaky voice. ‘I
told
you we should have gone to England.’

The door opened and two footmen carrying timber batons hurried in, alerted by the pistol shot.

‘Bon.
Seize him,’ instructed Henri, covering Jacques with his sword.

‘Seize
them,’
ordered Jacques, struggling to his feet. The footmen started towards Henri, swinging their batons threateningly.

‘Get back,’ ordered Tilly, waving the pistol at the footmen, trying to copy the cocky swagger of gangsters she had seen in movies. The footmen retreated, looking at Tilly warily.

‘Don’t worry, you fools,’ cried Jacques. ‘The pistol has discharged. It’s not loaded.’

Tilly suddenly remembered she was in the eighteenth century, when pistols were single-shot weapons that had to be clumsily reloaded down the muzzle. She threw the pistol on the floor in disgust.

The two footmen rushed forward and attacked Henri and Juju with their batons. Tilly unsheathed her sword and ran to his defence.

Seeing Tilly’s headlong rush, Amelie searched around for a weapon and grabbed her riding crop on the nearby side table, clutching it in both hands like a baseball bat, ready to slash anyone who harmed them.

Faced with a snarling dog, two wicked swords and a riding crop, Jacques and the footmen faltered.

‘Did you kill my parents?’ asked Henri quietly. ‘Where did you get my father’s snuffbox?’

‘Your parents?’ snarled Jacques. ‘The Comte and Comtesse deserved to die. They were selfish, extravagant, vain and cruel. They were responsible for the suffering of many people, through sheer indifference and arrogant spite. You can’t begin to imagine the misery they caused.’

Henri flinched as though he had been struck. ‘I will admit my parents were thoughtless and extravagant, but hardly cruel,’ he said, frowning.

‘Do you even know what goes on in the very fields and villages you presume to own?’ demanded Jacques. ‘I have worked for the Comte for twenty years, but do you even know if I have a family? Do you know where I come from, what I have had to put up with? Do you even know my real name?’

Henri blushed. He did not know.

‘Do you know what a
lettre de cachet
is?’ asked Jacques. He did not wait for Henri to answer. ‘They are orders signed by the King to throw a person in prison without trial for an indefinite period. The blank letters are signed by the King and handed out like sweetmeats to courtiers and nobles to use as they will. The Comte found them very useful.’

Henri flushed again.
‘Non,’
he argued. ‘That is not possible.’

Jacques tossed his head back angrily, throwing his hand out as though to push Henri away.

‘My only son, Pierre, was a footman at the Chateau de Montjoyeuse, as I was before him and my father before me.’ Jacques’s eyes glittered as he told his story. ‘Do you remember him?’

Henri frowned. There were so many footmen at Chateau de Montjoyeuse – he had trouble keeping track of them all.

‘It was my son’s dearest ambition to be promoted in time to be a valet like me, or perhaps even a butler,’ continued Jacques. ‘Pierre worked hard from the age of twelve in the chateau. One day he was feeling ill, feverish and weak, but he knew his duty.

‘He was carrying a tray up to the dining room. He carried the pot d’oie – the stuffed goose. The Comte’s favourite dish. My beloved Pierre tripped and fell, dropping the dinner tray, smashing the porcelain serving dishes and ruining the goose.’

Jacques closed his eyes, reliving the scene. He grimaced, took a deep breath and continued.

‘The Comte heard the smash and the running footsteps of the staff coming to help. When the Comte heard what Pierre had done, he had him thrashed with a riding crop in the stableyard like a dog until his back bled.’

Jacques wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, his voice harsh.

‘Then he signed the
lettre de cachet.
My fourteen-year-old son was taken to prison, sick and delirious. He did not last a week. My beautiful boy died in the filth and straw of a dungeon with no-one to nurse him. My wife came to your mother, begging on her knees for his freedom and his life. Your mother had her thrown out of the house ... My wife never recovered.’

Tilly shivered with goosebumps. It was impossible to believe that a child could be condemned to prison without a trial for dropping a dinner tray when he was sick. That he could die there alone and uncared for.

