Chauvelin walked quickly through the country side, without a horse
-- he hadn't thought one necessary for this trip. Walking was much
quieter, and more suited to his needs ... speed was never something
that gave one an advantage unless you were running away. Which he
did not often do. It had, however, been a good two hours since he'd left
the fireplace at the Blue Emerald, and just as he was starting to
regret not catching a cab, he spotted the light from his own
lodgings. His pace quickened.
As soon a he was inside the doorway, Chauvelin took off his damp
coat, and flipped his scarf looser to hang around his shoulders. He
climbed the stairs, looking forward to going to bed ... tomorrow they
would have to sail back to France, it seemed, since there was always
pressing business back at home. New suspects, new orders, new stupid
little things that he had to attend every two hours, it seemed. He
entered his room, and then thought twice about it -- he ought to
speak to his secretary, first, to confirm tomorrow's arrangements, as well
as ask if anything had happened while he was gone. Even in foreign
lands, being a revolutionary could be dangerous, especially ones as
politically hateful of France as Britain.
Chauvelin stepped back into the hall, and knocked quickly on the
next door.
*Désgas is sitting behind a table that is in the center of the room. In
the right corner is a lamp and the table littered with papers, a couple maps
of Paris, documents and a few lists with aristocratic names and addresses.
He's been there ever since Citoyen Chauvelin left and hasn't moved the
entire time. He's just been working, writing the arrest warrants and filing
them so that the moment they get back in France they can continue with their
important work there and continue with sending innocent people to their
death, but Victor doesn't think about this. For him it's second nature. He's
been writing these documents of death since the first day of the revolution
started. The names are meaningless. What happens to them after these
documents leave his hands he doesn't care about. All he cares about is that
he keeps his head and this'll only happen if he keeps doing his job. Calmly
he takes a sip of his coffee before continuing with his work but just as
he's about to begin a knock disturbs his concentration and Désgas snaps his
head up. Questioningly he stares at the door as he quickly gathers the
documents and hides them under a newspaper. Then he gets up and unlocks the
door. Slowly he opens it half way and peeks outside. At first sight Désgas
doesn't recognize the person standing there as it's dark in the rather small
hall. Rubs his weary eyes and narrows them to see better through the
darkness and then he recognizes Chauvelin. Quickly, already feeling bad for
keeping him waiting, he throws the door wide open and steps aside* Citoyen
Chauvelin *bows his head in respect* What can I do for you Citoyen?
Chauvelin stepped inside, peeling off his gloves. "I only wanted to
confirm our travel plans for tomorrow. If we have to buy our passage, I'll
need to get money..." He looked about, as though to make sure nothing was
out of place, or out of the ordinary. "And to make sure no one has bothered
you."
*Désgas looks down the hall before closing the door. Then he turns all his
attention to his boss and walks further in the room. A bit nervously his
eyes follow Chauvelin's every movement* Everything is taken care of Citoyen
*goes to the bed and searches his coat pockets. Then takes out two tickets
for the morning coach* I already have bought our passage. I'm also almost
done with the arrest warrants and no one has bothered me. No one with bad
intentions anyway *hands the tickets to Chauvelin and waits him to
continue.....*
Chauvelin nodded, pocketing the tickets. "Good. My business here is done,
anyhow, we've no need to stay the night ..." he berated himself silently
for even coming here in the first place. Attempting even in his own mind to
push this off as a mission in the interest of the Republic was a lie -- his
motives had been purely self-centered, and unsuccessful, at that. Still, he
could not say that he regretted his exchange with Marguerite, having finally
discovered for good where her "loyalties" lay.
"In fact," he continued, pushing the subject from his mind. "Immediate
departure would be wise, I think." He fingered the note from his superior
that had been handed to him shortly before entering the decaying old inn,
wondering precisely *how* he was supposed to meet with someone in a timely
fashion when on the wrong side of the Channel to do so. "I've been informed
that I have time-sensitive business waiting." *Which means you do too, of
course,* he added in his mind, knowing the other man would understand. "As
soon as you can be packed, we'll leave."
Chauvelin glanced quickly at Desgas's desk, smiling slightly and sincerely,
which he very rarely did. "And I thank you for your obviously dedicated
efforts in my absence, Citoyen. Meet me downstairs at your leisure." He
turned on his heel, stepped out of Desgas's room, and silently closed the
door.
