The Confusion

“If I have taken your meaning, there, Leroy, I can’t say how flattered I am that you think I am the bloke for the job.”

“It is a trifle, compared to your past exploits.”

“I had a lot of help in my past exploits. I had a plan.”

“A plan is good.”

“I didn’t come up with the plan. My plan man is somewhere north of the Rio Grande just now, and difficult to get in touch with…”

“Ah, but the plan of Father Edouard de Gex was the superior one in the end, was it not?”

“Are you saying I’m to work with him!?”

“You shall be afforded the resources you shall require to accomplish this thing,” said Leroy, “and moreover you shall be relieved of burdens, and cut free from entanglements, that might hinder you.” He took a bit of snuff from a golden box and then snapped it shut with a loud pop. This must have been a pre-arranged cue, for suddenly the doors at the far end of the room were drawn open, and three persons entered the room: Vrej Esphahnian, Etienne d’Arcachon, and Eliza.

They came on briskly, bowed or curtseyed to the King, and ignored Jack; for in the presence of the King, no other person could be acknowledged. Which was well enough for Jack. He wouldn’t have known what to say or do in the presence of any one of these persons, had they come to him solus. To be with all three at once made him giddy, off-balance, and, in sum, even more than normally susceptible to the Imp of the Perverse. Vrej and Etienne kept Jack in their peripheral vision, which was only prudent; Eliza turned her head so that her view of him was blocked by a cheek-bone. He phant’sied she was a little red about the ears.

“Monsieur Esphahnian,” said the King of France, “we have heard that you were misinformed, and that in consequence you swore a vendetta against Monsieur Shaftoe. As we have just been explaining, we do not, as a rule, involve ourselves in such broils; but in this case we make an exception, for Monsieur Shaftoe is about to do us a favor. It may take him many years. We should be most displeased if your vendetta should interfere with his work. We have heard that the misunderstanding on which the vendetta was founded has been cleared up, and from this, we presume all is forgiven between the two of you; but we would see Monsieurs Shaftoe and Esphahnian shake hands and swear in our presence that all is forgiven. You may feel free to speak to each other.”

Vrej, by all appearances, had been out of pokey for a while-long enough to get some clothes made, and put on a few pounds. He had, in sum, gotten himself altogether ready for this audience. “Monsieur Shaftoe, on that evening in 1685 when you rode your horse into this ballroom and lopped this chap’s hand off-” he cocked his head at Etienne “-the Lieutenant of Police came to the apartment in the Marais where my family had given you lodgings-”

“Sold, not given,” said Jack, “but pray go on.”

“They took my family away and threw them in prisons whence some did not emerge alive. I swore vengeance against you. Years later the flames of my passions, which had at last subsided, were whipped up again by lies sent my way by devious persons, and I looked for some way to inflict upon you the same pain I phant’sied you’d done to my family. In Manila I met in secret with Edouard de Gex, whom I believed to be my family’s benefactor, and I did conspire with him against you and the other members of the Cabal. Thank God, most were either dead, or had parted from the group and found lives in places as diverse as Japan, Nuba, Queena-Kootah, and New Mexico. Of those who were still on the ship when it was driven on to the reef at Qwghlm, all have found freedom, save you. You, though, I have wounded grievously.”

“No worse than I did you in 1685, or so it would seem.”

“For what you did here in 1685 I forgive you; and for what I believed you had done, I hope you shall forgive me. In token of which I offer you my hand.”

During this discourse Vrej had held his arms crossed somewhat awkwardly before him, as if the right was injured and wanted support from the left. Now he unfolded them and held out the right as if to shake; though he kept it curiously bent at the elbow. Postural oddities aside, Jack, who had lived with Vrej, on and off, for a dozen years, had no doubt of his sincerity. He reached out and shook Vrej’s hand.

Vrej looked him in the eye. “To Moseh, Dappa, van Hoek, Gabriel, Nyazi, Yevgeny, Jeronimo, and Mr. Foot!” Vrej said.

“To the Ten,” Jack agreed, and pumped Vrej’s hand, hard enough to straighten the elbow. At that, something hard slid forth from Vrej’s sleeve and barked Jack’s knuckle. Vrej reached across with his left and slapped his forearm to keep the object from falling out altogether. As Jack could see plainly enough, it was a two-barrelled pocket-pistol.

Not knowing what Vrej had in mind, Jack let go his hand and got between him and Eliza. He’d scarcely done so when he heard a loud noise and saw Etienne d’Arcachon collapsing to the floor.