‘On the day of my son’s death, I swore I would have my revenge,’ Jacques continued. ‘They say revenge is a dish best eaten cold, and I have waited for five long years for the opportunity to take my vengeance. I could have left your house, but I stayed – working hard, hiding my grief, biding my time. Every day I had to deal with the petty insults, inanities and vanities of the Comte who had killed my son.

‘Do you know that my real name is Pierre? The Comte couldn’t be bothered to learn a new name, so I had to take the name of Jacques, his valet before me,’ spat Jacques.

Tilly frowned, amazed that someone would be forced to change their very name.

‘Every night I swore that I would see the Comte de Montjoyeuse, and every member of his blood and name, die in fear and shame,’ insisted Jacques. ‘Today is the day I will fulfil my vow.’

Tilly swallowed. Amelie glanced at Henri for reassurance. Henri lifted his sword warily. Juju growled.

‘Jacques ...
Pierre
... I am deeply sorry for your son’s death,’ Henri began. ‘I had no idea that my father would do such a thing, and I am horrified. I understand your anger and your wish for retribution, but I knew nothing about this terrible tragedy until just now.’

‘Ignorance is no excuse!’ ranted Jacques. ‘You and all your kind deserve to die. France needs to be swept clean of your arrogance and extravagance. France will change. The
Ancien Régime
is over. All men will become equal, regardless of wealth or birth.’

Henri stared at Jacques in disbelief. Jacques stood there fearlessly facing the two swords and the powerful dog with no weapon but his own fury.

‘Jacques, I am truly sorry,’ Henri offered. ‘But I think you should just go now, peacefully. Bring me the jewels and the valuables and just go. We will let you leave the house.’

Jacques laughed bitterly. ‘Why would I go and let you and your kind triumph?’ he asked. ‘You may have swords and a dog, but you are two girls and a boy against twelve men who all hate you and wish you dead. All the servants hated the Comte and Comtesse, and they hate you. They will all have their revenge.’

Henri slumped, his sword arm dropping, his mind numb.

‘Your day is over. In the new France there will be no cursed
aristos,
no starvation, no palaces – we’ll all be equal brothers. We’ll cut your throats and hang you from the lamppost at the front of the house as a warning to other
aristos
and an inspiration to the Parisians to do the same to every cursed
aristo
in the country.’

Jacques lunged for Amelie and grabbed her, pressing a dagger to her chest. The sharp point met the ruby pendant around her neck, carving a deep groove into the gold setting.

Tilly swallowed. The groove in Amelie’s necklace now matched the groove in her own.

‘Drop your swords – both of you – and walk in front of me,’ ordered Jacques. ‘Walk carefully, because if I think you are playing any tricks, mademoiselle dies. Make sure that dog doesn’t get into any trouble, either.’

Tilly and Henri regretfully dropped their swords on the floor and stepped forward as ordered.

‘I’ll lock the
aristos
in the cellars while you fetch the other servants to help,’ Jacques ordered the two footmen. ‘With twelve of us, we can dispose of these three quickly and get on with selling-up the Comte’s furniture. Get moving.’

Jacques turned to Amelie. ‘You should have stayed in Versailles – I had no quarrel with you, but you kept showing up where you weren’t wanted!’

Jacques pushed Henri and the girls into the cellars. Mimi followed them, scampering on four legs, tail curled in the air like a question mark.

‘Have a little rest with the rats,’ snarled Jacques. ‘We’ll deal with you later. I’ll be back for that necklace, mademoiselle, so don’t go away.’

The door slammed and there was the unmistakable sound of the door being locked. They were left in utter darkness.

Tilly stumbled to the door, barking her shins on a box, and tried the handle. ‘We’re locked in,’ she groaned, rattling the handle. ‘What did he mean about rats? I hate rats.’

Henri fumbled in the blackness. There was an ominous scuttling sound in the corner of the cellars. Henri struck a spark and, after a few attempts, lit the lantern that was kept on a shelf by the door. The darkness receded to the far, shadowy corners.

