Tannhauser 02: The Twelve Children of Paris (45 page)

Estelle had asked Grymonde.

‘So Typhaine won’t stop you from seeing me?’

‘She couldn’t stop me if she tried.’

Grymonde had talked to Joco and Gobbo. He had given them the job.

Last night, Estelle had climbed the roof and gone down the chimney.

Grymonde hadn’t really wanted her to, and neither had Estelle. It was Joco’s idea, though Estelle knew it was a good one. Grymonde had given her the choice, and because she knew it would help her dragon, she had said yes.

Now she was cast out, because of the lady from the south.

Carla.

Estelle didn’t like to cry. She had learned not to, unless it served some purpose, which was rare. But as she circled Les Halles and drifted north up the Rue Saint-Denis she cried. She heard other cries – screams – echoing down the streets, but she didn’t care. Here and there she saw piles of dead bodies, and bands of men with axes and spears, but she didn’t care, and they paid her no mind.

Carla had not been mean; even though Estelle had been mean to her. Carla had been tender. She had told Grymonde she was brave. And if not for Carla, Altan would have killed her, she knew. Yet, she also knew that, somehow, Carla had caused her banishment.

She couldn’t hate Grymonde. Grymonde was the king, so he had to be mean; sometimes, even to her, she supposed; even though he had never been mean to her before. She had failed, it was true. But if bravery wasn’t enough, what was? She didn’t have anything else to give. She thought about it. That was true, too. She had nothing at all.

What tormented her most was that Grymonde had taken Carla inside his house.

Why?

He’d never taken Estelle inside his house. Never, ever.

Estelle ran out of tears. Her belly ached and she felt dizzy.

She went home.

Typhaine and the brothers rented two rooms on the second floor. The brothers hadn’t always been around, but this was at least the third summer Estelle could remember having to bear their rages and their smell. As she got to the door she heard her mother and Joco bickering. Estelle knew how to sleep through bickering.

‘They cut his cock and balls off,’ whined Joco.

‘That’s no loss to the world and neither is he,’ said Typhaine. ‘I should’ve got rid of you bastards a long time ago. Look at me. A count once had me in his bed, and more than once, too.’

‘Don’t we know it? The whole street knows it. Christ!’

Joco broke off in a prolonged groan. Estelle walked in and saw Joco gasping on the bed. His back was arched rigid and his hands clawed the mattress in agony. Uttering a series of short whimpers he lowered himself back down as if onto broken glass. He took shallow, timid, breaths, as if each plunged a knife in him.

‘He must have broken five ribs, on either side. Or broken me back.’

‘And you didn’t get a sou? Arsehole. Did they cut your balls off, too?’

‘They couldn’t, could they, ’cause you got there first.’

‘That poxed bastard did it to flout me. No, he’s too stupid to think that far.’

‘I need to piss. Oh Jesus!’

Joco whimpered through another spasm.

‘Grymonde made Joco eat a dead dog,’ said Estelle.

‘Don’t you start, rat face. Typhaine, pass me the pot.’

‘Get it yourself.’

‘I can’t even sit up. Do you want me to piss the bed? Give me that jar.’

Typhaine emptied wine from the jar into two bowls and dropped it on Joco’s stomach. While he fumbled with himself and moaned, she turned on Estelle.

‘And where’ve you been? I’ve been worried to death.’

Estelle didn’t believe this for an instant. Typhaine was still slender, still very pretty; her dark red hair was still lush and wild. Estelle had once thought her beautiful; she didn’t know what had changed. Typhaine had often told her she was descended from Irish kings and Estelle believed it. Once, when giggling drunk, she’d told her that Estelle had royal French blood, too; but she’d never said it again, and Estelle doubted it.

‘And where’s your smock? Christ, put something on.’

‘I’m hungry,’ said Estelle.

‘There’s bread and cold soup in the kitchen. It’s too hot for a fire.’

Estelle ate while Typhaine taunted Joco. She found her eyes closing between spoonfuls. There was an urgent knock on the front door. It roused her and she ate more soup. A third voice joined the squabble and Estelle started to feel sick.

She knew the voice.

Nasal, high-pitched, not like most people’s.

Petit Christian.

She felt afraid. She went to the doorway and listened. He was asking questions about the raid on the Hôtel last night. How did he know about that? He was a toady, the kind who knew lots of things about lots of things. She was glad he was talking about the raid and not about her.

