Paris, May 1799 - Tracing

---------------- Paris, Porte Saint-Denis, Court des Miracles, May 1799 -------

Disgusted, Adeláire repeatedly wrinkled her nose. Even the scarf, which in addition to the hood covered her face up to the tip of her nose, was not capable of keeping the smell of the Court des Miracles out. Just why were so many of the Brotherhood's informants found in this slum? Sighing softly, she gave herself the answer in her own mind. After all, it was beggars who always snapped information up everywhere. Eyes and ears begging on every corner could see and hear a lot.

"So let's go. In hopes that afterwards, a hot bath is waiting for me.” The renewed, quiet sigh after that thought, she could not resist. Since she had been unsuccessfully withdrawn from the Dorian Mission, the Council tried in other ways to obtain information. This was not her first, and certainly wouldn't be her last, visit to the slums.

Carefully and as skillfully as a supple cat, she swung herself from her vantage point and descended into the filthy alleyways, which seemed ever overpopulated. As many times before, her first point of reference was the Villa of the Marquis de Sade, where he usually used to hold "court". Since Dorian back then had helped him to gain the "post" of Roi des Thunes, he had come to the attention of the Brotherhood. A doubtful ally, certainly. But even so, most of the time, quite useful. Even if Adeláire profoundly loathed her dealings with him, she could scarcely escape the task and duty. So she gave herself a start and overcame the house threshold with some unwillingness.

As expected, the marquis "gassed" on his usual chaise longue and let the always affecting look glide over the audience. Here, Adeláire was like an aristocrat in her outfit. That secured her the immediate attention of the Marquis. His radiant smile and warm arms spread out to her, her hair already standing on end.

"Now, don’t simply stand around the entrance there, my love. Come in! Sit down and enjoy a wine with me." Delivered across the room to her, this exclamation attracted less attention than Adeláire had suspected. With a renewed sigh, she placed herself gently in motion at an appropriate and secure distance from the Marquis, and lowered her scarf.

"Adeláire, my love. How long has it been now that you blinded me with your beauty, and crushed my heart with your constant rejection of my advances?” This tone in his voice made her shudder and tighten her shoulders in a gentle defense.

"Obviously not long enough, if you still lament so heartily," she replied, with some effort, albeit charmingly.

"You nasty, nasty girl," the Marquis reproached, as he rose from his camp and stepped up to her. It took Adeláire all the willpower she had at her disposal not to retreat to the next wall before him.

"But tell me you're not here to break my heart again, right? What can I do for you today?" As he asked, he moved closer to her and his gaze wandered gloomily over her figure in trousers, boots and assassin coat. She would’ve liked to let her blade do the talking now, but she knew only too well that she should not let this important source of information dry. So she just stepped back, two steps away.

At least, she tried to do it before she walked into someone at her back, who had been able to miraculously appear there. Already an excuse on her lips, she turned around and looked into his now well-known, dark eyes. Once again, Dorian's mouth twitched, amused.

"My dear Marquis, you will not make a decent lady any advances to embarrass her?" The amused smile intensified briefly while Dorian walked around her and took one of the many wine cups from one of the tables.

Adeláire felt the Marquis's gaze, still wanting to burn through her clothes. Now still accompanied by the amused looking gaze of Dorian. Sighing quietly, she did not declare this day to be one of her own and raised her hands defensively.

"All right, I surrender myself beaten. Against two libidinous guys, even someone like me cannot compete. I clear the field and will come back to you later Marquis. In the hope that you have satisfied your desire until then, and have been capable of a reasonable conversation."

The Marquis held his gaze where it was, and leaned gently toward Arno, who had leaned against the chaise lounge and sipped the wine, his eyes also resting on her.

"You were right Arno. She really needed quite a while to come here. Either she is not as bright as we've estimated her, or she is infinitely proud and too haughty to use the obvious choice of information. Has she given up so quickly on you?"

Slightly puzzled, her gaze changed from the Marquis to Dorian and back again. How could they have known that the Council would send her? The order had just been handed over to her this morning.

