Paris, May 1799 - Indecent Proposal

---------------------- Paris, Sanctuary of the Assassins, May 1799 -------

For hours, the three Masters of the council seemed to be arguing over how to proceed further regarding Sieyès. Adeláire patiently waited with her arms folded behind her back. She had delivered her report completely, and had always given the same answers for what felt an eternity. She therefore allowed herself a very restrained breath, as Master Trenet finally ended the discussion with an energetic gesture.

"Enough, gentlemen. We should come to a decision. And before we decide and act rashly, we should tackle a last attempt to attack at Monsieur Dorian."

That caused more turmoil. Adeláire knew that Master Beylier didn’t particularly like Arno and that he was glad, that the young one had been exiled. How Master Quemar stood on that issue was mostly unclear. Adeláire, however, always assumed a certain sadness when he spoke of Dorian. Master Trenet, like Mirabeau, had seen great potential in him. If true, then she mourned more for an excellent Assassin, than for the man himself. Why they had given Dorian back the management of Café Théâtre when he returned from Saint-Denis was a mystery to her. Had they hoped to win him back? Sighing, Adeláire squeezed her shoulders for a moment and made up her mind to wait further.

"I said enough. And I am reluctant to repeat myself gentlemen,” Master Trenet snarled finally, relentless. Her eyes ignored any further gesture of her colleagues and pinned to the young woman in front of her.

"Assassin, the Council here again gives you the order to move Monsieur Dorian to work with us in terms of Sieyès and Bonaparte. To this end, you are given permission to use any average value, and with that we really mean any average value, to achieve this goal. It is of delicate urgency that we get access to Bonaparte. And as timely as possible. Do you understand?"

Adelàire had lowered her arms and head in front of the councilors during the official address of her title. Now, she raised her eyes and eyed the three masters.

"Forgive my inquiry, but what does the Council understand by any 'average value'?" Not that Adeláire had no idea what the three masters wanted. She simply couldn’t really believe she was being asked to do so.

"Now Mademoiselle Fontaine, we think you know very well what we mean. You are a woman. Dorian is a man. And as far as we know, he has always remained alone since the events surrounding the Silversmith. For someone like you, it should be easy..." Adeláire felt her temper rise in seconds.

"Forgive my possible disrespect, but is that the only reason why my person was set on Dorian and not someone else? Because I am a woman and the possible way of a seduction is open? Shall it tell me, that my abilities are found only between my thighs? Is this really the way the Council and the Assassins are working now?" She could hear the hissing in her voice and wondered in the next moment what the consequences of this bitter failure would be for her. Her burning gaze remained fixed on Master Beylier, when he took the word.

"Yes, Mademoiselle Fontaine. This is one way the Council and the Assassins work. In shadow, hidden, undetected, secret. If even a Master Assassin such as Claudia Auditore was not too fine to lead a brothel for years, where should there be a problem for you in such solutions? If you do not feel empowered to work and think in this way, we should probably review your rank as an Assassin again. Should we, Mademoiselle Fontaine?"

Adeláire's hands were opened and closed in front of withheld anger over and over again. Master Beylier's gaze was hard and cold as stone, meeting her fire with stoic equanimity. Master Trenet didn’t seem pleased, but she didn’t contradict. Master Quemar considered deliberately the papers scattered on the table. Angry and helpless Adeláire finally surrendered, her head lowered.

"No, Master Beylier. I will do as the Council orders." Her voice was pressed and accompanied by a controlled breath. Without losing any more, Adeláire turned on her heel and strode out of the sanctuary. It was not the first time that she frowned at one of the Council's decisions. But this time was the premiere of what could be called complete disagreement. Did it start the same way with Dorian, back then?

------------------------------------- Paris, Île de la Cité, May 1799 -------

"You've chosen an unusual place for a meeting." Dorian's voice sounded balanced, not at all strained from the climb. Smoothly, he crouched down beside Adeláire and let his gaze wander over the city below.

"Up here I can think the best." And that was exactly the way her voice sounded, thoughtful. She still did not know whether her decision to ask Dorian to talk was really the smartest. But since the Council's order, she had not been able to think more clearly. He seemed to her to be the only person currently able to understand her confusion.

"I'm always the same," came quietly from him. A side view clarified what she had already guessed. He looked at her now, and no longer the city.

"Do you want to talk about it or just sit here and enjoy the view?" He accompanied his words with a soft smile and the bright sunshine of this pleasant day broke in the observing, now clearly brown eyes.

Adeláire rose uncomfortably and pushed past him. Balancing on the rooftop of Notre-Dame Cathedral, she began to move up and down. She wondered how this conversation with Dorian should be the most sensuous.

"Surely you remember the information Bissot gave me... us… right?" Dorian confirmed her question with a dumb nod. He seemed to perceive her inner struggle and didn't want to disturb her.