The cavernous cellars stretched below the house, stacked to the ceiling with dusty bottles of wine on racks, barrels and kegs of brandy and port, and miscellaneous boxes and sacks. The air smelt musty and faintly sweet from ancient wine seepage.

‘Do you remember, Amelie, when we were children and we used to sneak down here sometimes to play?’

‘Oui,’
Amelie replied.

Henri carried the lantern, walking deeper into the cellars. The first chamber opened into a second and then a third. The girls and Juju followed closely behind.

‘Do you remember when we found the entrance to the tunnels, and how we used to creep into them and explore. We didn’t go very far – they were too frightening.’

Amelie nodded, her face pale in the lamplight. Tilly wrinkled her forehead, confused.

‘You see, Tilly, these wine cellars are much older than the house. They were actually dug hundreds of years ago by miners quarrying limestone and gypsum. I’ve heard that there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of kilometres of tunnels running under Paris.’

Shadows danced on the racks of bottles like ghosts. A rat scuttled from under a barrel across Tilly’s foot and disappeared into the blackness beneath the racks. Tilly screamed and jumped back.

‘Why’re you telling us this?’ demanded Tilly, her voice sounding hoarse.

‘Well, if we locate the entrance to the tunnels, we can escape and find our way to the surface.’

Tilly stopped and stared at Henri in disbelief. ‘But, Henri, tunnels are dangerous – we could be trapped down here forever. We could die of starvation or thirst, or rockfall, or fall down a shaft ... There’ll be rats and cockroaches – and who knows what else?’

‘Tilly, if we stay here, I don’t think we will survive another night,’ Henri said quietly. ‘Jacques means to see my whole family wiped out. He bears a deep hatred of us and all
aristos.
He could be back at any moment, and this time he will ensure the job is done properly. If we go, we may face danger. But if we stay, we will surely die.’

Juju leant against Tilly and licked her hand, as though to give her courage.

In the furthest corner of the furthest chamber there was a deeper shadow set into the wall. A barrel had been placed against it, with a wooden box of old kitchen tools and implements on top. Henri, Tilly and Amelie worked together to roll the barrel out of the way. Behind was a crevasse in the rock about the size of the barrel that had hidden it.

‘We are a lot bigger now than when we crawled through there as children,’ joked Amelie weakly, staring into the impenetrable darkness.

A loud noise sounded from the cellar door – the sound of a padlock turning and a bolt sliding back. Juju growled and then barked sharply. Henri quietened her with his hand.

‘They’re coming,’ hissed Tilly.

Tilly noticed several daggers among the kitchen implements and grabbed three to use as makeshift weapons. She passed one to Henri and one to Amelie, thrusting the other into her sash.

‘Take the lantern, Amelie, and squeeze through that hole,’ ordered Henri in a whisper, stowing the knife in his belt. ‘We’ll be right behind you.’

Amelie didn’t waste breath arguing. She snatched the lantern in one hand, Mimi in the other, and squeezed through the crevasse, plunging the cellar behind her deeper into darkness. Further back, the kitchen door swung open and candlelight spilled through the aperture.

‘Come on out, cowardly Comte,’ called Jacques’s voice. ‘Let’s see if your blood truly runs blue, or if it’s as red as mine.’

Henri shoved Tilly and she squeezed after Amelie, closely followed by Juju. Henri tried to pull the barrel across the opening to hide their escape route, but the barrel was heavy and awkward to maneuvre in the confined space. The box of tools tottered and fell, sprawling on the rock floor with an ear-splitting clatter.

‘Oh ho! My dear Comte, trying to hide in the shadows like a rat?’ Jacques called softly. ‘Come out now. Or should we hunt you down like a frightened deer?
Aristos
like to hunt, don’t they? How does it feel being the hunted instead of the hunter?’

Henri turned and slipped down the sloping shaft behind the girls. The crevasse opened into a long, dank-smelling tunnel running to the left and right. Amelie stood, holding the lantern, her black eyes wide with fright. Henri looked in both directions, then pointed decisively to the right.