"No, she was quite persistent, as my employees assured me. Even before my goodwill visit to Léon in Franciade, she was on observation posts. And her little speech was more impressive than that. Perhaps she is under too great pressure?" A short flicker of a grin before Dorian sipped on the wine again. The Marquis turned to her, smiling, and approached her again.

"So my love, once again the question. What can I do for you?"

Adeláire thought furiously, and her gaze was finally resting on Dorian. She decided that she could not care what he noticed. After all, her mission was not a big deal. So why make a secret of a simple question?

"Jacques Bissot, do you know where I can find him? His trail got lost here in the Cour. And if anyone knows where I can find someone who does not want to be found here, then you are." Waiting, she folded her arms in front of her chest and enjoyed the little piece of security that gesture gave her.

"Ahh, she is so .. businesslike .. That almost gives me a chill over the spine. What about you, Arno? Doesn’t it thrill you as well?"

With these words, the Marquis again half-turned to Dorian while his gaze still adhered to Adeláire, like a bear's on honey. She almost did not dare look at Dorian. When she did, his facial expression was unclear. And he was silent on the Marquis's question.

"Jacques Bissot, Marquis. Could you help me or not?" She urged.

"Oh, of course I can," the Marquis replied, amused. At last he turned away from her and let her breathe. Delicately, he stretched out again on his chaise lounge and handed himself a fresh cup of wine.

"You'll find him in the sewers. He puzzled and plundered the secret hiding place of the former Roi. No idea what he hopes to find there but the bare bones that our friend left behind at that time. Isn't that right, my dear Arno?"

Dorian just gave a humming >Mhm<. His hood overshadowed what was not hidden from the wine cup. Was the memory of his former mission to him perhaps unpleasant?

"As you still know the way down, my dear Arno, wouldn’t it be a gallant gesture to accompany and protect the lady? After all, it's still dangerous down there!" The Marquis's tone dragged on Adeláire's nerves. Excessively anxiously played, yet so loud that it would equate to a loss of face, to now grant a rejection. Thus, she hoped to do Dorian a favor with the excuse she offered him with her next words.

"I certainly belong to the last group of people in Paris who need protection. I can protect myself very well. But thank you for your offer, Marquis. I'll be fine. After all, Monsieur Dorian did it back then as well." With a sweet smile, she briefly tipped her head to the two men, who now both fixed her with unreadable glances. Before any of the two could reply, the Assassin turned away and strove to exit.

Outside, she breathed deeply, albeit cursing the idea at once because of the stench, which now enveloped her.

"One of the many entrances can be found right there. Come on. The faster we go down, the faster we can get out again." The voice urged her ear unyieldingly as Dorian pushed past her into the outside.

"What do you think you're doing? And who the hell is 'we'?" She knew that it was amply dumb to ask these questions, but she simply could not suppress them. His dark eyes were barely visible under the hood and in the twilight of the streets. But she felt his attitude as if he were pressing her to his body. No matter what she would say or do, he had made a decision and this he would follow.

"Well, I'll be with you so I can remove two things from my list at the same time."

"And what two things would those be, Monsieur?", she snapped, which again brought her a grin on his part.

"Well, on the one hand, to find out what you want from the good Bissot. And secondly, who you are and what you want from me." That self-assurance in his tone was slowly enervating. Did he only want to irritate her to the blood, or was he really so convinced of his uniqueness?

Adeláire decided to put these questions behind and focus on the mission for the moment. Resolutely, she turned on her heel and silently headed to the designated access-point into the ground. She did not have to see his amused smirk to know it was there.

 

Just arrived at the previously mentioned entrance, Dorian took leadership, unasked. Obviously, he actually seemed to remember the way he had taken years ago to find the Roi. Past several wooden shacks, it soon went down into the sewers. Adeláire knew again why she had grabbed her shawl today. If the stench above ground was already disgusting, it climbed down into the immeasurable down here. She tried to breathe flatly, not to notice too much. It was apparent she didn’t really succeed.

