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Chauvelin sat down once again among his files and desk drawers, newly arrived from his daughter's quaint birthday celebration. It was the two or three days after such a visit that he was his most distracted from his work; he had no mixed feelings about his loyalties, of course, but Paris created such a contrast to his laid-back little house in the country, its bloodthirsty hags at the foot of the guillotine different in almost every way from his own child ... He made the sacrifice willingly, but there were limits.

His secretary had been instructed not to let anyone see him for the next day, at least -- if he were to accomplish anything, it would have to be alone, in the confines of his office, invisible to all.

And then there was that note ...

Teresia was a little taken aback by his reply. Of course they were going to see Chauvelin! Did Robespierre think she was dense or something? She had been enquiring into their geographical destination. Robespierre was obviously distracted and, despite her burning curiosity, she had the good sense not to push him any further. Besides, he had increased the pace once more. "Joder!" muttered Teresia to no one in particular, as she hoisted the front hem of her dress and began to run to keep pace. She fervently hoped her heel wouldn't snap on the cobbles. If she twisted her ankle now, she would never find out where he was leading her.

Finally! The place. I heard her coming up behind me and I shook my head. Stupid girl.

We will see how Citoyen Chauvelin deals with her.

Jacques carefully penned the last figure in the column and took his time adding them up. He checked his work as well; it didn't take him long--he was quite proficient and besides, a mistake could land him on the guillotine. He wasn't worried about being criticized for his speed; even double checking his work, he was faster than most people. Additionally, he intentionally made Simone a bit more dim-witted at times than Jacques was in reality. In these days, a quick mind would be considered dangerous--and a dangerous person needed to be executed.

He wasn't nearly as nervous as when he had first started this role. It had become almost routine after a while. After all, now Helene's life was not depending on his performance; he was only sticking with the facade until he could get out of France. Besides, most of the men didn't seem to notice him; they stalked by importantly and spoke to him only as needed. He had been working as the odd jobs man / office boy for Chauvelin recently. His pay was ridiculously low; ostensibly his ardor for the Republic kept him working faithfully and well. He was surprised that they had been willing to hire him at all, but perhaps his quick work at filing and doing the mundane grunt paperwork had convinced them that his help was an added convenience. Jacques was good at a job when he wanted to be.

Today, Citoyen Chauvelin was in a dark mood. He had locked himself in the back room with instructions that no one--no one!--be allowed to interrupt his work. It had been a quiet morning; no one had come by except Desgas, who had been in and out going about his own business for Chauvelin. The two men had not spoken. Jacques had the feeling that the secretary looked down on him; Desgas was Chauvelin's private confidant while Jacques was merely an office boy.

Raising my fist to the wooden door, I pounded. "Citoyen Chauvelin!"

I crossed my arms and looked back at the girl. Why on earth was she even here again?

Alas, the quite was not to last. Jacques stood, straightening the tri-colored sash that decorated him. He stepped over and opened the door, expecting to see some querulous citoyen whining to see Chauvelin whom Jacques could send away. Instead, his mouth dropped open. "Citoyen Robespierre!" The ejaculation was unintentional and astonished. Fortunately, such surprise worked to his advantage--would not a good, humble Republican stand in awe of Citoyen Robespierre, the man who people whispered about and feared? Jacques opened the door wide and gestured inside. "Citoyen, please, come in. Chauvelin has asked not to be disturbed, but I am sure he will want to know you are here." Before going to announce Robespierre, he turned to Teresia. His first instinct was that she was a lady friend of Robespierre's, but his attitude toward her seemed otherwise. "And your business, Citoyenne...?" He glanced back at Robespierre. Was she with him, or here on business of her own?

Here was a new fool to the Republic. From the dumbfounded face, he wouldn't last long.

At least, not if he worked for me.

"I know who I am." The fool tells me who I am. Why is it everywhere I go, people feel the need to tell me who I am?

I followed him in, not caring about the girl. She came on her own accord. She could speak for herself.

