The Game Called Revolution, - [ebook reader 8 inch .txt] 📗

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry you had to go through that for me,” Roland said.

“With all due respect, I’m doing this for my brother.”

Roland smiled. “So you are.”

Farahilde, strangely, did not seem terribly upset by this double-cross. “If you worms wanted to get shot up, all you had to do was ask.

Jeanne removed the burlap sack from the male prisoner, only to make an unfortunate discovery. “This is not my brother!”

“Are you certain?” Pierre asked.

Jeanne nodded. This man’s hair was a dark brown, rather than the auburn color the de Fleur siblings possessed. His eyes were also blue, rather than Jean-Paul’s green.

Jeanne removed the rope gag that had been placed over the man’s mouth. “Who are you?”

“I am Private Julian Benoit,” He said. “I served under General Dumouriez in the Sixth Infantry Unit, but I was captured when the Austrians attacked.”

“I thought the Colonel was the only one captured,” Pierre said.

Benoit said, “I think we were the only two. They made me switch uniforms with him to fool you.”

“Looks like we had the same idea,” Roland said.

Farahilde laughed condescendingly. “Don’t you know the most basic rule of war, fräulein? Never trust your enemy.”

“Chienne,” Jeanne swore under her breath. She added aloud, “Where is my brother?”

“If you want him back, you’ll have to come get him. You’d better hurry, though; you don’t have much time.”

Farahilde laughed before turning around and running into the fort. Jeanne said to Pierre and Victor, “Get Manon Roland and the private onto the ship. You must ensure their safety.”

“What about you?” Pierre asked.

She unsheathed her rapier. “I believe you know the answer to that.”

“It’s too dangerous, ma’am,” Victor said. “Let one of us go with you.”

She shook her head. “You are needed here. Don’t forget; the black airship has yet to make its appearance.”

They wanted to argue with her, but what was the point? They had their orders; the only thing left for them was to carry them out. So, they simply said, “Understood, ma’am.”

With that, Jeanne charged forward to engage the Austrian troops, who had obviously not expected her to be able to move that quickly after the bullets they had just fired into her. She ran through the first several soldiers with cold efficiency; unlike the Parisians she had faced during the storming of the Bastille, she felt no desire to go easy on these men.

The remaining soldiers pulled out their swords and managed to hold her off for a minute, but ultimately her superior training and experience proved more than a match for the greenhorns Farahilde Johanna had brought with her.

With those enemies defeated, she ran into the fort after Farahilde.

***

Back aboard the Minuit Solaire, Pierre and Victor took Private Julian Benoit to the airship’s medical station. Dr. Aline Rembart, the middle-aged woman with sandy hair tapered up in back, who was in charge of the medical station, told them Private Benoit had not been roughed up by the Austrians—at least, not too badly.

“That’s not surprising,” Pierre said after they returned to the bridge and he sat down in the captain’s chair. “Private Benoit was never of any real importance to them—just a way of screwing us over, if they could.”

“That Farahilde seems to think of this as a game. She didn’t even really get upset when we double-crossed her,” Victor said, standing next to him.

Pierre grimly crossed his large arms over his chest. “She probably wanted to lure the Commander into the fort. And it worked.”

Victor patted his tall comrade on the back. “Cheer up! The Commander won’t let herself get killed by any Austrian traps. When she catches up with Farahilde Johanna, she’ll show that brat what a huge mistake she has made by challenging ‘Jeanne la Juste.’”

“I just hope she doesn’t have to use her God’s Eye. We both know how dangerous that thing is.”

“Against that chienne? I doubt it.”

Suddenly, Adolphe, the operator in charge of altitude control, announced, “Sir, we’ve got company. There’s an airship coming in from the northeast.”

Pierre squinted to see the dark spot that was flying through the sky up ahead. Even though he could only see a small blob, he knew it had to be the black airship coming to challenge them for control of the Austrian sky. They would soon know who had the superior vessel.

Pierre grabbed the rubber tube hanging down from the ceiling beside his chair. “Celeste, the black airship is heading right for us. Make sure the Minuit Solaire can give it everything she’s got.”

“Don’t worry, sir; this ship is ready to go,” said the engineer’s slightly distorted voice from the tube. “But…where is the Commander?”

“She went into the fort to rescue her brother. As second-in-command of the Ordre, I’m handling things here.”

“Oh…I see.” There was certainly no hiding the obvious disappointment in her voice. Here she was, facing her most dangerous mission yet, without her idol to protect her. This could cause a problem with morale. Pierre had to make sure that didn’t happen.

“Don’t worry; the Commander will be back with us in no time. But meanwhile, she’s counting on us to make sure we get through this alive. We’re not going to let her down.”

There was silence for a moment, then, “Understood! I will do my best to live up to milady’s expectations.”

“Good girl. All right, let’s show our enemy the power of the French spirit.”

5

The Austrian Netherlands, September 16, 1789 (Infini Calendar), 3:15 p.m.

