The Marquis Papers Volume Four: The Marquis

To the Marquise De Maintenon, and to you, dear reader, for helping her memory live on.

Preface

From the editor:

On a rainy Tuesday in the spring of 1967 in Breton, France, my father purchased an old chest inscribed with the chiseled name of Capt. C. Johnson. Whatever craft project the chest was meant for never took place, and it moldered in our attic for many years. Finally a few years ago my father decided it was time at last to move to assisted living, and we cleaned out the attic over several long weekends. In lifting the chest, I was startled that the bottom seemed to have rotted through. On closer inspection, it was made of two thin boards rather than one thick one. Between the boards was sandwiched a wrapped, yellowed, and mouse-eaten manuscript. In a moment of generosity, my father gifted me both rotten chest and smelly manuscript.

Much of this section can be verified by the public record of the Marquis De Maintenon, soldier, captain, pirate and governor. His transfer of his title to the Marquise De Maintenon did take place, and they both remarkably spent time in the Caribbean. The second portion of the manuscript, detailing events after the Marquis' death, is strictly hearsay, although the aqueduct at Maintenon is real enough.

- C. J. Maloney, April 25th, 2017.

1: Trapped In a Gilded Cage

In September of the year of our Lord 16-

As you may recall, I had just gained the full title of Marquis De Maintenon. The real Marquis had died as a pawn in the machinations of the elder vampires who acted as puppet masters of Europe’s royalty. One of these, the Count, had enlisted my service. He borrowed me from Captain Minuit and in full repayment of any obligation I had to any of the vampire clans. I had considered my service to be temporary until the real Marquis was released. But with his death, my service had taken a permanent turn.

Not that my service thus far had been painful. In the company of Madame Scarron and her invalid husband I had enjoyed the society of Paris. I’d also been re-acquainted with Catherine Girauld de Poincy, known to me as Cat, and spent much of the past year in her company. I knew that I had become very fond of her, but never suspected she returned my affection until she showed me a necklace I had made for her while we were both still children on St. Kitt’s. Her display of affection for the necklace gave me great hopes of her affection for me.

But she had departed back to St. Kitt’s and faced possible marriage with some suitable bachelor there. I remained trapped in my façade, facing a life fulfilling the Count’s plan for me. As Marquis I would be presented at court, married off to a suitable noblewoman, and bred like a horse to produce an heir. Only then would I be free to die of mysterious illness and recover my own life. It would be far too late for any attempt at a life with Cat.

Joining me in my suffering was the determined Madame Scarron. Her husband, Monsieur Scarron, was in failing health. Although she only knew of the Count as a manipulating Bishop, his plans for her involved her becoming a nursemaid to the king’s children. Her wishes and aspirations to other things were immaterial to the Count, who brooked no variation to his plans.

My portrait newly installed at the castle of Maintenon, I was required to tour the grounds and make myself familiar with the servants. In this I was joined by Madame Scarron and her husband. Monsieur Scarron was so badly crippled by arthritis his body was bent into the shape of an S. His legs had withered away, and he had to be carried everywhere. Despite his decrepit condition he had one of the brightest minds I have ever encountered. Madame Scarron, who was half his age, hoped the country air would aid his failing health. During our long carriage ride, Monsieur Scarron and Madame Scarron bantered in such a lewd manner I was quite shocked and would have blushed if my training had not included exposure to such talk and worse. As it was, I had to hide my face behind my handkerchief to keep from blushing after a time.

Monsieur Scarron noticed, and reassured me. Do not despair Marquis. I only speak of such things. The spirit is willing but the flesh is decayed beyond any possibility. I cannot embarrass you further.

For my part, broke in Madame Scarron, the only pleasure I shall indulge in at your estate is that of a very large fire. I do love a big fire for taking the chill from the night air.

Monsieur Scarron would only live another year and some months. But he was renewed by his visit to my estate. Both he and Madame Scarron were quite taken with its beauty. This was before the introduction of the King's failed aqueduct and the area around Maintenon was quite rustic and quaint.

My servants had all been Mesmerized to accept me, but even the townsfolk knew my face from my rapidly prepared portrait. It was as if the real Marquis had never existed at all. I was shown all the rooms and laughed about memories of a childhood I did not remember because I had never lived it. Madame Scarron marveled at how an uncouth little hellion like me had grown so cultured and calm. She credited the influence of the church upon me, telling me a story about her first experiences with nuns and her final gentle conversion by an Ursaline sister who had shown her kindness and patience. I dared not tell her my own experience with the church, with the Red Hand, involved torture and bloodshed. Who among mortals could I explain my life to without condemnation and disbelieving stares?