"Citoyen Chauvelin 'better' be disturbed." I warned the man.

The fool looked for me to answer for the girl. Rolling my eyes, I shook my head and walked into the main waiting room.

Teresia felt Jacques' eyes question her. She actually had no idea why she had come all this way to see Chauvelin. At first her anger and desire for revenge had drawn her towards the one man in France who could possibly understand; but now that anger had been overshadowed by a feline curiosity. Teresia wanted desperately to know what was getting to Citizen Robespierre, who would not normally have treated HER so tersely.

Chauvelin heard, to his dismay, the racket outside of his office. If it were truly someone as demanding as Robespierre, his secretary would be of no use whatsoever -- his own protests would gain little more. He lowered his pen and waited for the inevitable, all the while changing his expression to a slightly more hospitable one. Not that Robespierre would care. Or even notice.

Taking advantage of Jacques' obvious surprise and borrowing a little of the Incorruptible's haughty manner, she brushed the little secretary aside. "Indeed. I'm sure that Citizen Chauvelin will be at home for US!" She added the suffix of a meaningful glance and her manner suggested that it would not be advisable for Jacques to question her further. Then, she shot through the door to Chauvelin's office before Robespierre could shut it in her face.

As the two came in, the Agent said nothing, assuming they would state their business. The two chair to one side of his desk were available for their use, though the Citoyen would doubtless prefer to stand, and the women he ran into these days were often reluctant to accept an offered chair ... He folded his hands over the paperwork that he'd been distracted from, and waited.

Teresia saw the two empty chairs. Her feet were sore from running and the soft upholstery looked inviting. But she didn't sit down for that would draw further attention to her presence. Instead she sloped unobtrusively into a dimly-lit corner and prepared to be a fly-on-the-wall, witnessing what she was certain would be a most interesting conversation.

I watched this little girl push her way around. That and that alone saved her from having me order her thrown out. She wanted to play with the big dogs, let's see how submissive she can be.

Waiting for no one, I looked at Chauvelin, standing over him as he sat at his desk.

"What are these rumors I hear about prisoners escaping from YOUR jails?"

I never was much on words or formalities. I waited to hear what his miserable excuse was. For his sake, the rumors I kept hearing about better not be true.

Chauvelin, before answering the man before him, glanced quickly at the shadowed figure in the corner -- she would be allowed to stand there until he had to reveal his discovery to Robespierre, which was most likely best kept a very close secret. But for now all she would be privy to, perhaps, was his own humiliation at the Citoyen's pleasure.

Not if he had any say, of course.

"My prisons, Citoyen, are staffed by your men -- whose responsibility it is, of course, to keep their charges within their cells." He did not raise his voice ... but somehow he wished he could. What an interesting match that would be. "I myself was out of town, and have only returned this afternoon. If you'd care to sit down and elaborate, I'm perfectly willing to help you any way I can."

Such a calm stance might well be more dangerous than a rather louder one, but Chauvelin was not in the mood for belligerence.

Jacques' mouth dropped open, speechless, as Robespierre and the woman stalked right past him to barge into Chauvelin's office without even being announced. Well, at least *he* certainly could not be blamed for things.

He suddenly realized that in the woman's hurry to push her way in, she had not shut the door properly behind her. The voices of Robespierre and Chauvelin drifted out into the anteroom. Slowly, Jacques seated himself and continued his paperwork, but in actuality he listened to their conversation.

Prisoners disappearing from the prisons? What happy prospect was this? What was going on? Taking up a pose as if he was working, lest one of the men suddenly burst out of the office, Jacques strained his ears to hear more.

In her alcove, Teresia caught her breath. No wonder Robespierre was so worked up. Upon hearing Chauvelin's response, her eyes widened. Most men would have simply admitted responsibility and promised to do better the next time, but not Armand Chauvelin. He just sat there, to all appearances unmoved, and proceeded to turn the blame on Robespierre. The time was fast approaching when that sort of reply would earn a citizen an immediate municipal haircut! She had to hand it to him, Chauvelin was no coward. How would Robespierre react to that? Teresia turned her eyes to him in anticipation.

