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Morton stepped into the middle of the room and raised his hands, gesturing widely. “These are the people that are going to help ignite the revolution.” He pointed towards a table where two of the men were sitting. “Paul and Mark are supplying the carts and horses for the mission.”
Morton walked over and placed his hand on a man’s shoulder. “Tom is the solicitor that I was telling you about. He worked with Lord Desmond at the workhouse, and he has been writing articles in the newspaper about our cause.” He grinned. “Anonymously, of course.”
Turning back towards the woman in the corner, Morton gestured towards her. “And this is Marie.”
The woman rose confidently from the chair and stepped closer to Morton. Marie was rather tall for a woman, and she had a slim frame. She was dressed in a simple pale green gown with her brown hair pulled back at the base of her neck. With her narrow face, she wasn’t overly beautiful, but he could see how some men might find her attractive.
Marie eyed him critically as she asked in a thick French accent, “What purpose does this man serve?”
Morton turned to face her. “Baldwin saved me from being arrested by a Bow Street Runner. He is a deserter from the Royal Navy, and I thought he would be a good candidate to drive the wagon into the square since he has some experience with explosives.”
“A deserter?” Marie asked, turning her gaze towards him. “That was rather risky, no?”
“It was, but I was tired of fighting wars for a tyrant of a king who cares nothing for me,” Baldwin spat out.
Marie took a step closer to him, her eyes sparking with distrust. “Have you ever driven a wagon with a bomb strapped to the back of it before?”
“I can’t say that I have,” Baldwin admitted honestly.
“If you make one wrong move, then you will be blown up,” Marie warned, snapping her fingers. “Are you prepared to die for the cause, Baldwin?”
“I am.”
Marie nodded approvingly. “I am pleased to hear that, because this mission could very well be your last.”
Baldwin straightened himself up to his full height and declared, “I am prepared to do whatever I need to for the revolution to begin.”
“That is good,” Marie replied.
Morton walked over and pulled out a chair from one of the tables. “Take a seat, Baldwin,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”
As soon as Baldwin was situated, Morton stepped back into the center of the room and declared, “It was announced that Lord Desmond is going to have a rally to support his bill tomorrow.” He started pacing. “This will be our first target.”
Marie gestured towards him and revealed, “Baldwin will drive the team as close as he can to the stage. When the wagon is situated, he will light the fuse and run to safety.”
“How long is the fuse?” Baldwin asked.
“It is a slow match, so you shouldn’t need to fear unless you are dawdling.”
Frowning, Baldwin said, “The rally will be packed. Won’t we have mass casualties with the bomb?”
Marie looked at him like he was a simpleton. “That is the point.”
“I thought it was to assassinate Lord Desmond, not kill innocent people,” Baldwin declared, his eyes darting towards the other conspirators.
“These people are not innocent,” Morton interjected. “They are feeding into Lord Desmond’s lies.”
“But to kill them?” Baldwin questioned.
Marie shrugged, unconcerned. “It will be a quick death for most of them,” she shared. “I have spent the last few years perfecting my father’s machine infernale.”
Tom spoke up. “What exactly is a machine infernale?”
“It is an explosive device in a barrel bound with iron hoops and filled with gunpowder, flammable materials, metal shards, and bullets,” Marie replied. “Basically, it is a bomb of epic proportions.”
Morton turned towards Marie and suggested, “Perhaps you should tell them about your father so they can understand your passion for this mission.”
Marie tipped her head and obliged. “My father, François-Joseph Carbon, was a royalist who fought to restore the French monarchy. He hated Napoleon and vowed to see him dead. He almost succeeded with the machine infernale. It was planted along the route that Napoleon intended to take on his way to the opera, but it was detonated too late and too far away from Napoleon’s carriage.”