In the main building of the fort, Jeanne found a set of stairs leading down into a torch-lit corridor below-ground. She cautiously descended the steps, wary of any traps that might be waiting for her. When she arrived at the bottom, she couldn’t tell how far the passage extended, as only the first twenty feet of it was lit by torches.

Having no idea what kind of traps Farahilde had set for her, Jeanne decided to use her God’s Eye to scan the area. She really didn’t want to do it; the strain of all the information that would bombard her senses could damage her mind. But neither did she want to get killed and leave her brother in the hands of the enemy.

With her mind made up, she knelt down to steady herself, and removed her purple eye patch. She slowly opened her left eye, and a flood of data rushed at her like water from a broken dam. When this tunnel was built, the exact composition of the walls, the name of everyone involved in building it, whether the dust on the floor was safe to inhale, the sizes of the footprints recently left in said dust, the genders of the owners of said footprints; Jeanne suddenly knew all these things and much more.

She was beginning to sweat with the strain of all the information—along with the bruising she had taken from the Austrians’ gunfire a few minutes ago, so she willed herself to only focus on any traps that might lie ahead. This wasn’t quite as easy as the last time she had used the God’s Eye, though; last time she only had to focus on one alchemically-twisted man. Today she had to look over an entire corridor that seemed to drag on forever.

After what seemed like an eternity, she managed to confirm that the corridor held no traps. She put her eye patch back on, grabbed a torch and ran down the passage to confront Farahilde and rescue her brother.

However, at the end of the corridor she discovered another set of stairs leading down to an iron door at the bottom. She cautiously walked down the steps and looked at the door. Splattered on the door in red letters was one word: Hölle, the German word for Hell.

Jeanne pressed herself up against the wall adjacent the door, crouched and pushed it open. She was greeted by a flurry of arrows whizzing through the doorway. The arrows hit the stairs with unceremonious thuds.

A malevolent laughing echoed from up ahead. “I hope you aren’t hurt, French worm. But that’s what you get when you intrude into someone’s home.”

Did that chienne really think of this hellhole as her home? Somehow, Jeanne was not surprised. She needed to save her brother before he became a permanent guest here. And if it turns out he’s not here, Jeanne thought to herself, this place really will become Hell for Farahilde Johanna.

She crept through the doorway and found herself in another corridor. She silently cursed her lack of judgment for using the God’s Eye earlier in a passageway with no traps. If she used it again so soon after, she had very little doubt she would be overwhelmed by it and possibly lose her mind entirely.

Nevertheless, she continued onwards, constantly on the lookout for traps. Every little sound made her start; as far as she was concerned, there was no such thing as being overly cautious here. Nor did it help that her eye patch gave her a serious blind spot which made it harder to stay vigilant.

Suddenly a block in the floor descended beneath her foot. A whir of gears started up somewhere nearby. She frantically looked around, trying to deduce where the threat would be coming from. No time.

Acting on instinct, Jeanne leaped forward, hoping to avoid whatever was coming. She hit the ground rolling and, a flurry of something sharp whizzing behind her. She looked back; a lethal volley of darts rained down from tiny holes in the ceiling. The darts were so sharp they embedded themselves in the stone floor. Jeanne’s irodium armor was quite durable, but there were gaps around her neck and joints (and nothing protecting her head). If the darts had hit her in those areas it would have caused serious injury—and that was assuming they hadn’t been coated in poison.

She breathed a sigh of relief and kept going. After about thirty feet she came to a door with iron bars that had been left open by someone (probably Farahilde). Beyond the door she found a series of prison cells on either side of the wall. Most were empty, but a few held rotting corpses. Closer examination revealed them to be wearing French Army uniforms. Were these poor souls captured by the Austrians in the recent ambush? Or had Farahilde played dress-up with other dead bodies like she had with Private Benoit? Ultimately, it didn’t matter; Farahilde Johanna would be held accountable for her actions.

Past the dungeon area the corridor continued straight ahead, but also arced off into other areas. The left area seemed to be some sort of dining hall, while the right semi-circle-shaped area was an empty barracks. Both areas curved around and opened back up farther down the corridor.

Beyond that was a large room filled with torture devices. Jeanne felt as if she had somehow travelled back to the Spanish Inquisition while looking at these. An iron maiden, torture racks, a sharp pendulum blade hanging from the ceiling, and other devices she didn’t recognize were the gruesome residents of the chamber. Fresh blood painted more than a few of the implements of inhumanity.

However, there was still so sign of Farahilde. Where was she? Jeanne had searched the rest of the underground and as far as she could tell, this was the end.

A muffled, far-off voice suddenly called out to her. “Are you enjoying the tour, fräulein? You’d better hurry up before your bruder experiences a horrible death!”

The voice was definitely coming from beyond the torture chamber, opposite from where Jeanne had entered. That meant there was a secret passageway out of the chamber, and Jeanne had an idea