"As soon as we get closer to the former hiding place, the air will get a little better. Until then, just try to breathe flatter," Dorian's voice had assumed a repose that she had not been able to identify. She simply left his advice alone in the room and followed him further into the depths.

As they passed through one of the openings into the branching room behind, one of the many in the Paris sewers, Adeláire stopped at Dorian's outstretched arm. Silently, he put a finger over his lips and nestled into the shadows of the passage they were about to leave.

On the other side of the aisle, Adeláire made her way to the passage. She concentrated and spread her perception into the space beneath her. A deep breath and she could feel Dorian doing the same thing. So the rumors were true. He was not only a gifted assassin, but he also had these special gifts, which only a few had in the Brotherhood. Like a mute response to their observation, their eyes crossed each other and each of them knew what the other had just noticed. It was too dark to read the expression in his eyes, but his hand signals were clear. They would divide the opponents perceived among them.

Adeláire nodded silently and went down to the crouch. Silently, she pushed herself to the border of the wooden platform and peered over her edge. There he was, a bull of a guy. She tilted her head gently, finding the best spot for her blade. 

A brief glance to the side assured her what she already knew. Dorian crouched by her side and had the other guy in his sights. A second short nod and they jumped down in elegant synchronicity at their opponents.

It was only in the jump that Adeláire extended her blade. The sound which caused it came much too late for her opponent, his reaction much too slowly. Without any obstacle, the sharpened blade slid into his throat, causing him to collapse instantly lifeless. He lacked even the time to make a single sound. A similar dull sound on her side showed her, that Dorian's attack had been equally successful. That left the last two at the other end of the room.

Adeláire remained in a crouching position and crept along the wall to one of the two opponents, who was warming his hands on a small fire. Without once again having to speak out, she could see from the corner of her eye that Dorian was acting similarly on the other side. As Adeláire stood still as a deadly shadow behind her goal, she briefly noted that Dorian was not quite so lucky. His prey turned too early to him and made a terrified exclamation.

Adeláire did not hesitate for a second, drove the blade into her goal and prevented his scream by way of her hand over his mouth. She hurriedly turned to her last opponent just to watch Dorian's elegant kill. The blade slipped silently into the heart, while he also suppressed every other sound by means of a damping handgrip. Like a wet bag, the body eventually sank to its knees.

"Sewers. They’ll never be free from rats," was the only mocking comment
Dorian dropped. Adeláire left his comment simply so and looked around.

"Are these guys carrying anything interesting?" Dorian wiped his blade on the coat of his last opponent and rose.

"Defines interesting." Adeláire went to a crouch and patted down her last victim.

"Well, no idea to be honest. Maybe some orders, keys, clues. Rats always find something."

"Not quite wrong." That prompted him to search their first two victims. But neither of them had any luck.

"Apparently only some poor souls. At the wrong time in the wrong place." Adeláire sensed more than she heard her regret. There she was again, the always recurring question. Had they really had to kill these men?

"Down here there are no innocent souls. Do not torture yourself with such thoughts." She turned her gaze to Dorian's dark shadow-shape. The small fire flickered and made his recognizable features look distorted. She felt a hesitation at him before he suddenly lifted his arm and squeezed her shoulder briefly. Before she could react appropriately, the moment was over. He turned his back on her and urged deeper into the darkness of the sewers.

After some windings, branching rooms and platforms, they finally reached their destination without any further incident. The hiding place of the former Roi was a dome-shaped, circular room. Plumped with all sorts of home-accessories, seeming a palace. And somehow, the room seemed to be anything but relied-upon for years.

Adeláire and Dorian looked for shadowy cover and explored the room. There was an unexpected, busy activity. A whole army of men not only scoured the room, but seemed to use it as a kind of headquarters. Apparently, under the nose of the new Roi, a conspiracy ensued. Adeláire thought about why the Marquis had spoken so willingly to her. The guess was, that de Sade knew very well about the situation down here and once again meant to use the Assassins to solve his problems. Dumbly, she glanced at Dorian in his cover and could see from his cramped jaw muscles that he had probably drawn the same conclusions. His gaze crossed hers, suggesting a temporary retreat to discuss their strategy.