Henri took the lantern and led, hurrying into the unknown. Chalky-white gravel crunched under their feet. The tunnel was damp and chilly, the walls and roof dripping with condensation. The passageway meandered, following the line of an ancient seam of rock, with occasional side branches.

‘Keep quiet,’ Henri whispered over his shoulder. ‘They will not be far behind, and the tunnels amplify our sounds.’

It was difficult to hurry over the gravel and be silent. Tilly panted with exertion. Amelie grunted in pain as she banged her head on a low overhang. Mimi chittered and Juju whined. Henri sneezed as the dust tickled his nose. Their sounds echoed around them.

Behind them they could hear a sudden commotion, shouts, thumps, cries, amplified by the underground caves. Henri held Juju’s collar to stop her barking.

No-one spoke but everyone glanced over their shoulders and moved faster. Their pursuers were now in the tunnels. At least they could not possibly hear gravel crunching over the louder noise they were making themselves.

Henri was wounded and could only limp along. Amelie and Tilly were exhausted and could hardly go faster. They stumbled and tripped, their hearts thudding, hardly knowing which way to go. They could hear the sound of their pursuers thudding behind them.

The lantern light disturbed a nest of rats, who scattered, squeaking furiously. This time Tilly forced herself not to scream, biting her lip and forcing her limbs to keep moving.

Furry little bodies, eyes glowing red in the lamplight, scuttled with sharp claws over Amelie’s and Tilly’s feet, their skinny tails whipping around their ankles. One leapt onto Tilly’s skirt and tried to claw its way up the silk. Tilly had to sweep it away with her hand, nearly choking with disgust.

The sounds of pursuit were growing louder and louder behind them. Tilly stared at Henri in alarm, eyes widening. It seemed they had no hope of outrunning the many strong men. Tilly’s tired brain tried to think. She could feel the cogs and wheels creaking slowly.
Think. Think.

‘We need to throw them off our trail,’ mouthed Tilly.

Henri nodded, chewing his lip in thought. Up ahead the tunnel branched into two, the wider tunnel leading slightly uphill.

Henri pointed to the narrower, left-hand tunnel. Across the floor of the main tunnel was a puddle of dank water. Tilly ignored Henri’s gesture and jumped across the puddle.

On the far side was a rim of soft mud. Tilly carefully placed her foot, still in Henri’s shoe, into the mud so that it made a deep, perfect impression. She used her other foot to make a deep scuff in the chalky gravel and ran up the passageway a few metres, where she took off her blue silk sash and dropped it on the floor.

Then carefully, slowly, she stepped to the side and walked backwards to the puddle. Henri realised what she was doing and jumped across the puddle himself, encouraging Juju to follow. Juju left deep, wet paw-prints in the soft mud, then Henri lifted up the heavy dog and walked backwards to where Amelie waited.

Tilly examined the false footprints and prayed that their pursuers would be fooled.

The three then crept down the other tunnel. They could hear footsteps pounding, close now, and see a flicker of light shining on the ceiling. Amelie pointed to a low opening where mining work had been started but abandoned. One by one, the three companions crawled into the small cave. Henri blew out the lantern so they were plunged into total darkness. Henri huddled with his hand around Juju’s muzzle. Amelie and Tilly clung to one another, hardly daring to breath.

Back at the tunnel junction they could now hear voices and see the golden light of candles.

‘Which way?’ asked a voice.

‘We’ll split and search both tunnels,’ ordered Jacques’s unmistakable voice. ‘Shout if you find anything. You go this way, we’ll take this tunnel.’

Boots tramped down the narrow tunnel, thundering closer. Ghoulish shadows danced on the walls in the candlelight. Three pairs of chalky boots stopped right near the opening of the recess.

Tilly held her breath. Would they be discovered?

‘Oi,’
called a distant voice. ‘Come back. They’ve gone this way.’

The three pairs of boots hesitated a moment, then turned and ran back the way they had come.

Tilly could hear her heart thundering in her ears. Her mouth was dry as dust, her skin clammy despite the chilly air. Amelie let out a shaky sigh. Mimi chittered noisily, complaining at how tightly Amelie had been holding her.

