Chapter 7 Gideon ‘Then’
Gideon
Then
Little Prince, I have work for you. A furniture store owner named Jean-Luc hasn’t paid his debts. You know what must be done. You are to go to him during the day and leave your message on his sleeping form. He may have sold his bed, so he sleeps in some unconventional way.
Do not fear him, but do not visit him after sundown.
Lucien
I HURRY ALONG THE BANKS of the Seine. I’m late. Already the sun dips below the horizon. But I slept too long and when I wasn’t sleeping, I lay in my bed, conjuring the sultry eyes of one Arabella Macquart.
My boss, Lucien, is still sleeping off his night in our luxury pied-à-terre, along with his other two bodyguards.
This isn’t unusual – I’ve never seen him up before sundown.
He conducts his business at night, meeting his clients in private clubs or entertaining them at the opera, while I do his more unsavoury work during the day.
Usually, I sleep while they party, but last night, Lucien had wanted to “treat” me for my good work.
There’s only one treat I want from Lucien – to have my brother back.
I rub the scars crisscrossing my forearms. My body has changed since I came to Paris in search of Jacob. The muscles I built on labouring jobs have been sharpened by my grisly work. My skin is now a map of Paris drawn in blood.
I’m a mess, not just in my body, but in my soul.
And I can’t leave. I belong to Lucien Vega until Jacob’s debt is paid.
I reach my destination – a small, nondescript shop overlooking a boggy section of river. The sign outside is bright and clean, but there are indications of hard times – rubbish beneath the window, vacant shops on either side with their windows boarded up and lewd graffiti splashed about.
I step inside. The place reeks of dampness.
The water must have got in, judging by the ruined furniture stacked beside the door with sales prices affixed – a pittance compared to what such exquisite pieces are worth.
A stooped old man hunches over a barrel serving as his counter. There are no customers inside.
“Whaddya want?” The old man doesn’t look up from his ledger as I approach.
“Bonjour.” I draw my dagger from my coat. It’s a special one given to me by Lucien, the blade inlaid in silver. Truthfully, it’s an impractical blade, too flimsy and prone to breakage, but Lucien insists I use it. “I’m here on behalf of Lucien Vega to collect what’s owed.”
I spit a piece of tooth as I wander back along the Seine.
Not my tooth, thankfully. It’s strangely curved and sharp.
The job went south quickly. The old man couldn’t pay, of course. They never can. But he was surprisingly sprightly and tough for his advanced years. His left hook sent me hurtling into his tower of rotting commodes. His right had me seeing constellations.
It was only after I cut him with Lucien’s blade that he became weak enough for me to overpower, and now I have several new scars to add to my collection.
My head thuds.
I reach the pied-à-terre and let myself inside.
All is silent. Lucien and his bodyguards are out for the evening.
I clean the knife in the kitchen and help myself to some of the bread, ham and cheese I’d purchased at the market yesterday.
I left a plate of food for Lucien before I went out, but he hasn’t touched it.
I lick cheese crumbs off my fingers and take the plate downstairs.
The temperature drops as I descend the steps to the wine cellar. I grab a bottle from the shelf without looking at the label and make my way to the shackled figure hunched beneath the one small, barred window.
“I brought you some food.” I hold out the plate. A hand reaches out from beneath the filthy blankets and snatches the plate from my hands. One aquamarine eye regards me as Jacob shoves a wedge of cheese into his mouth.
We eat in strained silence until both our plates are clean.
Jacob leans against the stone wall. His chains clank together as he raises the bottle to his lips and draws out the cork with his teeth.
His Adam’s apple bobs, and I see the strange scars dotting his neck.
There are fresh bruises and puncture marks.
Jacob offers the bottle to me with a trembling hand.
“Not for me, brother.”
When you grow up with a man like my father, a man who becomes a monster after a drink, you have but two choices – you either run away so you never have to see the monster ever again, or you become an even bigger monster so that he can’t have power over you.
My brother and I each chose our path, and now we are both paying the price.
The hand retracts. Jacob takes a long swig. Even in the pale square of moonlight from the window above, I can see that his forehead shines with sweat.
“The wine here tastes like vinegar.” Jacob makes a face, but he doesn’t stop gulping down mouthfuls of the dark claret. “What I wouldn’t give for a drop of the Pauillac red we used to have at home.”
I hate the way he says “home” fondly, as if there was ever something to love about that place. I know that if I open my mouth to speak, I will say something I’ll regret, so I remain silent.