When we finally left Maintenon, Monsieur Scarron told me he would buy my estate, if it could be had for a poem, for that is all I can offer you. I looked over at this shrewd little wasted man, strapped painfully into his carriage seat. But he was looking at Madame Scarron, devotion in his eyes. I would buy it for my lovely wife, so that she might have somewhere to rest her head once I am gone.

Madame Scarron was quite a handsome woman, but she became an angel under his approving gaze. I felt a pang for my own love, now sailed half-way around the earth. Their happiness made my despair all the more poignant.

I only wish I could sell you the estate, Monsieur Scarron. If I could sell it for a poem of yours, I would consider myself lucky. Very lucky indeed, and free. Madame Scarron caught my eye, and I could see an idea forming in her mind.

When we returned to our shared home in the Marais District I found myself more depressed than ever. Every stick of furniture, every time of the day, reminded me of Cat. Even our gay gatherings in the Scarrons’ yellow drawing rooms, spilling over into my own quarters, brought me no joy. Madame Scarron noticed and banned me from the gatherings until, I had regained some measure of my lost wit. If you cannot be witty, be pleasant. If you cannot be pleasant, be absent.

So it was while a gathering was in full swing that I received my apparition. I was sitting on the settee in exactly the spot where Cat and I had shared many happy hours. I dared not even write to her, for fear that her father would receive the letter and assume that her virtue had been compromised. Worse yet, she might already be married by the time my letter reached her, its only effect to cause her pain and embarrassment. I sat in paralyzed misery, as I had so many nights before.

From behind me came Captain Minuit’s deep voice. What lass has done this to you, my dear Marquis? I thought for an instant that I had imagined his voice. Then I turned so suddenly I fell off the settee and landed heavily on the floor, wig askew.

Captain Minuit laughed, a deep, rich sound like butter. When he started, he couldn’t stop. It was as if he’d a bellyful of laughter and could not stop until he was empty.

I sat in stunned silence until he finished. He was heaving, hands on his knees. From his downturned face he gasped out, Thankee lad. I needed that. Not since the island was lost have I laughed so hard.

2: The Captain

Captain Minuit? What are you doing here?

The Captain doffed his large hat and sat down on the settee I had so recently vacated. His boots were muddy and his cape tattered. Even in the moonlight I could see a dozen tears in his clothing that could only have come from blades.

First, my dear Marquis, Captain Minuit is dead. Buried under a ton of rock and never to be seen again. Call me Captain Bernard Le Moigne, my name here in French parts. If we return to the Caribbean, I shall have to take an English name.

I wanted to laugh at the Captain’s choice of name, for Le Moigne means the monk in French. It was certainly a jibe at the Red Hand. But I had a deep foreboding. What happened at the Arctic Refuge?

Gone. Captain Minuit, now Captain Le Moigne, looked tight. Destroyed by the combined evils of the Red Hand and that fiend the Baron. His quarry, that fool Thog, wasn’t even touched. Thog went scampering off while his vengeful pursuer took apart every stone of the island. We weathered the Red Hand only to be taken from behind by the Baron’s vampires. Never stood a chance. They killed Marie. Destroyed her while most of us were out dealing with the Red Hand. They set on her when she returned to the caves. She took half-a-dozen with her, but she is no more. I saw his face twist with pain.

How many are left? I was hushed, thinking of the crew.

I know not. When I learned of Marie’s death, I went in search of Thog. If I’d turned him over to the Baron after the loss of the island, none of this would have happened. Now I’ll use him as a lure to gain entrance to the Baron’s presence, then I’ll kill them both.

It was too much, too quickly. So where is Thog?

The newly christened Captain Le Moigne, who I will continue to refer to as Captain Minuit going forward, glared at me. How should I know? I’ve chased him across half the globe, catching the next boat behind him every step of the way. On the passage over I pushed my Mesmerized crew mercilessly, but we couldn’t catch him. I tracked him from Rotterdam to Paris. But I’ve lost him in this gutter of a city. He’s gone underground, but I have no sense of the corridors under the city. I need the Count’s help. Then I remembered I had a friend here who might aid me. Do you know where to find the Count?