‘What do we do?’ whispered Tilly. ‘Shall we go back to the cellar and creep into the house?’

‘I think that is too dangerous. They will probably have someone guarding the cellars or waiting in the kitchens. Or we could meet a group returning from the opposite direction. It only sounded like there were five or six men in that group, but Jacques said there were twelve of them who could all be out searching for us. There are rats down here, and rats need food, so there must be a way to the surface nearby.’

‘But rats are tiny,’ argued Amelie. ‘They could creep down a drainpipe.’

‘The tunnels were mined by men,’ contradicted Henri. ‘I have heard that there are many, many entrances into the tunnels all over Paris – popping up in cellars under houses, crypts under churches and the sewers. We have to be able to find one of them.’

Juju whined and placed her paw on Henri’s knee. She didn’t like it when there were arguments.

The lantern was relit with the tinderbox, and the group straggled off. Tilly felt exhausted now that the adrenalin of the pursuit had left them. Her throat was parched and her belly rumbled. She had not eaten for over twenty-four hours and felt light-headed. But still they walked, stumbling in the gloom.

At last, Amelie gave a small cry. She had spotted a shaft to the side, heading upwards. It was narrow as a chimney, sloping steeply with uneven steps cut into the solid rock.

Up they climbed, gripping onto jagged rock with grazed and bleeding fingers, banging heads on jutting outcrops, slipping on crumbling ledges, helping each other and Juju. They eventually emerged into another tunnel, wider than the one they had left behind. This tunnel opened into a series of caverns and galleries. The air smelt fresher here but was still damp and cold.

They took a tunnel leading to the left, which twisted and turned but brought them back into the main cavern they had just left.

‘This is hopeless,’ exclaimed Tilly, her eyes pooling with tears. ‘We’ll never find a way out. And I’m so tired.’

‘Perhaps we should rest for a while,’ suggested Amelie. ‘There has been no sign of Jacques for some time and I, too, am exhausted.’

‘We cannot rest,’ protested Henri. ‘There is a way out and we must find it. It is not safe to stop.’

They continued with faltering footsteps, not knowing if they were heading east or west, south or north, up or down.

In the light of the lantern, Tilly saw something pale gleaming ahead in the darkness. There were odd-shaped rocks piled against the walls in towering stacks. Henri started to walk faster, grabbing Amelie by the hand and leading her on.

As they hobbled forward Tilly’s tired brain took a few moments to realise what the rocks were. She leant in closer and loosed a piercing scream. Amelie turned around and shrieked, dropping Mimi to the floor in shock. Mimi chittered angrily, grabbing Amelie’s leg and scampering back up as if it were a tree trunk, coming to rest on her shoulder.

‘Sssshhh,’
warned Henri angrily, glancing back over his shoulder. The girls stopped their screaming and stared at each other in horror.

The rocks piled against the walls were bones. Human bones. Hundreds and hundreds of skeletons thrown willynilly against the tunnel walls. Skulls with yawning eye sockets stared at them from above. Rotten, black teeth grinned mockingly. Tufts of crumbling hair stuck up from patches of leathery skin. Leg bones, arm bones, ribs and spines were jumbled together, separated from their original body parts.

Juju’s tail knocked over a pile beside Tilly; a loose, bony hand struck her. Amelie screamed again, covering her face with her hands. The air smelt putrid and suffocating.

Tilly vomited, spewing up a trickle of bitter green bile. She grabbed her ruby talisman in one hand and wished with all her heart that she was home, safe in her own bed in Australia, away from this terrifying nightmare.

Nothing happened. Tilly was still hunched over in a dark, claustrophobic tunnel surrounded by skeletons.

‘Take this, Tilly,’ Henri offered gently, handing her his lace-edged handkerchief.

Tilly scrubbed her face, wiping away tears and bile and spittle. She mumbled a low thanks, averting her face with shame. She threw the filthy handkerchief away.

‘Come on, Tilly,’ murmured Henri kindly. ‘We must keep going. These are skeletons from the old Parisian cemeteries that have been moved here for storage. They cannot hurt us. Only the living can hurt us now.’