“Have you ever tried that stuff Lucien drinks, in the dusty old bottles?” Jacob wags his finger at me. “He gave me a glass once. I nearly spat it out in his face. That’s no merlot.”
“I won’t accept anything from Lucien, apart from his money.”
And a night of debauchery in the company of a beautiful, beguiling woman.
I didn’t touch the absinthe Arabella poured, but ever since I laid eyes on her, my head’s been filled with fog.
“That’s right.” Jacob’s lip curls back. “I forgot. You’re here to save my poor, corrupted soul.”
“Not your soul, Jacob. Just your skin.”
Jacob rubs his hand over his injured neck. “And how goes it, Gideon? How many pounds of my flesh have you worked off my debt? Does Lucien get to keep my pancreas?”
“Your debt is nearly cleared.”
Another lie. Every time I ask Lucien about the size of Jacob’s debt, he remembers an additional payment my brother owes or shows me the interest accruing in eye-watering amounts. But what choice do I have? I can’t leave Jacob like this.
“You should run, Gideon. Get out of Paris. Don’t you see?” Jacob’s eyes widen with fear. He scratches a sore on his neck. “Now that he knows how good you are, Lucien will never let you go. And he has his uses for me too, tied up like this.”
“I’m not abandoning you again.”
I hate myself for leaving him. I escaped our small village as soon as I was old enough to work.
Labouring is hard, but honest. I may not have had the elegant attire or fine lodgings of Lucien’s gang, but I had money for food and board and no longer feared my drunken father returning home to drag me out of bed for a beating.
I thought that Jacob would be safe – our father never touched him, as he was the favourite.
Instead, Jacob followed Dad into the darkness.
He drank too much, gambled too much, and owed too many bad debts to Lucien Vega.
Even then, I might not have come to Paris to help him, but when I received Jacob’s letter begging for help, he hinted that the things Lucien made him do frightened him.
The envelope was stained with blood. So I came with my meagre savings, thinking I could clear Jacob’s debts, but it wasn’t enough for Lucien, especially not once he got a taste of how good I was at his line of work.
“It’s the least I deserve.” Jacob’s body sags. He lets out a series of wet, hacking coughs. “Pass me another bottle, brother.”
I don’t want to give him more wine, but whatever Lucien is doing to Jacob, he needs to be drunk to endure it. I never could deny my baby brother anything. I hand him a pinot noir from the shelf just as a scraping noise and voices upstairs reach my ears.
“That will be the Devil and his minions now.” Jacob waves a hand at me. “You’d best run upstairs, so he doesn’t think we’re conspiring to escape him.”
“We wouldn’t dare.” I pat my brother on the head and turn away, unable to look at him any longer.
He looks so much like our father after one of his beatings, all broken and sorrowful, filled with self-loathing.
His chains clank and the wine in the bottle splashes as I drag myself up the narrow stone steps.
Lucien sits at the kitchen table, his eyes two bright lamps in the gloom.
“Hello, Lucien. I didn’t expect you back for some time.” He doesn’t usually return during the night. His lips are swollen, stained with red from the wine he’s been drinking. He shifts in his seat, putting me instantly on edge. “I was just giving Jacob some food.”
“I came home to check on my Little Prince.” Lucien’s smile is all teeth and menace. “You are back late. And what has happened to your face? A quarrel with your dear brother?”
“The old man attacked me.”
Lucien’s eyes flash. “He should not have been awake. I told you to go during the daytime!”
“It’s fine. I got the job done. Payment received.” I drop the old man’s purse on the table, next to one of his fingers. The leather of the purse bears my bloody handprint.
Lucien looks me over, his gaze lingering on my throat. I swallow. His smile grows wider, and the dark is playing tricks on me because it appears as though two of his teeth have grown into sharp, curved fangs.
“Excellent work, as always.” Lucien sips his drink, his expression turning thoughtful as he studies me.
“I have a new job for you. I know I can trust you to get this done. Last night’s excursion was not simply for enjoyment.
I was conducting an investigation. Do you recall the courtesan you spoke to? ”
“Arabella Macquart.” How could I possibly forget her?
Something of my feelings must show in my face because Lucien’s lips curl back with disdain. “Do not allow her pretty looks or elegant manner to fool you. She is dangerous.”
I lean forward, intrigued.
“You saw the necklace she wears around her neck, no?”
“The paste?”