One night last winter, Typhaine and Joco had taken her to Petit Christian and told her to go with him. He’d taken her to a grand
hôtel
near the Louvre, far bigger and more splendid than the one they had attacked that morning. When she went inside, it was a place such as she’d never imagined existed. Petit Christian and a woman had bathed her and washed her hair with perfume and dressed her in a beautiful blue gown, such as she’d never worn, with a gold star on the front, which they told her was the Star of Bethlehem. Then they’d told her that she was to play a game, in which she would pretend to be Mary Magdalene. Estelle knew the name, but not what it meant, and they told her the Magdalene was a special friend of Jesus.

They took her into a huge bedroom. In the bedroom was a man in a long white robe and wearing a crown of thorns, though the thorns weren’t real, in case they might hurt his head. He looked like Jesus in some of the paintings in churches. He put his feet in a silver bowl of water, and they told Estelle to wash his feet with her hair.

Estelle said no. He could wash his own feet.

She didn’t remember the rest, though she sometimes had dreams. She had never told anyone. Typhaine had never asked what happened. Estelle sensed she knew. She could never tell Grymonde. They’d taken her to Christian a second time; but she’d run away from him and lived with the rats for three days.

She heard Joco say: ‘They were all of them alive when I left, except the Turk, so what more can I tell you? Ask Estelle, she was still there.’

Estelle was so scared she couldn’t move. Christian came to the doorway. He was all in green, like a toad. His face made her sicker than his voice. His smile was even worse.

‘How is our little Magdalene? Pretty as ever. Though a bath wouldn’t hurt.’

Estelle retreated across the kitchen. She felt her belt for her knife, but she’d given it to Grymonde, so she wouldn’t stab herself going down the chimney. She took a carving knife from the sideboard. Its hilt was so big she had to use both hands.

‘Put that down,’ said Typhaine. ‘He just wants to ask you about this morning. Tell him and he’ll buy both of us a new frock.’

‘I don’t want a new frock.’

‘She has sentiments for Grymonde,’ Typhaine explained to Christian.

‘I have only one question, my little hedgehog.’

Christian was trying to charm her. Estelle’s stomach hurt.

‘I’m not a hedgehog. And I’m not a nose.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. No one likes a nose. But noses harm their friends, and this is a matter of helping your friends. Joco says there was a fine lady at the Hôtel D’Aubray, named Carla. Do you remember?’

‘Grymonde made Joco eat a dead dog.’

‘I’m sure he enjoyed it. But tell me, what happened to Carla after Joco left?’

‘I was sent away, too, and it wasn’t fair. I was brave. Even Carla said I was brave.’

‘Carla was right, you were very, very brave. Where was she?’

‘She was sitting in a chair in the street. Then I ran away, from the boys.’

Christian pouted. He was frustrated.

‘Why do you want to know?’ asked Estelle.

Christian studied her. Estelle squeezed the knife.

‘Carla is a special, sweet lady,’ said Christian. ‘The people who love her want to know what happened to her. They’re very worried for her.’

‘What people?’

‘Well, her husband for one. He’s a great chevalier, you know. He would pay a lot of gold to find her. He would pay even more to get her back. It’s called a ransom.’

Estelle struggled. She didn’t like Carla being in Grymonde’s house. Wouldn’t Carla rather be in her own house, with the chevalier who loved her? Petit Christian did work for
Les Messieurs
. And Grymonde liked gold. It all made sense, yet her stomach still hurt her.

‘Would the chevalier give the gold to Grymonde?’

‘Of course he would, lots of gold, if Grymonde knew where she was. The chevalier would be happy, Carla would be happy and Grymonde would be happiest of all.’

‘Estelle,’ said Typhaine. ‘Where is she?’

‘Carla is with Grymonde, in Cockaigne, in his house. She has a baby inside her.’

‘How do you know this?’ asked Petit Christian.

‘I followed them. I saw her go into the house.’

‘Grymonde didn’t hurt her?’

‘No. He was kind to her. He told everyone she was their new sister.’

‘What did I tell you?’ Joco’s voice wavered in from the bedroom. He whimpered with pain. ‘That’s why he tucked me up. The Infant’s ardent. She charmed him.’

‘Don’t make me laugh,’ said Typhaine. ‘He was only ever ardent for one and that was me.’

‘Hold your filthy tongues,’ said Christian.

He turned back to Estelle and smiled. Her skin crawled.

‘Do you think Grymonde is fond of Carla? Does he like her?’

