From the Depths of Time, Part Two

By Marius A Smith

The members of Valentinian's crew have been divided into groups at different points in history, from the French Revolution to the sinking of the Titanic, and in each time zone a Centaur invasion is imminent. But even with the help of unexpected allies, any attempt to defeat the Centaurs and their human-like androids is futile, and it seems there's nowhere in the whole galaxy to run where they won't be found, in any era.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marius A Smith
• Release date: May 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310126307

Marius A Smith

Marius Augustus Smith was born in 1981 in Adelaide, Australia, and is a life-long fan of science fiction. He has travelled to many places around the world, with many more he has yet to visit, although some destinations can only be travelled to in the mind (at least until the invention of warp drive!). Also having an interest in history, especially ancient cultures, and Egypt in particular, Marius has incorporated these interests into his books. His favourite authors include Alexandre Dumas, Kevin J. Anderson, Drew Karpyshyn, Anne Rice and J. K. Rowling. Some of his not-so-common experiences include shovelling coal in a 1920s locomotive, and being an extra in a police line-up. Marius currently lives in Australia with his wife.

Book preview

From the Depths of Time

Part Two

The Course of Time

BOOK SEVEN

Marius A. Smith

The Course of Time:

Larissa

Cerah

From Time to Time

The Time of Humanity

Time and Time Again

The Time of Sacrifice

Mysteries of Time

From the Depths of Time: Part One

From the Depths of Time: Part Two

Time’s Curse

In Times of War: Part One

In Times of War: Part Two

Copyright © 2024 Marius A. Smith

This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

Published by Marius A. Smith at Smashwords

All historical individuals or places mentioned or referred to in this book are portrayed in a purely fictitious sense. All other characters are purely fictitious, and no resemblance to individuals living or dead is intended.

No part of this work may be reproduced or copied in any form without the prior permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1

The Artist

There is a time to live and a time to die.

Delilah was sipping tea with Colette in the chateau’s parlour in silence. She’d arrived on the night of the eighth of November, and it was now the morning of the thirteenth, in the year 1793. She’d enjoyed the family’s hospitality during that time, and had even managed to establish a better relationship with Adrienne, and although she still considered the girl to be a shallow-minded spoiled brat, she used an appropriate level of diplomacy and courtesy to hide it.

In the early evening of the previous day she’d attended the funeral service of Jacques de Polignac with the rest of the family. There had been a greater number of guests than expected, as Jacques was esteemed by many as a man of character and integrity, being one of the few truly just magistrates of such high standing. The event had been both solemn and sombre, and for most of it Delilah had remained at Colette’s side, since the widow was the one who seemed the most in need of her support, despite how well she hid her grief beneath her well-practised composure. Jacques now lay interred in the crypt in his own sarcophagus. The evening before that a wake had been held at the chateau for people to pay their respects prior to the burial, and Delilah had indicated to Colette, Laurent and Marc by a subtle prearranged hand signal which of the aristocratic attendees were vampires, she being the only one who could generally recognise one by sight. They’d counted nine in attendance. On the evening of the funeral the body had been borne to the crypt shortly before sunset, and those same aristocratic vampires from Paris didn’t arrive until after sunset to briefly attend the gathering at the house afterward as a matter of social obligation. Colette, Laurent and Marc had taken great care not to give the slightest reaction that might betray that they knew what sort of beings they were, suspecting that the vampires had only come to gauge the family’s reactions to them to determine if their secret was out. Colette was sure that they’d successfully hidden their knowledge of such things, and was certain that she’d made the right choice in not bringing Adrienne in on it. And as yet there had still been no word from, or in regard to, those who’d killed her husband.

In the parlour, Colette had been silently sipping her tea for over half an hour, and Delilah could tell that she was thinking about her late husband and the events surrounding his untimely death. Even when the serving maid had come and refilled her cup she hadn’t said a word. Delilah had politely left her to her thoughts. The widow was certainly grieving, but she hadn’t become emotionally unstable, so Delilah wasn’t worried about her mental state. She just needed some time to fully come to terms with everything and move forward with her life.

Colette finally realised that she’d been neglecting her guest, and glanced at the clock, which was about to strike ten. Please forgive my lack of etiquette, I’d become quite lost in my thoughts, she apologised.