As soon as they had had enough distance between themselves and the "headquarters," Dorian gave a more than filthy curse.

"He really dares to do it again and again that lousy ..." the rest of his sentence he pinched himself from completing, when he remembered, that he was in the company of a lady. At least as far as his mind was concerned. Adeláire felt that he reflected her own anger. But she forced herself to clear her thoughts.

"Nonetheless, my goal is somewhere among them. And if the aims of the Brother-hood overlap with those of the Marquis, then it is probably once again so. The question is, how do I get to Bissot without a small war?" She crossed her arms in front of her chest and began to pace back and forth.

"Well, fact is, you can’t do it alone." Dorian's tone was unmistakable and she could feel his stubbornness almost physically, causing her to stop her pacing and to fix his eyes.

"This is not your fight. I did not ask you to stand by my side. And you do not have to continue. The goals of the Marquis overlap with my own, not with yours. Therefore, go and let your anger out on him. For you, it should not have the same consequen-ces as for me. I'll manage this. Somehow."

The silence that followed her words was deep, long, and filled with heaviness. It drove an uncomfortable feeling down over her spine and she had the sensation of sinking into a sort of grief. It was too dark to be able to see Dorian's eyes, but the bitter train around the corner of his mouth told his own story.

"I once let someone go alone into a fight. I will not repeat that mistake."

Like two stubborn donkeys, the two Assassins stood facing each other and tried in mutual stupor to move each other to back down. Adeláire felt that there was much more in his words than he said. This seemingly oppressive heaviness overwhelmed more and more, like a kind of shroud over both their statures. And so it was she, who, yielding again, lowered her head and sighed softly.

"All right then. If you want to die today, so be it. I just hope you do not look for me as a ghost." That actually brought quiet laughter from her counterpart.

"What makes you so sure that it’ll be my death, which we find here? And if I swear not to visit you as a ghost, then I ask for the same promise in return."

Adeláire could not help but answer these words likewise with a soft laugh. She raised her gaze to him and for the first time imagined something like a gentle pull around the corners of his mouth. Did she actually slowly began to like him?

"Let's go ... Brother ... There are a few bad men waiting for us." The words followed a renewed flash of this short, charming grin and a mute nod.

Dorian had led them both to the passage, behind which his target had been waiting for him, heightened over the entire room. Adeláire had to entitle him the right, this was the optimal place to get an overall view of the situation. The two Assassins flattened themselves on the stone floor of the pedestal and explored the space below. For the purpose of a whisper, they were close together and cupped each other their ideas on their ears.

Adeláire, after a while, had to force herself to concentrate on the mission. The extreme proximity irritated her and she argued in the mind with herself that she paid more attention to Dorian's warmth, his breath, and the tactile play of muscle on her side, more than the movements of her enemies beneath her.

Finally, they decided to empty the room some by using the Berserk-Poison in their Phantom Blades. Adeláire sought a tough opponent to her left, while Dorian did the same on the right side of the pedestal. Twice a faint click followed by the siren of the Berserk Blade, the dull noise of the two hits, and the turmoil among the ones below began.

It amused Adeláire every time when she could observe the effect of the Berserk-Poison. How their opponents got to slashing each other and virtually took over her work. Early on, she had learned to be patient with such actions and to allow the poison to perform its impact. Too-early intervention on their part would only diminish the desired effect. Because of the mass of men, however, that effect was much too fast and the two victims were quickly overwhelmed. Time to give the field a little rest and look for the next targets.

The Assassins threw their tactics up three times, until the enemy field had reduced to a few men. Other groups were too far away for the Phantom Blades, as well as for poison bombs. So it was, that they now had to rely on handwork. With a nod they swung themselves to the right and left of the platform, sinking their hidden blades with synchronous air assassinations into the unaware, waiting enemies below them. Smoke bombs filled the room, and Adeláire clarified her vision through her senses. Pulsating, she made out her coughing opponents and one after the other, they fell victim to her blade or rapier. Her movements seemed more like a dance than a fight, and she almost led herself to the hum of a soft melody.

