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

been freed of the giant tendril when the Count succumbed to Jeanne’s attack, began sliding towards the starboard side of the deck.

Realizing he was in danger of sliding off the ship, Jeanne dove in to grab his arm. After a few moments the Majesté Divine stabilized slightly—probably due to the efforts of Pierre and Victor at the controls.

“Talk to me, forger,” she said.

He coughed up blood. “Did I…do good?”

“Yes, you did very well.”

“I…wonder about that. This is…a revolu…tion by the people, the same ones I…wronged. Should I have…gone against them? Will this…really re-redeem me?” He hacked up more blood.

“Believe me; you did a great service to France today. I will make sure your efforts are not forgotten.”

“I…would like…something…from you.”

“Anything.”

“I have not…seen you smile, even once since…we met. Please…smile for me.”

She considered his words. It was true that she rarely showed emotions. Maybe…maybe that was something within herself that she should change. “If that is your wish.”

She smiled for him, not too much, but more than enough as she shed a single tear for this petty criminal who had been rejected by his own country.

“Merveilleux,” he said softly. Marvelous. And with that, he closed his eyes forever.

A sudden creaking and groaning from the Majesté Divine reminded her that it was not over yet. With only one working engine, the airship was going down, and the Minuit Solaire would not be able to hold it up much longer.

Jeanne motioned to the crew working in the Solaire’s harpoon bay to release the cables. There was no sense in both ships going down, and without the weight of the Solaire bearing down on them the Majesté Divine might actually be able to land in one piece.

There was a snap as the cables were cut and the Majesté Divine was let loose. Jeanne scooped up the body of Jacques and carried it down to the bridge where the royal family, along with Pierre and Victor, were waiting for her.

“We’re going down, Commander,” Pierre said. “You and the royal family had better strap yourselves in.”

There were more seats on this bridge than on the Solaire in order to accommodate their special passengers. Jeanne made sure each member of the royal family was secured in his/her seat before strapping herself into the captain’s chair.

The ship pitched forward and they could see the ground coming up at them. Pierre and Victor struggled to control their descent, but it looked like it wasn’t going to be enough.

Pierre yelled, “Hang on tight!”

Jeanne braced herself as the Majesté Divine hit the ground with thunderous force. She rocketed forward in her seat, but the safety harness held.

After a grueling few moments of the ship skidding against the earth, they came to a complete stop. Jeanne slowly got up from her seat and stepped into a puddle of water. The canopy window had smashed and water was pouring in through some sort of pond. It had probably cushioned the impact just enough for them to survive.

“Is everyone all right?” she said.

The king and queen confirmed that they were. Their children were also unharmed, although perhaps only physically. Everyone seemed to be shaken but otherwise fine.

8

 

 

 

 

Varennes, France, July 14, 1789 (Infini Calendar), 1:30 p.m.

The knights led the royal family out of the airship and onto the solid ground outside. They were in a village which they recognized as Varennes. They had crashed in a portion of the Aire river which ran through the town.

Before they could celebrate their survival, though, the entire village came out to confront them. Angry voices assailed them as they vented their anger.

“The king is trying to flee France!”

“Just abandoning your people, eh?”

“Take responsibility for the mess our country is in!”

It looked like they were going to get violent, and Jeanne didn’t think they could face the entire village in a fight. The Minuit Solaire flew overhead, but there was no way it would reach them in time.

She took the only option left to her: She bowed down before them. “I implore you! If you are going to kill anyone, it should be me. Please allow King Louis XVI and his family to live. Do not deprive these innocent children of their parents!”

The villagers talked it over with themselves for a few minutes, and then said, “Very well. We will allow the royal family to live. However, it has become apparent that the king and queen cannot be trusted. Therefore, we insist on accompanying them back to Paris where they will be closely watched.”

“Thank you,” Jeanne said.

While it was obvious that Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette did not like the idea of being prisoners at all, Jeanne once again silently thanked God that their lives had been spared this day.

As they rode back to France in a wagon supplied by the village, Jeanne couldn’t help but wonder who was behind this day’s violence. Who set up the Bastille and the Palace of Versailles to be attacked? Who sent the assassin calling himself the Count of Saint-Germaine to murder the king?

And finally: Would this be the only plot set into motion?

9

 

 

 

 

July 15, 1789 (Infini Calendar), 11:00 a.m.

The meeting of the Montagnards sect of the Jacobin Club was an especially tense one. One of the members, who had the floor, said, “The king is still alive! This is unacceptable!”

The yelling of his fellow club members showed that they shared his sentiment. However, Robespierre waved his hands to quiet them down. “No matter. The king is being put under house arrest in Paris and will be under careful watch from now on. We can strike again at any time.