Think nothing of it. I understand completely, Delilah assured her with a kind smile.

Colette looked at the sunshine streaming through the windows. It’s such a beautiful morning. Perhaps we should take a turn about the gardens. A little fresh air would certainly do me a world of good.

Absolutely, Delilah agreed, and stood up. As a staying guest of a family in mourning, she was wearing a plain black dress, despite having never met the late magistrate. But she needed to blend in, since she didn’t even know if she’d ever be able to leave the eighteenth century unless she could find the people who’d stolen her things. Now that the magistrate’s death was public knowledge the perpetrators had no reason to show themselves, having no cards left in their hand. She had no leads to follow to even begin to track them down, though she suspected that they’d be in Paris to attend Mustow’s inevitable execution, possibly with the intention of trying to avert it. That event was the only time she’d have any real chance of finding them. Laurent was going to present his father’s evidence against Mustow at the trial in a few hours, which was damning enough that the verdict of a death sentence was already certain, but Delilah doubted that the villains who wanted him freed would be present for that, since it was a closed session that Laurent couldn’t even get her into.

Colette placed her cup on its saucer and placed them on the table before standing up herself. She too was wearing a black dress and black lace gloves, and carried a handkerchief in one hand.

Just then Laurent entered the room. Mother, perhaps you should have a word with Marc. He almost put our family in a very precarious situation this morning. I’ve remonstrated with him, but he refuses to acknowledge how he might have compromised us very severely.

What has he done? Colette asked.

You may recall that I had an appointment this morning to meet with that aspiring young notary whom father employed for an internship before his death?

Ranald Feydeau, as I recall.

The very same. He came regarding the internship and stipend that he’d arranged with father, to see if I would recommend him to my uncle instead now. He has shown great promise, so I have given him a letter of recommendation.

That’s all very well, but what has it to do with Marc?

When I left the room to fetch the necessary papers he spoke with Ranald, and let slip that we have Girondin sympathies, Laurent said with deep concern.

Marc entered just in time to hear what they were talking about. Ranald himself said that he also shares our point of view. And that he, like us, plays a relatively inactive hand in political matters of that nature.

Even so, it was a risky thing to say. Had he been a Jacobin we could have quickly found ourselves in a most dangerous situation, Colette scolded. Your brother was right to chastise you for such carelessness that could have resulted in the beheading of the entire family.

But surely in such perilous times we need to establish ties with others of the same views as ours, Marc protested. And besides, he’d hardly betray us when he needs our recommendation to establish his career.

Had it been anyone else he might’ve used the betrayal to further his career, Laurent said sharply. Fortunately he seems to be an honest and honourable young man, so I feel no harm has been done. But consider yourself warned that you’ll receive more than words if you should make that mistake again.

I would speak with him alone for a few moments, Colette said to Laurent, and she left the room accompanied by Marc.

Delilah turned to Laurent. I’m sure he didn’t mean badly. He just slipped up, that’s all.

Do you know what’s happening in Paris right now? Laurent asked.

I have a fair idea. But forgiveness is in the job description of having siblings. At least it should be.

Perhaps I have been harsh with him, but it’s only out of concern for the wellbeing of the family, and to ensure that he does not make the same error twice. Laurent was starting to calm down.

Delilah glanced around the room, looking for something to change the subject with in the hope that Laurent’s anger towards his brother would fade and be forgotten. Her eyes rested on the pianoforte. So who’s the musician of the family?

Laurent followed her gaze, and responded, Adrienne plays a little, but not as much now as she used to. But we did have a young man from Germany stay with us for a fortnight a few years ago, a fellow by the name of Ludwig. He played magnificently. It was like a gourmet feast for the ears. I think Adrienne had a fondness for him, for that is when she started learning to play.

A few minutes later when Colette returned to the parlour she found Laurent and Delilah sitting on a lounge with Laurent’s rapier on the table in front of them, and was pleased to see that Laurent was in a much better mood now.

This unsharpened part just above the crosspiece, or quillions, is called the ricasso, which is really part of the forte section of the blade, the strongest part. The middle section is called the medio, and the last section of the blade is the debole, being the weakest, Laurent was explaining.

But certainly the most essential, having the point, Delilah said. He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know, but it was keeping his mind off of his brother’s mistake, and it gave them something to talk about.

