Emmanuel - cold July.

The brisk air nibbles my ears as I hop in from the cold, jumping two steps at a time up into my apartment room. Haven't been here for a long time. It has become an almost, shrine like place, dedicated to them.


I peel off my leather gloves, take my jacket off throwing them to a forgotten about settee. Dust explodes off the worn blue exterior as the clothes make contact. Her painting oils, stand and wooden canvas still stand at the window, as if she would go back to them after the background had dried. She never did though.

Sighing, I pace around the small room. It's odd being back, I usually have something else to do. The king is oblivious to the increasing disrespect the soldiers are paying his generals and in the end, him.

It's only as I move further into the room that the heat of the fire catches my skin. It glows there, in its soot-blackened furnace. I frown. The fire hasn't been lit since last winter, when they were all still alive and often coming round, even when I wasn't here.

On the small table, by the settee an envelope lays there. I apprehensively approach it.

I slice it with her envelope opener and tip the yellowed parchment out, it is a small note. Saying simply:


'Rendezvous à ma maison le nuit du quatorze juillet. B'

I look to the ticking Grandfather clock she had brought from England, ten past three.

Not wanting to be late, I grab my blue coat and silk gloves and rush out the door almost forgetting to lock it behind.

I walk briskly down the street, weaving in-between busy passersby, rushing to get out of the strangely cold summer weather - and try to find sanctuary in their homes.

Bumping into people as I speed down the streets, hopping on and off the pavement when large groups of people or buses and trading carts hurtle down, I shout loud apologies over the hustle and bustle.

 I keep my head down as I approach the building. I knock the door in a ridged pattern. Top right, two knocks with a second pause between. Middle, four simultaneous knocks, followed by a short pattern of long and short knocks, ended with the palm hitting the wood. On cue, the door opens before me, revealing Bernard - one of our English allies.  

He lets me in and lock the door behind me, picking his revolver up for defence, his sword still sheathed. I walk through to the main area where the man himself, Guillame sat around the table. It takes around half an hour for everyone to turn up.

Guillame sits smiling broadly at the top of the table, his hands holding themselves. "Well then. Nous sommes tous ici. We're all here." He says, his voice echoes around, everyone's back straightens in attention.

He asks me about the military, I explain that we are on basic duties now, guarding the places of power and all that. I also tell him and everyone else about the growing disrespect among the solders about Louis and his top Generals, who appear not to notice anything.

"Right," Guillame says sharply. He pauses for a minute or two, the tension building around the table. Finally, he informs us of his plans and what we are each to do. The table huddles inwards, the communal excitement bubbling throughout us all.

The End

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