“I am more concerned about the loss of the Count of Saint-Germaine to those knights. I said not to underestimate them, but it seems that is exactly what I have done. Or perhaps I simply overestimated the Count. At any rate, we’ll have to be more careful next time. And I can assure you all there will be a next time.”

 

 

 

 

 

PART II

Frères et soeurs

(Brothers and Sisters)

1

 

 

 

 

Château de Fleur, August 1, 1789 (Infini Calendar), 9:30 a.m.

Jeanne was in the training hall of her family’s estate in Domrémy-la-Pucelle (a village in northeastern France, and the home of her legendary ancestor), practicing her swordsmanship techniques on the training dummies that occupied the room. Wielding her rapier expertly, she pierced one lifeless target after another with swift, agile movements.

She needed to keep her skills from atrophying; it had been a full two weeks since she had returned to Paris with the royal family and since then the Ordre de la Tradition had been unable to go on any missions for the king. That was because Louis XVI was no longer the absolute monarch of France. Instead, the Legislative Assembly (formerly the National Constituent Assembly; formerly the National Assembly; formerly the Third Estate; from this point forward referred to simply as the Assembly) which had just been formed now kept him a veritable prisoner within the Tuileries (the royal palace of Paris) and had removed many of the powers he used to enjoy as king.

The return to Paris was still fresh within her mind. The entire city had turned out to silently watch the royal family escorted to the Tuileries in disgrace, angry and otherwise unsympathetic faces on each citizen. Although Jeanne hated having to see them go through that, she—along with her other knights Pierre and Victor—had managed to keep them alive. As far as she was concerned, the knights had successfully carried out their duty.

Since then, the Ordre’s airship the Minuit Solaire had been grounded at the Tuileries, kept under armed guard twenty-four hours a day. The Assembly had wanted to lock up the knights—Jeanne included—because they viewed them as dogs of the Ancien Régime. Fortunately for the knights, the Parisian public still held a great deal of admiration for them and all they had done for France. They wouldn’t allow “Jeanne la Juste” to rot in a dungeon somewhere.

When she was finished, Jeanne grabbed a towel to dry herself off. The one bright spot of being off-duty was not having to wear her irodium armor. It may have been lightweight and very durable, but it became almost unbearably hot in the summer. At the moment she simply wore a white blouse and dark-blue leggings. Her long auburn hair wasn’t even in its trademark braid going down her back; she was letting it flow freely for now.

One thing, though, that she could not do away with was her purple eye patch she had to wear at all times. Whenever she took it off, she risked losing her mind to the God’s Eye, the powerful but mysterious force which possessed her left eye.

Jeanne would never forget the day she inherited it: the day her mother died. Her mother was the previous bearer of the God’s Eye, and at the very moment of her death it transferred over to Jeanne, only a twelve-year-old girl at the time. Jeanne was playing in the garden in front of the château when suddenly an onslaught of information assaulted her senses. She was fortunate to lose consciousness before any further damage was done, but she was bedridden for a week afterwards. That was when her father explained to her about the God’s Eye, that it had been passed down from mother to daughter for centuries, and that was why Jeanne’s mother had to wear an eye patch for all the time Jeanne had known her. And now, he said, it was Jeanne’s turn to put it on.

She railed against this horrible burden that had been forced on her. She asked her father why the God’s Eye was only passed down to women. Why couldn’t her brother Jean-Paul take it? After all, he was older and much stronger than her. That, according to her father, was probably why God only gave it to women. “Ma petite, since the beginning of the world, women have had a much harder time of it,” he said. “They have been bullied and abused by us men. I think the Lord wanted to give you something to fight back with. But more than that, perhaps he wanted to give women of each generation a champion, someone to fight for them.” But if that was the case, why was the God’s Eye so dangerous to its users? “There is no such thing as a safe power. Moving mountains requires great determination and effort. You must work hard if you wish to do great things.”

So, Jeanne grew up with the weight of her left eye always upon her until the day of her death. She resolved to become strong so that she would own the God’s Eye, and not be owned by it. To that end, she joined the military and fought her hardest, winning commendations and eventually being picked by the king himself to lead the Ordre de la Tradition, a select group of talented individuals who answered only to His Majesty.

When she had finished cleaning up, she walked through the corridors of the house and entered her room. As was fitting for a noblewoman, her room contained only the finest furnishings. A luxurious blue rug met her feet as she entered, and tall windows adorned with expensive white curtains let in warm sunlight. In addition, her canopy bed was easily large enough for three of her. It wasn’t as if she cared about opulence, though; she had simply been