As the smoke slowly moved, she meet up with Dorian again in the middle of the room, now breathing a little heavier. Shortly, a grin flashed in both their faces as he suddenly grabbed her around the waist and turned with her. His blade cut through an opponent who had tried a desperate onslaught. Adeláire's attention swarmed through the room, and she registered just a few more shooters. Using the momentum of her joint rotation, she pulled her pistol and came before the attack from above. The crash of the 8-barrel resounded in the dome-like space and let a silence follow, which gave an idea of what would happen next.

The two Assassins broke apart and turned their backs against each other. The Rapier in the one and the hidden blade extended in the other, Adeláire faced the onslaught which countered her from one of the channels of the sewer. Newly thrown smoke bombs filled the room and an attack, dodge, parry began his dance again. In all this chaos, Adeláire tried to capture her goal. But so far, Bissot had no trace. Had they put themselves in danger for nothing?

When the smoke cleared again, Adeláire slowly retreated into the middle of the room, facing her final three opponents. She heard Dorian, more than she felt him, at her back. It seemed as if there were not too many opponents left facing him. The first of the last three men attacked Adeláire and got her rapier. The second supposed to see his chance and ended up with her hidden blade in him. She wanted to eliminate the last with her pistol, but was surprised by missing ammunition. Could she really not actually count correctly?

Still caught in that thought, an arm stretched out over her shoulder and Dorian's Phantom Blade landed a clean headshot. Her life saved twice in one day. If she did not owe him something now, then when? Breathing heavily, she straightened up and felt his chest lift and lower at her back, as breathless as she was. For her taste, he was far too close to her. And his breath brushed her face, too intensely noticeable.

"Everything ok?" he whispered softly near her ear. Why did she suddenly have such a lump in her throat? The Assassin just nodded and put her rapier back in the belt. She emphasized a step away from Dorian and looked around searchingly.

"Merde, bon sang! Where is Bissot?” she cursed softly. Behind her, Dorian also put his sword back into his belt and his tone sounded amused as he answered.

"Should a lady really curse in such bawdy terms?"

"Should a lady feel like she killed thirty men?", she snapped back. He answered with a grin.

"Touché .. that probably depends on the lady."

"Well, you see." His tactical patterning, which glided up and down, she pushed aside skilfully as she searched among the men for someone who was still capable of answering. A low whine finally led her to a half-dead soul. Unyieldingly, she grabbed the guy by the collar and pulled him closer.

"Bissot .. Jacques Bissot. Where can I find him?"

Whimpering and whining, the half-dead man raised his hands defensively, and after another threatening look, he pointed toward stacked boxes at the edge of the room.

"Thank you." Adeláire smiled sweetly and let the man go. When she got up, she turned her back on the whimpering thing and thought briefly. Her eyes met Dorians and her decision came to maturity. With an elegant twist, she sank again to her knees and finished the man with her blade. Dorian was right, no one down here was innocent. And leaving behind witnesses had never been a good idea. The two Assassins mutely turned to the crates and found a passage to another room behind them.

Adeláire pulled out her pistol and reloaded it. Then she snuggled herself to the doorkeeper and sent her perception into the room beyond. Dorian did the same.
A test of the door handle revealed what they had already suspected; locked. Dorian crouched down and began to crack the lock. As the last bar snapped softly, he gave the door a gentle push. Still in the uplift, Adeláire stepped past the still crouching Assassin and scanned the room with pistol and senses. She did not have to look to know Dorian was ready to fight.

Her objective was hiding behind one of the chairs and screamed in horror at the opening door.

"Oh no, please do not, I have done nothing! De Sade is wrong when he thinks I'm conspiring against him. I just want to build my own small business. And why let it all degenerate here? Please, please do not kill me!"

All this and still more, he whimpered, whining while Adeláire slowly passed through the room. When she arrived at Bissot, she put her gun back into the holster and looked at him disparagingly. She sensed that Dorian was following her and was busy observing the room.

