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"You!"
The intricate performance on the scaffold of course had required the secret
cooperation of the whole crew of executioners who happened to be present on
the platform.
"But there were only two of us, as you undoubtedly remember." I smiled
modestly, proud of what I still considered a well-nigh perfect stratagem.
"You !" He repeated, staring at me.
"Yes, of course I was one of them! You had not seen me in daylight before, and
you certainly were not expecting to see me there, in that costume. Also I had
allowed myself to age a couple of decades in as many days we have that
privilege, you know."
"And the other executioner?"
"Oh, that was Citizen Sanson, right enough. One of them a member of the
younger generation, who have now completely taken over the family profession.
One of them and one of us. Once Constantia and I hit on the proper sort of
bribery, he proved quite susceptible much easier to deal with than the elder
head of the family would have been."
And in fact poor Gabriel Sanson had been quite madly in love with Constantia
by that time, ready to risk everything for her, as poor foolish breathers so
often
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are. Radu's people, hie spies, for all their cunning efforts, did not get wind
of the great plot involving a key person in the matter of executions: the
executioner himself.
Methodically I provided my trembling client with more details of the
deception.
My vampiric strength had enabled me to handle the box containing his live,
unconscious body as if it were empty. To prevent onlookers from noticing that
Radcliffe's "corpse" still had a head, that wicker box was transported with
its contents directly to the cemetery rather than being dumped into a cart at
the base of the guillotine, where its contents would have been exposed.
The cart driver, who was partially in on the plot, had dumped Radcliffe's
body, still living and intact, in a place somewhat apart from that where he
conveyed the quieter majority of his load.
"I suppose you may have been starting to come round by the time they put you
in the tumbril, or maybe even a little before that. My intention was to spare
you that, but& I suppose Constantia failed to give you any clear explanation
of our plan."
"You mean I'm not a& a& "
I bowed to him slightly. "I trust you will survive the disappointment. You
have not yet been honored with the opportunity to join the illustrious race of
the nosferatu.
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"
The plan as designed had called for either Melanie or Marie to pick up the wax
head in the cemetery, as well as seek out Radcliffe there, and, if he was in
sufficient possession of his wits, give him his forged papers and some new
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clothes. But the panicky wagon driver, working in darkness, had dumped him in
the wrong place. Then Philip, on recovering his wits, had taken himself away,
and Marie, arriving an hour or so late, unavoidably delayed, hadn't been able
to
And him.
Radcliffe, listening in the storeroom, was not yet wholly satisfied. He kept
feeling his neck, turning and nodding his head, as if he feared they might
still somehow come apart. "But& there was blood spurting, gushing& I remember
that."
"Your eyes were easily deceived; and so were my brother Radu's, in glaring
daylight and at a little distance. What you saw was not exactly blood. Just
now when you were looking at your head, there on the shelf no doubt you took
notice of the tubes."
They had been fabricated from what was then called caoutchouc, an early form
of industrial rubber. With such tubes and a couple of bladders inside the
dummy, it had proven eminently possible to create the appropriate brief jets
of "blood."
And of course the wax model of Radcliffe's head had been provided with an
internal cavity, filled with a liquid having much the appearance of fresh
blood.
So that when the executioner's tall assistant lifted it out carefully, by the
short dark hair, the red flow drained out visibly for the crowd to watch.
"Real blood of course would have coagulated and changed color long before we
were ready to use it. Coming up with a good substitute required some effort,
but
Constantia and I know something of the subject. We settled on the reddish
juice of blood oranges, darkened with a little something else."
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I thumped the wax head familiarly on the temple. "Now that this object has
served its primary purpose, and perhaps after it is carried in some parade as
an illustration of Revolutionary justice, there seems no reason why it should
not go on display along with the others in the museum. Perhaps as the head of
some minor anonymous figure in one of the groupings. But I believe Marie will
wanted to do some retouching on it first. The tubes, of course, should go.
They might make someone suspicious."
Today, as on most days, the museum opened early in the morning, and already
there were customers out in the public rooms. Radcliffe, listening to them
from the storeroom, thought it plain that they took seriously their concerns
about whether the wax effigies were really up-to-date and accurate. The
political correctness of the display was of perhaps vital importance to the
proprietors.
"The day quickly grows bright, and it is time for me to seek a deeper shadow
where I can wait." I looked about thoughtfully.
Radcliffe was on the point of asking, but did not, just what his mentor was
intending to wait for.
Before dropping into obscurity, I reminded Radcliffe of the next step in the
plan, and handed him some money and a set of beautifully forged identity
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papers; he was now Citizen Joseph Tallien, a native of Martinique. A wardrobe
in the storeroom provided him with a change of clothes.
The young man's eyes grew wide as he looked at the money gold coin, as well as
Revolutionary assignats;
the latter were almost worthless, but good
Revolutionary patriots carried them about. For the purpose of bribes, the old
gold coin was much preferred even though possession of it was seriously
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illegal. Only precious stones were more readily accepted.
"Sir, this is very generous."
"Tut tut." I waved a hand dismissively. "I am not a poor man and there is
nowhere I would rather spend my money than in the game of discomfiting my
brother. Now, you will find the lady you are seeking at Tom Paine's house or,
if not there, at another house nearby, whose address I have jotted down. If
you must go to that neighboring dwelling, ask for Citizen Gabriel Sanson."
"Gabriel ?" Radcliffe recoiled slightly. "You are joking!"
"Not a bit. It should be obvious that our little show on the scaffold depended
utterly on that young man's cooperation."
"Will he be at home?"
I shrugged, and squinted at the sun-bright window. "It seems more likely, at
this hour, that he is at work."
Several hours later, secure in his new identity and boldly asking directions
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