*Victor listens in complete silence to Chauvelin. His eyes fixed on his
leader but at the immediate departure statement Désgas raises his eyebrows
in surprise and a sigh of annoying escapes unknowingly his lips. Oh how
much he longed to sleep. How much he wanted to snuggle close to his pillow
and enter the realm of dreams and for a while escape the terror of the
revolution. How much he wanted this all. Sighs again and rubs his eyes. Not
able to erase these thoughts of desire they take over his mind and make him
absent. For a moment he doesn't pay attention to whatever Chauvelin is
rambling. Right now his mind is blank, his eyes dull and weary and the
thought of no immediate sleep makes him even more exhausted then he already
is. At the last words of Chauvelin Désgas simply nods. Normally he'd be
thrilled to hear such words of praise from a man like Chauvelin but now he
doesn't have the strength to utter a word or even look remotely surprised.
He's just so terrible tired. Victor has been working since the moment they
arrived in the inn and has only taken short coffee breaks. All this has
drained his strength and when Chauvelin leaves Désgas lets himself fall on
the bed. With his face hidden in the mattress he lays there a bit. Then
slowly, obviously against his will he gets up and throws one of the valises
on the bed and starts by taking all the files, documents and maps of the
table. He first lays them on the bed and then takes out a knife. Calmly, so
not to tear the fabric, he removes a secret bottom and lays the files in the
secret compartment. After that he immediately covers them up and begins
packing his clothes and everything else....*
Chauvelin, not tired in the least due to the additional adrenaline spurred
through his blood by the long walk back, and his conversation with St. Just,
waited in the foyer of the inn. He sat near the fire, glad for the solitude
that this time of night afforded him.
The agent folded his hands over the small case he carried his belongings
in, mentally re-reading Robespierre's note. For all of his revolutionary
genius, the man certainly was not predictable -- for all he knew, they could
be meeting in the graveyard to discuss his mother's upcoming birthday.
Chauvelin would have to maintain confidence that his message held a bit more
weight than such a scenario as that one.
As soon as Desgas made his way down the stairs, he stood. It was not quite morning in France, and he knew that they were both tired ... but their
comrades back in France waited for no one, it seemed, and so he had little
choice but to drag the man out of bed, as it were.
*Désgas looks at the soft bed and has to use all his strength to fight the
sleep that is taken him over. Not now he says to himself. You can sleep on
the boat and with these words lingering in his mind he resists the
temptation and grabs the valise. Then quickly he leaves the room before he
loses the battle in his head. Calmly, not in a rush at all and too tired to
take firm steps, he saunters through the hall as he drags the valise behind
him. When he reaches the stairs he yawns and blinks a few times. Then he
walks down the stairs, dragging the valise over the steps. It makes a
thudding noise each time it hits another step but Désgas doesn't care. He
just slowly keeps on going down, yawning now and then and not paying any
attention to the things happening around him. Everyone can see that Victor
is walking but his eyes look empty. He appears to be there physically but
mentally he's in another world. The sleep has finally took him over and his
mind...well his mind has already entered that realm of dreams he longed for
and sleepily he walks passed Chauvelin and towards the door. Désgas seemed
to have forgotten all about his boss and half asleep, half in a state of
indifference he walks down to the carriage......*
Chauvelin's eyes flicked oddly to his secretary's figure as it passed
through the inn's threshold without so much as an acknowledgment. Obviously
the man was beyond tired ... He sighed, and trotted out quickly to make
sure Desgas didn't fall under the carriage in a sudden fit of apathy. He
opened the door for his currently uncoordinated underling, making sure he at
last seated himself before falling asleep.
Climbing in, Chauvelin barked a few terse orders to the driver, and tried
to estimate precisely how long it would take to reach the dock. Even if
Robespierre had not sent him summons, the agent was eager to get out of
England solely on principle. So dreary, this place, and so complacent.
While the French monarchy had died with a brilliant red and fiery splash,
Chauvelin held no doubt that the British royalty would seep out of power and
fame with the same energy that Englishmen seemed to apply to anything. And
it rained entirely too frequently ...
*Desgas kept on walking until he felt someone grab his arm. He assumed it was someone that knew him and didn't bother to open his eyes. He just let the person drag him to wherever the man wanted him and if it was a situation he wouldn't like if he wakes up in the morning he'd deal with
then. But for now he honestly doesn't give a damn as long as the person lets him sleep. He yawns and then hears the creaking of a door, the sound of horses sniffing and he automatically mounts the few steps of the carriage. Somehow his mind knows where he is. Immediately Desgas releases the valise and it falls on the ground. Then he lets himself fall on the soft coach in the carriage. He's so happy to be able to sleep that he curls up his legs, lays both hands under his head and after he yawns again he falls sound asleep and has no intention of waking up in the next couple of hours.....