The knuckle guard and sweepings are obviously essential for protecting one’s fingers, and the pommel serves as a counterweight against the blade to allow for swifter movements. Perhaps I can teach you some basic techniques, when you have the time to spare?

I’d like that, Delilah said with a smile.

It took a few more moments for Laurent to realise that his mother had entered the room. He hastily stood up and sheathed his sword.

I’ve spoken with Marc, and I’m certain that he’ll give you no further cause for concern in that regard, Colette assured him.

That’s good to hear. I’d better go and gather the evidence for the trial, Laurent said, casting a quick look back at Delilah before leaving the room.

Colette had noticed her son’s interest in Delilah, but refrained from commenting.

Laurent returned a moment later, a little flushed and even slightly nervous. Delilah, perhaps you wouldn’t mind having a look at the evidence before I take it to Paris? You may be able to offer insights that might be useful in its presentation. That is, if my mother will allow me to deprive her of your company for a few minutes? He still found it odd to address an unrelated woman by her first name, but he and the rest of the family had gotten used to putting that particular aspect of upper-class etiquette aside when speaking with Delilah since it was how she was most comfortable, and they wanted to accommodate their guest.

Certainly, if you don’t mind, Colette, Delilah said.

By all means. It’ll give me a chance to finish my tea before we take our walk, Colette said, barely concealing her knowing smile.

Laurent offered his arm, and while she was surprised by such a bold move, Delilah linked her own through his, and they left the parlour. As they walked it occurred to her that offering his arm was probably just part of the expected etiquette of the era, but even so, the look in his eyes as he did it carried a deeper meaning that wasn’t lost on her.

They went upstairs to Jacques’ private study where Laurent had laid out the documents and items of evidence on a table. He’d used the key that had been discovered hidden inside the ring they’d found in the crypt to open his father’s secret cupboard in the wall, which still stood open revealing piles of documents relating to other cases on one shelf and boxes of physical evidence on the other.

Delilah let go of his arm and went over to the table, quickly skimming through the documents that bore signed witness reports of the incident in which Mustow had brutally murdered seven people with his bare hands. Beside the documents there was a white shirt and a bloodstained ring.

This is the shirt he was wearing at the time, Laurent said, holding it up. When he unfolded it bloodstains were visible on the cuffs of both sleeves. And that ring was on his hand, which bears the Mustow family crest. These, in combination with the witness reports, should be enough for the court to deliver the verdict that he deserves.

It said in the report that someone shot at him in close quarters before he killed them, Delilah said.

Still holding the shirt, Laurent turned it over until he found the hole made by the projectile.

Delilah examined it carefully. There’s no blood here.

In their terror, the person’s hand may have trembled, causing them to miss.

Delilah took the shirt and held it up by the shoulders. It was a large, loose shirt, and the hole was near the middle of the back, only slightly to the right. When it hit there, how could it possibly have missed?

It’s a very loose shirt, so it may have been pulled askew in the movement of his attacks or the struggles of the victims. He was wearing neither a vest nor coat at the time, and as his attack took place on the street outside of where he was staying, I can only conclude that he must have chased some poor wretch from the place whilst getting dressed, and the situation escalated from there. The ball must have simply passed through it without striking his body. A pity really, otherwise justice would’ve been served at the time, and then my father’s life would not have been in danger.

That can’t be it, Delilah said, turning the shirt over in her hands several times to be sure. If that was the case there would be a second hole where the ball came out on the other side.

Laurent took the shirt and examined it again. You’re right about the absence of a second hole, but how can that possibly be the case? Surely that means it must’ve hit the man, but no injury was found upon him.

Delilah was silent as she contemplated the possibilities.

Laurent interrupted her thoughts by clearing his throat a little nervously. I had a more personal reason for asking you up here. He paused for a moment uncertainly. What would you say to a courtship between us?

While Delilah was well aware of his attraction to her, and held him in a high regard as well, aesthetically but also for the man he was, it seemed a bit sudden for them to be taking any major steps forward such as an official courtship. Laurent, I think very highly of you, as I’m sure you must be aware, but how about we don’t rush things. Let’s just let things take their course slowly and see where they lead before making any public announcements. She took hold of his hand so that he wouldn’t feel too dejected about not getting the answer or enthusiasm he’d been hoping for.

