The easel stood right before the sun. It had a canvas on it, and the legs of an individual could be seen from below. The wind blew through the open window and billowed the curtains. The person’s hair swayed along with it. The color of the hair was as red as wine poured into a glass. Jean lifted his head.
‘Jean.’
He was aware of the particular day that lay unfolded before him, vivid in his mind and sight. It was the morning when he stirred from his sleep, observing the prince paint. It had felt as though only the two of them remained in the entire palace after the music ceased. It was the morning when he awoke from his sweet slumber after making love, an act akin to dancing.
‘My Montespan.’
Jean knew that the prince had not uttered these words. Indeed, they existed solely within the confines of his own mind, which rendered the situation all the more preposterous.
‘Have you awakened?’
He had no reason to be reminded of the prince in such a way. Not a single one.
“Jean.”
His dream faded away from him. It was merely a nap, somewhere between the conscious and the unconscious. Jean lifted his eyelids. He had dozed off, having arrived at Cornell’s pub earlier than he had anticipated. Before him, Wickham sat, whose cheeks were reddened from the cold. He must have just arrived at the pub.
“Are you weary?”
“...I was momentarily drawn to drowsiness. ’Tis cold outside, whilst in here, ’tis warm.”
The dream must not have left a trace in Jean’s countenance for Wickham to see. As it should, thought Jean to himself. It was the proper way the dream should affect Jean—not so strong, not so firm. It was a memory he was soon to rid of, in any case. Jean tapped his own cheek twice and chased away the sleep. His brethren were gathering one by one in the pub.
“Right, might I have your attention, everyone?”
They had gathered together and sat at a long table. Cornell had brought out drinks according to the number of members present. It was a meeting among the brethren, but all those who had gathered were those assigned with tasks of significance, making their number close to twenty. Per usual, the meeting was hosted and led by Wickham.
“The army of the Grand Duke has begun moving as we have desired. The legion with the largest number of men has headed southward. Some have been dispersed to other regions as well, but the north has its mountain ranges, rendering it free of threat, and the east and the west do not require many men to guard. Most of all, the coldest time of the winter shall come to its end after this week. I have been told that the shallowest part of the river has begun its phase of thawing and freezing.”
The men let out a low whoop of approval. Some whistled at Wickham, who had raised his glass in the air. Jean looked at the excited faces of his brethren. Their countenance was colored red from the anticipation.
“And the greatest news of all, as I have said prior, is that the Little Pearl that our brother Jean has been so eager in search has been revealed to be Lady of the Southern Border! She is a gracious and sophisticated lady who has always had her heart in the revolution. And owing to her, the soldiers sent south would not be able to trod upon the capital alive. Do you know what this means?”
Aaargh!—the brethren howled their battle cry in unison. Wickham, after exciting the crowd, handed the turn to speak to Jean. Everyone’s gaze and attention were directed at Jean, who smiled briefly.
“You have all toiled much to arrive at this moment.”
He began with words of appreciation. Every orb sparkled as it looked at him. Jean unscrolled the map he had brought with him long on the table. Joachim lay in it, diminished smaller than its life size through depiction. Jean pointed at the end of the southern border on the map with the tip of his swagger stick.
“The Grand Duke’s army would arrive here in a few days’ time. The gates shall be opened, and they shall cross the Baden Fortress and camp in the border, waiting for our sign—although it would not be the sign that they have been waiting for.”
Jean heard a light laughter travel across the crowd. He moved the swagger stick again.
“The river will thaw, and the soldiers will not be able to cross it immediately. Their feet will be tied, giving us time. Baden expects to hit the army once it crosses the river, which means that we must end the circumstance in the capital by that time. Some of the Grand Duke Robert’s men will remain in the capital. Among them are our brethren who have infiltrated the ducal force, and they are tasked with trailing the Crown Prince.”
The tip of Jean’s stick was now pointing at the Royal Palace in the capital. Wickham took away a layer of the map, revealing the blueprint of a structure underneath. It was a structure Jean was accustomed to. He found himself unable to speak briefly. He licked his lips, then proceeded to continue speaking.
“...They are not his guards.”
Only after saying the words did he remember what he had promised himself on the first day he had joined Maximillian in bed. Jean had vowed to himself that all this was to sever the prince’s neck in the future.
“The ducal force shall take out the Crown Prince. Prior to that, it will suffice to feign guarding the palace. You may light the palace on fire, and should the need arise, you may kill the enemy. We merely have to humor the Grand Duke, and after that, we will position ourselves behind his army.”
Jean proceeded resolutely, having now steered himself back onto the correct path, albeit with a brief deviation.
“And after the Crown Prince is killed—”
Aye, Jean was back on the right path, although he would not be able to sever that delicate neck himself.
“—slay everyone in the Royal Palace. We, ourselves, should suffice to stand as the witness to this momentous progression of history.”
A roar of cheer was followed. It was loud enough to be deemed dangerous, but neither Wickham nor Jean restrained their brethren. Soon, the brethren, with their beer tankards in their hands, began chanting the song they had composed before. Maximillian, the Whore of Joachim. The line was sung several times, in a tune brisk and cheerful.
“On which day shall the deed be commenced?”
In the middle of the chaos, someone had asked. The pub briefly fell silent, and Jean made an answer in a calm voice.
“Old wisdom tells us that deeds of greatness ought to follow a celebration.”
Several pairs of eyes blinked at the same time upon hearing Jean’s mumbling. And Jean, who made a slight smile, looking at them, finished his speech.
“The day after the betrothal of Baden and Erhardt, we shall usher in the new world.”