Estelle hated these questions. She was sure Grymonde liked Carla.

‘Well, who’d have believed it?’ said Typhaine, staring at her.

‘I said keep quiet,’ snapped Christian. ‘Estelle? Does Grymonde like Carla?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose so.’

‘Good girl,’ smiled Christian. ‘You shall have two frocks.’

‘I don’t want your frocks.’

‘Then I’ll have all three,’ said Typhaine. ‘I’ll buy them myself if you don’t mind.’ She held out her hand to Christian. ‘We didn’t make a penny today so we want our share, three shares for the job, and the rest for this one. After all, it was me who put you onto that monster –’ she glanced at Estelle. ‘It was my idea in the first place.’

‘Indeed. Look how it has turned out.’

Christian left the kitchen, with Typhaine in pursuit. Estelle ran to the door and spied. Petit Christian gave Typhaine an
écu d’or
and before she could protest put a finger to his lips.

‘There’ll be more, later, much more. Stay here until I return. All of you.’

As he shut the front door behind him, Estelle’s relief was so great her legs trembled. She went to curl up on her sheepskin by the hearth. She still had the ache in her stomach but didn’t know why. She wasn’t a nose. Grymonde would get some gold, and Carla would go home to her chevalier. What was wrong with that? Estelle could fly with the dragon, like before. As she drifted to sleep she heard her mother complaining to Joco.

‘Who does that little bitch think he is? Never any pleasing him. If the boys aren’t too old, the girls are too young. He asked me if I knew anyone mad enough to do it and I told him. What in Christ’s name did he expect? What fool would hire a madman and not expect him to act like one?’

When Estelle woke up a heavy rain was falling outside the open windows and the light was grey. She got up from the sheepskin. She wanted to go out before the shower passed and run around under the drops. She felt hot and dirty, and the rain would be cool and clean. She heard Typhaine ranting next door and didn’t bother to listen. It was another good reason to get out. She found a dirty smock in a basket and pulled it on. She went to the bedroom and found that Petit Christian had returned.

‘He’d kill me on sight,’ said Typhaine. ‘Anyway, the police have never been up the Yards. You couldn’t pay ’em to go.’

‘If no one has ever been there they won’t be expecting us,’ said Christian. ‘We’ll be in and out in half an hour. You’ll be perfectly safe. Besides, we’re talking about the Soldiers of Christ, and a contingent of Swiss Guard, not a gaggle of chicken-hearted
sergents
.’

Estelle saw that two
sergents
stood inside the front door. The insult didn’t bother them. One she recognised because he was known not to take bribes: he was called Baro, and unlike most he was a real killer. The other
sergent
yawned and polished his single front tooth on a knuckle. The tooth was brown. Christian continued.

‘If you don’t want him to see you, you can leave as soon as you get there.’

‘Speaking of cowards,’ said Typhaine, ‘are you going with them?’

‘I’m not sure that will be necessary and in any case it’s irrelevant.’

From the bed, Joco said, ‘I’ll take you there, if you make it worth my while.’

‘You couldn’t walk to the door,’ sneered Typhaine. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t miss this for a solid gold pisspot with the King’s head graved inside. In fact, you can put the same on my bill.’

Estelle felt sick again, like Petit Christian had made her feel before. They were going to do something bad to Grymonde. They weren’t going to give him lots of gold to take Carla home. They hadn’t said, exactly, that that was what they were going to do, but she knew spite when she heard it, and the sound of plots and lies and treachery. The spite was deep in Typhaine’s heart. Why did she hate Grymonde? The spite was in Christian’s eyes. He hated Grymonde, too.

Estelle had to warn Grymonde.

‘Very well,’ said Christian. ‘Come with me, now, and you’ll see it all.’

‘I can’t go like this, I’ve got to get changed,’ said Typhaine. Her look warned Christian not to argue. ‘It’ll give this thunder shower a chance to blow over.’

Estelle crept to the door. The two
sergents
looked down at her.

‘Where do you think you’re going, madame?’ said Typhaine.

‘I want to go out in the rain. I’m hot.’

‘Your arse’ll be hot when I’ve finished tanning it. Get back in the kitchen.’

‘This good
sergent
will make sure no one leaves,’ said Christian.

He nodded at the one with the single brown tooth. Christian smiled at Estelle, as if he saw a chance to be cruel to her instead of to Typhaine. He reached in his purse and took out a silver franc between finger and thumb.