As you wish, my lady. Truth be told, it is probably quite inappropriate to propose a courtship during a time of grieving, but such were my feelings that I could not forebear. Forgive me.

Of course.

Perhaps later today when I return from Paris you and I might take a turn about the gardens? If my mother doesn’t wear you out on your walk with her, he responded with a smile, taking her present decline of his offer with graceful dignity.

That sounds nice, Delilah said. Let me know when you get back.

That I most surely will. But for the present, I had best be on my way. Better to arrive too early than too late.

And I’d better get back to your mother, Delilah said, and with a parting smile she left the study.

When she got back to the parlour Colette was waiting for her, holding an open letter that she’d been given by a footman a couple of minutes earlier.

How did it go with the... evidence? Colette asked meaningfully.

I’m pretty sure I just gave him more questions to answer, Delilah replied.

I’ve just received word that a good friend of ours, Joseph Ducreux, is in Paris, and has requested to call upon us later today. I’ve just ordered a reply to be sent in the affirmative.

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Delilah. Is that someone I should know?

He’s an artist among other things, and quite a good one, I must say. Let’s go out to the garden and I shall tell you all about him.

As they left the parlour a maid came and handed them each a black lace parasol and a bonnet. Colette’s bonnet had an attached lace veil.

When they were out among the carefully trimmed bushes, trees that were shedding their coloured Autumn leaves, and flower beds that bloomed with vivid purple garden balsam and pink and red chrysanthemums, Colette continued to tell Delilah about Joseph Ducreux. He’s an interesting and somewhat eccentric man, and regardless of the formality of the occasion, he enjoys nothing more than to provoke rather non-formal reactions from people.

I’ve certainly known people like that.

He’s spent some time in London, and has done a fair amount of travelling, of which I’m quite envious. Sadly, most of the world beyond France is quite unknown to me.

I’ve been to more places than I can count, and I can assure you, some of them I wish I hadn’t gone to.

You’ll have to tell me about all of them sometime, the good and the bad.

If you like, Delilah said, wondering how she was going to explain about alien worlds to this eighteenth century woman. But you were telling me about your friend Joseph.

Of course. I believe he must be about 58 years old by now, if I’m not mistaken. The death of his eldest son Jules in the Battle of Jemappes a year ago took a great toll on him. He loved his son dearly. He also has a daughter, Rose-Adelaide, who would be about your age.

Will she be coming with him?

No, I believe he will be coming alone today.

When their walk took them near the front of the chateau again they crossed paths with Laurent, who was about to take a carriage to the city.

Upon seeing them, Laurent came over to bid them farewell. With any luck the proceedings will not be overly lengthy, and I shall return in a few hours.

Joseph Ducreux will be visiting a little later. I’ve sent word to him, but should you cross his path, please tell him that he may come at his earliest convenience, Colette said.

That I surely will, Laurent said, and after kissing his mother goodbye and bowing to Delilah in a gentlemanly manner he went to his carriage and immediately set off for Paris.

*

Several hours later Delilah was having afternoon tea with Colette, again in the parlour. She was starting to wonder if tea and walks were all that the women of this era ever did. Colette had promised to begin teaching her dressmaking the following week, for which Delilah was grateful, as it was getting to the point where anything else was a welcome distraction. With an adventurous life like hers, she couldn’t spend too long relaxing and sipping tea before she started getting restless. The most adventurous part of her day now was reading a book. The sound of horses and wheels caught their attention, and they made their way to the front door to greet whoever it was.

The footmen were helping Laurent and an older man to disembark from their carriage when the ladies got to the open door.

Look who I chanced upon just as I was about to return home, Laurent said with a smile.

The man with him was in his late fifties, the lines of age beginning to show on his face, wearing an excessively frilled shirt with a knee-length dark greenish-brown coat with a matching waistcoat and breeches. He carried a wooden walking cane that seemed more like an accessory than a necessity, and his curly light grey hair was tied back with a large ribbon. He wore a black wide-brimmed hat, and had a somewhat mischievous grin on his face and the sparkle of a keen intelligence in his eyes.

Colette went forward and greeted him with formal kisses. I’m delighted that you were able to grace us with a visit.

