The power was sweet, heady, and he enjoyed toying with it for a moment before putting it reluctantly aside. Not yet. It had come to his attention in these weeks of watching the Andreas house that there was far greater power to be gained by holding his hand for a while.
He wiped the fluid running from his broken nose with a lace-trimmed handkerchief and limped down the street to the waiting carriage. His hip ached badly, as it always did after standing all day. Well, it wouldn’t go on much longer. He had found out all he needed to know to get both the Wind Dancer and the power he needed to maintain his position in his mother’s life.
The letter he had placed in the pocket of his coat that morning seemed to spread a glowing, comforting warmth while whispering of safety, riches, and revenge.
He opened the door of the carriage and carefully, painfully, pulled himself up the step and into the coach. “The Café du Chat,” he called to the man on the box. He didn’t bother to give the direction. The man had taken him to the café many times before.
Nana Sarpelier sat at a long table in the back room of the Café du Chat gluing sticks onto the painted rendering of the guillotining of Charlotte Corday, the murderess of Marat.
She looked up when Dupree came into the room. She involuntarily recoiled, but recovered quickly. “Pardon, Monsieur. This is a work room. Customers are not served here.”
“I’m allowed here.” Dupree limped forward and dropped into the chair across the table from her. “I’m allowed to do anything I wish to do. Your friend Raymond Jordaneau sent me back here to see you. You’re Nana Sarpelier?”
“Yes.” She gazed at him warily. “Who are you?”
“Your new master.” His smile only twisted the left side of his face. “Raoul Dupree. Ah, I see you’ve heard of me.”
“Who hasn’t, Monsieur? Your fame during the massacres—”
“Don’t bother to pretend,” Dupree interrupted. “I’m well aware you’re an agent for the Comte de Provence.” He smiled as he saw her stiffen. “That frightens you, doesn’t it? Good, I enjoy fear in a woman.”
“You’re going to turn me over to the tribunal?”
“If I were, I’d not be here now.”
Nana gathered her composure. “That’s just as well. For naturally your accusation is entirely false.”
He shook his head. “I’ve been watching this café for many weeks. I knew almost at once that all of you here were royalists.”
Nana remained silent, gazing at him with no expression.
“You see, I followed François Etchelet here from Andreas’s house one night.” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “And I asked myself what could be the connection between an official of the Temple and Jean Marc Andreas. You do know Andreas has the Wind Dancer?”
“Has he?” Nana placed another stick on the fan.
“I think you know. Then I asked myself another question. Who could have told Andreas that Celeste de Clemente had the Wind Dancer?” He smiled. “The queen, of course. My former employer, Marat, had always suspected the Comte de Provence had a group of royalist sympathizers here in Paris whose duty was to free the noblesse and the royal family. Pursuing that suspicion was going to be my next task after I returned from Spain.” He leaned back in the chair. “You can see how all the pieces fit together?”
“Very clever.”
“So I watched for a few days and saw the members of your little group coming and going. I have names and I have addresses. I could send every one of you to the guillotine.”
Nana’s eyes were cold as she looked up from the fan. “Then you’re a fool to come here. We’d be stupid to let you leave alive.”
He laughed. “Why do you think Jordaneau allowed me to come back here to see you?” He reached into his coat and brought out an envelope. “Because I showed him this letter from the Comte de Provence. It’s very carefully worded, of course, but it places me in complete control of the actions of both you and your friend Raymond Jordaneau.”
She froze. “Indeed?”
He nodded with satisfaction. “After I realized who your master was, I immediately wrote and offered my services. I no longer have a secure position in the government now that Marat is dead.”
“So you now serve the Bourbons.”
“Why not? There’s a certain glory in royalty. My mother will be pleased to be honored at the court of Vienna.” He dabbed at his nose with his handkerchief. “The count said he had heard of my work and would be pleased to have my help in a certain awkward matter. So he gave me authority over the two of you.”
“Why not the entire group?”
“You know the answer to that.” He smiled. “Because only you and Raymond Jordaneau are totally his creatures. You do the count’s bidding, not Etchelet’s.”He tapped the letter with his forefinger. “The count made it quite clear whom I can trust in this delicate matter.”
“And we’re to obey you?”