I thought for a moment. Maintenon. Any time he isn’t in the city he is out with his clan at Maintenon.

Can you take me there? It’s almost morning and I may only have a day’s lead on whoever might be pursuing me. Thog had mentioned you might have a special coach?

So it was, that very night, I roused Antoine and we set out for Maintenon. I left a note for Madame Scarron, telling her I had gone, to find my wit.

Antoine traveled through the night, but I fell asleep on the carriage seat. Captain Minuit was safely hidden under the opposite seat. Imagine my surprise when I awoke in the morning and saw the Captain sitting comfortably on the seat opposite. The shades were closed, but enough sunlight entered for me to see it was late morning.

As I watched, Captain Minuit let the sunlight play across his palm. I could not even see the least reddening.

Is it not marvelous? asked the Captain. Waterspout was perfecting Sebastian’s formula for blocking sunlight. I fear its secret may have died with him at the Arctic Refuge. But he left four vials behind him. I used a bit to coat my face and hands before the last coach stop. Then I dismounted to take a bit of air, thank your coachman, and to throw off my pursuit. If they pursued you out of town they will turn back when they hear your companion withstood direct sunlight without burning.

It is stunning. I remembered the burning woman in London. How would I have fared if she and her cronies had been impervious to sunlight? I shuddered.

So, tell me of your time in France. The Captain leaned back and listened.

I told him everything, from my arrival in Rotterdam to my time as an itinerant doctor and my current status as the permanent Marquis.

Captain Minuit shook his head when I said my position as Marquis was permanent. That was never part of our bargain. The Count has no right to make your position permanent. You’ve served me well, Tom. I cannot allow your short life to be spent in the Count’s service. Once I finish with this cursed Baron we’ll sail to St. Kitt’s together and fetch you your mate.

Despite myself, I smiled at his use of the vampire’s term for a female partner.

The Captain had lapsed into dark thoughts at the mention of mates. I asked him for details of the attack, hoping to distract him from the loss of Marie.

Our attackers had details of everything, said the Captain darkly. They knew every single member of both clans. So they blocked all of our strengths and exploited our weaknesses. I’ve never lost so badly to the Chronics in my life.

But I thought you won.

"Aye, but the victory cost me four of my crew. They converted most of our tribe before we knew what had happened and sent the tribe in to fetch us out. We had to fight, because they were all burrowing into our mound from the top. Without Waterspout’s formula, we’d all have burned to a crisp in minutes. Even with the protection, we were cornered like rats and cut to pieces by crossbows.

"The only advantage to being forced close together was that they didn’t have any chance to take our fallen heads. It was still a very close thing, but when the still human members of the Red Hand saw we weren’t burning they turned and fled. The Chronics hesitated enough they let us break free of their circle. Then it was just a matter of cleaning up.

"We figured some of the Hand might have headed north toward Marie’s settlement. But we waited until nightfall to send a runner. If only we had gone directly as a group we might have saved them. For there were two boats of Red Hand Chronics. Without Waterspout’s ointment Marie and her clan were trapped inside their mound and had to fight within the box of their own living quarters.

Claw, our runner, arrived after it was all over. From the wreckage, they must have burned all day. By late afternoon, the Hand must have assumed the Clan was all dead. They descended into the mound and were massacred because Marie and her Clan had dug down into the earth and buried themselves to be safe from the sun.

But by the time Claw arrived, the Clan had been torn to pieces by the Baron’s vampires. Marie's clan must have thought the vampires were us coming to help, and welcomed them with open arms. But the Baron’s trained killers ripped into them and left none alive.

"Claw raced back to warn us, but we’d already been set upon. I know not if it was the same band or another, only that we dispatched them. Urchin had given us warning of their coming. We lay down as if in death and rose as a mass when they were scattered among us. Killers or no, they were spooked by our sudden revival and failed to mount an organized defense. In hand-to-hand combat, none of them holds a candle to any on my crew.

Then I heard of Marie’s death and looked around for Thog. I saw him missing and went after him. The rest you know.

So you don’t know what happened to the rest of the crew?

I am ashamed I do not know the final outcome. I abandoned my crew and the shreds of my clan in my madness. Imagine for a moment if someone had murdered this Cat of yours. I did. I felt an anger growing in me until I could not see well.

"Aye, that’s it.