The revolution itself couldn’t stop me from visiting your family, he said cheerfully, but then at once his expression became solemn as he added, Especially in this difficult time. You have my deepest regrets that I was unable to make it in time to mourn with your family and offer my sincerest condolences.

Please, do not trouble yourself on that account. Allow me to present our resident guest, Mademoiselle Delilah Alyumia, Colette said, directing the man’s attention to her. This is our very good friend, Monsieur Joseph Ducreux.

The man bowed to Delilah politely. At your service, my lady. Before we left Paris, Laurent told me that there was a woman staying here of such beauty as to cause one’s heart to skip a beat while at the same time ensnaring the eyes so as to be unable to look anywhere else, and even his highest praise fails to do you justice.

Delilah couldn’t help but blush despite considering it to be a very far-fetched compliment.

And based upon his word, which I see was the epitome of an understatement, I took the liberty of bringing with me a canvas and some paints. I entreat you to do me the honour, unworthy as I am, of allowing me to paint your portrait this evening.

After such an eloquent request how could I refuse? Delilah stammered self-consciously, the growing tedium of her new lifestyle suddenly forgotten.

My dear Joseph, would you care to join us in the parlour? Colette asked.

Of course, good lady, Joseph replied, and offered his arm. Colette took it, and they proceeded into the chateau.

Laurent offered his arm to Delilah, and together they followed.

When they reached the parlour, Colette offered Joseph a seat and then ordered the attending maid to bring tea and refreshments. In the manner of gentlemen, Joseph and Laurent patiently waited until the ladies were seated before sitting down themselves.

It’s a pity you weren’t able to bring your daughter. I’m sure that she and Delilah would’ve quickly become the best of friends, Colette said to Joseph.

If Mademoiselle Alyumia will be here again the next time I call, I will insist that Rose-Adelaide accompany me, Joseph promised.

Is Rose-Adelaide an artist like yourself? Delilah asked.

In fact she is quite a fine artist, and I fear she will soon put my own works to shame, Joseph replied. She is also proficient at playing the harp, a true artist in that regard as well. Do you play an instrument, Mademoiselle Alyumia?

I’m afraid not. But please, call me Delilah.

As you please, Delilah, Joseph said with a polite bow of his head.

Marc and Adrienne entered the room and joined them. Like Colette and Delilah, Adrienne also wore a black dress.

After exchanging eloquently courteous greetings with Joseph, Marc asked Laurent, Did the proceedings go well at the trial?

Marc, I’m sure Joseph doesn’t want to hear about such matters as that, Colette said disapprovingly.

It’s quite alright, I assure you. I’m as interested as anyone else to see that justice is served to those who deserve it, Joseph said.

Well, I shall endeavour to be concise, Laurent said, gathering his thoughts. I must admit, the sight of the man was not one that I would attribute to a vicious killer. Had I passed him on the street I would’ve supposed him to be a kindly gentleman. But even when I read out the testimonies describing the morbid events and presented the evidence he still insisted that he was innocent. Perhaps he’s mentally unstable, but I think he genuinely believes that he didn’t commit the atrocities for which he was on trial. But there’s no mistake; he’s definitely the man whom the witnesses saw go into a craze and murder the people who had the misfortune to be in his immediate vicinity at the time. The witnesses were all certain that had he been aware of their presence he would’ve killed them too.

And the sentence? Marc asked.

He will be taken to the guillotine in two days’ time.

Something tells me that won’t be enough, Delilah muttered to herself, having formed a suspicion about Mustow.

Whatever do you mean? Joseph asked.

Nothing, she replied quickly. Then with a dismissive gesture, she added, His one death just doesn’t seem to make up for the deaths of the seven people he killed.

Colette decided that it was time to change the subject to something less morbid, and diverted their conversation to one about the various places around the world that they’d either visited or intended to someday.

After an hour of talking, Joseph insisted that it was time for him to paint Delilah’s portrait. Colette took Delilah up to her boudoir to find a suitable gown for her, and it was almost an hour before they returned. When they did, Delilah was wearing an elegantly embroidered ivory taffeta evening gown with a tight corset, and her hair was upswept in a highly decorative coiffure of intricate twists and curls with a few ringlets hanging at the sides. Colette was clearly pleased with the result, but Delilah had mixed feelings. While she certainly felt graceful and dignified, she also felt a bit ridiculous, as it wasn’t her style at all, especially with all the petticoats she was wearing underneath to broaden the skirt section. She was just thankful not to be wearing panniers, which would’ve been pointless anyway, as Colette had told her that Joseph favoured doing his portraits from the waist up.