"Reassure yourself. We are not here to kill you. And if your men out there had not been so stubborn, they could still be alive. I have only a few questions."

The lanky man with the crooked, powdered wig dared to move slowly out of his hiding place. Adeláire, demonstrative, stepped back a few steps, leaving enough space to stand up and straighten himself. Nervously, Bissot tapped the dust from the coattails before he once again dared to muster the two Assassins.

"Well, I guess, if my death had been decided by Assassins, then I'd be dead already." His gaze fixed on Dorian, who in the meantime leaned, with his arms folded, against a side-board on the opposite wall.

"Do not look at me like that. This is the contract of the lady, not mine." With which he raised a hand defensively before he restored the entanglement of the arms.

"So, what do you want to know Mademoiselle?" His voice now sounded officious and regardful. Adeláire did not trust him for a second.

"Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès, what can you tell me about his plans?" 

Adeláire did not like as her counterpart, frightened and in shock, seemed to lose all attitude from his face. He started a babbling stuttering, regarding his lack of knowledge about anything, and about how he would have to deal with such high-ranking people. By the end of her patience, she grabbed him by the collar and pressed him to the nearest wall. With an almost aggressive snarl her hidden blade sank from the bracer and poked his skin just above the carotid artery.

“I'm really a patient girl. But I do not like it if you try to cheat me or unnecessarily raise tension. So I advise you Monsieur, do not overstretch it, and tell me what you know."

Her voice was lowered to a soft growl, recalling the hissing of a wildcat. She sensed her temperament deep inside, and knew that the last attempts to curb it were already crushing away.

"Yes, yes, yes, all right. I'm already talking. Even if I know nothing concrete. I have never seen or read any plans. All I know are whispered rumors on corridors that spread lies. But if they are true, Sieyès is planning a sort of coup d’etat. He is supposed to make it clear that he is looking for a >sword<, which is supposed to be >as short as possible<. Whatever he may have meant. He wants to meet General Joubert as soon as he is back in Paris. More, I really do not know. Honestly! Promised!"

With a characteristic snap, her blade slid back into the bracer and she let Bissot go. With a gentle smile and a snappy "Merci mon ami," she finally turned away from the wailing creature. As she passed Dorian, he stopped her.

"Do you have everything you need from him?" His eyes fixed the pile of misery and did not let it out of sight.

"Yes I think so. He no longer works for Sieyès. Personally, I hardly believe that he can provide more up-to-date information. However, I dare not assess how the Council sees this." Something about his attitude made her wary at her words and almost did not need her next question. "Why do you ask?"

And she was right. Before she could intervene, his arm stretched out, and a new, clean head shot of the Phantom Blade made Bissot lifeless. Dorian's eyes crossed hers. The lines around the angles of his mouth were hard.

"Because I, contrary to you, had the mission not to let him escape from this situation alive. I just wanted to make sure our goals were not in conflict." Adeláire held his gaze steadily.

"So are you now no more than a hired assassin, who can be engaged at any time by a disgusting subject like the Marquis de Sade to eliminate his enemies?"

Dorian pushed away from the sideboard and lowered his arms to his sides. Adeláire noticed how his hands closed into fists and the fire in the room reflected in his gaze.

"You should be more careful with your judgments, Mademoiselle Fontaine. Not everything is always as it seems at first sight. The Marquis had a still-open favor with me, which he has herewith redeemed. How this fits into my personal morals is none of your concern."

There they were again, the two stubborn donkeys, who were looking at each other and pressed the other to give a piece of ground. This time it was Dorian who cleared the field.

"It was really nice to work with you. You really are damn well-educated. You will certainly get very far in the Brotherhood. Good-day Mademoiselle Fontaine." In the next moment, with a gallant bow, he went past and out of the room. 

Adeláire looked after the vanished shadow for a little while and did not know whether she should get angry or laugh. She decided on neither of the two and left the battlefield and carnage that two well-trained Assassins were capable of leaving behind.

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