"Ha! You'll lose your head with another outburst like that. I tell you what to do Citoyen. Let us not forget the order of things. I am not the one here commanding the guards. I leave that to you."

Chauvelin remained silent, gazing heavily up at his visitor. 'The order of things', as Robespierre had apparently forgotten, was the reason that he stood here at all, in his perhaps overly-prized position of power. The Agent, who himself had a few secrets of lineage tucked away from public and Republican eyes, sometimes wondered about his commander's motivation.

I took a deep breath and then continued, standing over the seated man.

"What are these rumors of prisoners escaping? What of this mysterious disappearance? Someone from the inside?"

This man was dangerously close to joining the others. If it wasn't for the fact that I saw a small glimmer of hope, I would have disposed of him long before.

After the Spanish Citoyenne had been removed, Chauvelin began: "A prisoner has indeed escaped, indeed I haven't had time to investigate into precisely how many. However," he said, pulling from beneath a book a little slip of paper, "This was found at the scene by one of your guards." He dropped it, scripted side up, on his desk, accessible to Robespierre, smirking dryly, without humor. "It says very little. And the rhyme scheme is quite contrived, if I may say so."

There he did it again. *Your guards.* Was Chauvelin testing me?

I had no choice but to let it go again. It was apparent he did not like my blaming him, no more than I did he. I have no one else currently in line for his position, therefore, I am stuck to letting it go.

Chauvelin caught the glint in the taller man's eye, and quite wisely checked his smirk. He knew very well that his position was an important one, and also that Robespierre, when pushed, was perfectly capable of filling it. However, he was less than willing to let himself be walked over -- by the head of the Committee of Public Safety, or anyone else.

I glanced over the note.

"What is this Chauvelin? I'm not accustomed to speaking in tongues."

"Ah. Pardon Citoyen, I was under the impression that you read English." Chauvelin quickly translated it for him, without looking up. It had been bad enough to read it the first time ...

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I knew English, the fool. I don't have time to transcript ridiculous poetry written by an idiot plebian.

Worse, I was sick of arguing with Chauvelin. I had work to do.

Finding the need, I sat down in the chair in front of him and stared at the other man. "What do you have in mind to do Citoyen? Who wrote this note?"

Meeting his commander's gaze, Chauvelin quietly folded his hands upon the table. "What I have in mind -- and only on a few hours thought, I remind you -- is to simply double the guard. There was no report of an intruder, as such, and so this man's strategy is apparently a bit more subtle; disguise perhaps, nothing too elaborate. So we find a team we are relatively sure is trustworthy, and see what happens."

He turned the note towards himself to glance over it with a sardonic expression, mentally rolling his eyes at Robespierre's impossible question. "And as to who wrote it -- well, Citoyen, I find it very plain to see that it was in fact a scarlet pimpernel must have taken it down, for lack of other signature."

"Fine." I barked. "Order your men, my men, the men of the Republic," I gave in now. We both knew our places. That would have to do.

"Order them as you see fit. The back of the Republic supports your decisions Citoyen. As do I. Find this man and bring me his head."

"Thank you. I shall see to it." Chauvelin finally stood, as he probably should have when Robespierre had entered the room.

Glancing about his little office, I gruffer. "Do you have anything else for me or shall I let you get along with your guts girl?"

There were things that needed discussing and word of our grand Republic being weak would not do. I ushered the girl out the door.

Chauvelin was not about to ask what precisely a 'guts girl' was, in this particular context, and so he inclined his head to the other man. "I haven't any other business, no; unless you care to discuss the inconclusive results of our unofficial search for a certain aristocratic family on my trip to the country." He kindly refrained from asking his superior to bring in his mail for him, though he had not checked it in days ... after all, what were secretaries for?