"Well, it is so that the Council has found out that Sieyès apparently really prepared something like a coup attempt. He has very few men at his disposal who could be capable of such a coup. And, as you probably have already guessed, Bonaparte is one of them." Dorian turned his gaze from her and let it cross the city again. He remained silent in expectation that she was certainly not finished with her speech. Adeláire bit her lip briefly and wondered what her next step should look like. She decided to take a risk.

"In addition, the assumptions that Bonaparte is in possession of a Piece of Eden are condensed. The one you saved in Saint-Denis does not appear to be the only one in France. And who knows what he has found in his campaign in Egypt? It could even have been more than one. But even if it were only one, Bonaparte poses a greater danger than has previously been assumed."

Dorian was still silent, his eyes fixed on the city. Adeláire felt her insecurity and forced herself into her next move in this warlike conversation. Cautiously, she approached the assassin and went into a crouch next to him. Hesitantly, she laid a hand on his forearm, and directed his attention first to that touch, and finally up to her hopefully open, and surely begging glance.

"Please Arno... We need your help... I need your help.."

With an indistinct mimicry Dorian raised his left hand after a little while and stroked a strand of hair behind her ear. A gentle smile appeared in his features, and his gloved hand came to rest on her neck. A gentle pull made her bend over to this man, who seemed to be so different in the radiant sunshine.

"You know Mademoiselle Fontaine, I have already confirmed that you are damn well educated. And this here, well, this here only confirms my assessment.”

Cold ice ran down Adeláire's back. The same ice, which was just entering Dorian's eyes. His grip pushed into her neck and grabbed her closer. Adeláire knew only too well that it was only necessary to stretch the right muscles to drive the hidden blade into her throat. She held her breath, panting, and could not help but to endure his gaze.

"You must be very devoted to the Council, or simply desperate if you are even willing to use such instruments to achieve your goal."

"Believe me, I ..." Dorian's eyes became still a little way harder.

"Ah, ah .. do not try to get yourself out. You are here because you hoped to be able to reach with female charms what the Council demands of you. Any different argument would be a lie. And believe me, I do not like lies from such a pretty mouth as yours." A dangerous smile crept on his face. He held onto her neck and pulled her closer, nearer to him. So close, that she could feel their breaths crossing each other.

"And now that we've cleared that up," he whispered softly, ”we can certainly
discuss whether we can find another way of agreement." With that, he suddenly released her and rose. Gallant, he submitted a hand to her and helped a more-than-confused Adeláire to her feet.

"So, any other ideas, Mademoiselle Fontaine?" His gaze and facial expression were cleansed again, and the sun seemed to have brought the warmth back into his dark eyes. Adeláire was still trying to gather herself and finally shook her head silently until she found her speech again.

"To be honest, I found the idea of this route quite questionable. And I feel I am not unscrupulous enough to think about other questionable ways. At least not when they are dealing with an Assassin brother." She let her gaze wander from Dorian in the direction in which the sanctuary lay roughly. “Perhaps Master Beylier is right and I should concentrate on other tasks in the Order." Her conclusion came only softly muttered, but Dorian decided to react to it.

"Master Beylier is a bullhead, buried in his rules and in love with his post. Do not be alarmed by the old man."

Adeláire smiled gently and went back to the crouch on the roof. Her gaze wandered over the city again, before she looked at Dorian from the side. His likewise crouching appearance seemed relaxed, his gaze fixed on the past.

"You had the most differences with him at the time, didn’t you?" Dorian responded with a quick laugh.

 

"You could call it that. I think he was against my admission to the Order from the beginning. Even though he "voted" for it when Mirabeau questioned them all. No idea what caused him to do so. But surely he was the first to question me. And maybe he was the one who saw the truth at first.”

Dorian looked down at his hands and let the hidden blade go out with a movement of his wrist. The sunlight broke out briefly in the steel before the deadly instrument disappeared again in the bracer. Adeláire sensed the thin ice of memory and thought it too early for deeper questions. She stayed silent.

"Well, anyway. So, Mademoiselle Fontaine, do you have an idea how we can clarify our opposing positions and can find an agreement?” The smile he gave her had almost something roguish to it. As if he had a plan that pleased him more than a little. That tempted Adeláire to her next reply.

"Why do I have the dull feeling that it’s you who has the idea?" That intensified his grin.

"I knew you were a smart girl. Because I really did. Meet me this afternoon at Café Théâtre, then I'll tell you more about my idea."

Before she could answer any further, Dorian rose, spread his arms, and thrust himself off the rooftop, down into a Leap of Faith, caught by a suitable landing zone. Deep below her, she saw him jump out of the cover. He looked up at her, raised his hand to his temple and gave her a gallant greeting before he merged into the crowd. Adeláire sensed more than she consciously chose, how her smile followed him.

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