In her surprise, Teresia allowed Robespierre to manhandle her out of the room. She saw Jacques look quickly at the paper before him and guessed that he too had been listening. She considered staying behind the door to eaves-drop; but after her earlier treatment of the man, she doubted she could rely on Chauvelin's secretary to keep her actions secret, so she checked her curiosity and walked straight out the main door without so much as a "goodnight" to him.

Once outside in the fresh air Teresia's mind began to race. Prisoners escaping! Who could be behind it? Despite her tired feet she felt the need to walk, she always thought best whilst walking, so she made her way down to the banks of the Seine where she could be relatively alone. Could it be de Batz?, she mused, no certainly not. What about Admiral D'Auvergne? Not his style. But then, what was the style? Oh if only she had heard the rest of the discussion!

She saw the oil paints just in time, and stopped short of tripping over them as she had tripped over virtually everything else that day. "Pardon Matthieu! I didn't see you there." She bent forward to admire his work "Que precioso! What a beautiful sunset." She wondered whether this piece of art was for work or pleasure.

I nodded. It seemed that we were going to work well with each other for the time being.

He was acting more proper and I would refrain from accusational blame in his direction. "I do wish to discuss the aristocratic family. What did you find out or not find out Citoyen?"

I hadn't heard about his trip.

Chauvelin had indeed hoped to slip away without anyone knowing at all, and to come back the next day -- but of course, his carriage had been significantly weighted down with followers by the time he left Paris. "Basically that the members of this particular group -- I'm not sure of the exact number, I'm afraid -- the Belcours, are either hiding in Paris, or have fled the country. The typical case. I have an ... unofficial agent on the case who's much more informed, at this point. I was not on the site when he found the evidence."

Obviously he had no more information than when he set out, however I figured it would work to both our advantages if I did not point this out directly.

I'm not one for nice words. In a case like this, I will be quiet.

"Who is the unofficial agent Citoyen?"

I hated games. Blunt, to the point. That was the best way to be. "Mon Dieu, do not tell me you are going to keep secrets away from your employer?"

"I am not 'keeping secrets', Citoyen: I merely did not wish to bore you with details that you may or may not have found important. But here --" Chauvelin flipped an envelope that had been sitting on his desk, and on the flap scrawled the name of the young man who had accompanied him, an address, and a brief description. "He is the artist, I believe, recently commissioned by yourself to do some work within our institution." He offered the contact information to his employer. "I regret that I'm unable to inform you any further, but I had a rather important errand to run."

I sat in a chair and stared at Chauvelin, folding my hands in my lap.

"What will be done about this note? Are you putting your man on this Pimpernel person?"

"I'm afraid we don't know who this ... Pimpernel person is, quite yet. Interviews with the guards involved can be set up, but really the only way to uncover him is to increase surveillance, and wait." Chauvelin gave a thin smile, and sat down again, quietly. "If you think it would help, I will make him -- or her, I do suppose -- my own, personal priority." That was an easy offer, of course. To be held accountable for a phantom would be his easiest duty since cutting official ribbons.

"Good man" I replied about the artist. "If you can use him, do so."

I listened to Chauvelin talk about the prison break and as he seemed to repeat himself from earlier, I grew impatient. I stood up out of the chair and nodded quickly, trying to hurry him along.

"Interview them. Hire more. Do what you want as you have the power of the Republic behind you."

I looked at Chauvelin. "What do you require to make this investigation more effective Citoyen?"

After agreeing to a series of interviews, Chauvelin seemed to hesitate. This investigation? One prisoner had escaped, with the aid of some overly-cocky Englishman, and already it was an investigation? More had escaped than one at a time on their own accord, without ghosts and taunting notes; they had merely warranted executions and official reprimands. But if Robespierre felt it needed his attention ...

"Time, Citoyen," he answered. "I suppose time enough to complete the guards' portion of our project, and then ... perhaps even go to England. The regent there has almost as much interest in stopping this renegade as we do."

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