I do apologise for keeping you waiting, my dear Joseph, but I had to ensure that she would be looking her best for her portrayal in one of your timeless works. I even indulged in having the coiffeur redo her hair, Colette said.

Joseph smiled. If my daughter is any example to go by, I’m surprised that it was all done in so short a time. And the results are even more amazing than I’d anticipated, he said, looking at Delilah with admiration. While he was waiting he’d set up his canvas and paints.

Where would you like me to sit? Delilah asked, blushing a little at all the attention.

How about over here, near the mantle? Joseph suggested.

Delilah complied, and when she was ready Joseph set to work, beginning with a sketching pencil.

I can tell that you’re an adventurous woman. Let me see the sparkle of the thirst for adventure in your lovely eyes, Joseph said.

Delilah thought of the time she was about to enter the ancient ruins of an alien world called Nemjah that no one had set foot in for millennia, recalling the thrill of being the first to explore the site with no idea of what to expect. It seemed to come through in her expression well enough, because Joseph seemed delighted with the result.

The group in the parlour continued talking while Joseph painted the portrait, and they were surprised at how quickly the day had passed when serving maids came in to light the candles throughout the room before the evening started getting too dark. Another half an hour after that Joseph had completed the painting.

Delilah got up to see how it had turned out, and was amazed at the level of detail the artist had managed to portray in the painting. It was almost photographic, or as close to it as a painting could be. I’d guessed you to be a good artist, but I had no idea just how talented you were. It’s truly magnificent.

I’m delighted that you like it so well, Joseph said with a deep bow. And yet, like Monsieur Laurent’s description, I feel I’ve failed to do your beauty true justice.

Yet again Delilah blushed at the compliment, which was clearly the reaction he was going for.

Joseph, would you do us the honour of joining us for supper? Colette asked.

Alas, I have a prior engagement that I cannot fail to attend to this evening, otherwise I would surely accept your kind invitation. I’m meeting with a new acquaintance and a fellow artist by the name of Jacques-Loius David. As a matter of fact, I’d not realised how late the hour was. It’s astounding how fleeting time is when one is enjoying such excellent company. I do hope you’ll forgive me for taking my departure so suddenly. He gathered his paints and brushes and put them into a satchel, which he handed to a waiting footman to take out to the carriage. But perhaps I could call on you again tomorrow?

Of course. You are most welcome to come at your convenience.

Shall we say eleven o’clock then?

Eleven it shall be.

Joseph went around the group, making a personal farewell to each of them, and then they all saw him out to the waiting carriage. As it pulled away he waved to them through the small window.

The sun had already set about a quarter of an hour earlier, but the clouds were still outlined with a red glow. Delilah drew a deep breath of the cool fresh air, or at least tried to, so far as the restraints of the tight corset would allow.

We had best go inside so as not to catch cold, Colette advised after a couple of minutes, and the others followed her in. When they went back into the parlour they all went straight to the painting to have another look at the exceptional artwork.

It’s always a pleasure to have that man in our home, Laurent commented, to which the others agreed.

The sound of horses could be heard approaching the chateau, and at first they thought that Joseph had forgotten something and returned, but as the sounds became more distinctive they could tell that there was more than one carriage approaching. Before they could speculate about it the carriages stopped, and barely a moment later a continuous loud banging began on the front doors; the unmistakable hammering of fists. Extremely concerned, they started making their way to the entrance foyer, but before they got there they heard the door being opened by a footman who’d presumed there to be some sort of emergency. Booted feet came charging in past the protesting footman, and upon seeing the gathered family members along one of the halls the intruders marched towards them.

They were a contingent of soldiers of the French Revolutionary Army; a mixture of veterans and younger recruits wearing somewhat mismatched uniforms that were mostly made up of white trousers that weren’t exactly kept spotless, a dark blue jacket with a pair of white sashes crossed diagonally over the chest from shoulder to hip, some with a red shirt visible underneath, and a bicorne hat or a red Phrygian cap with a tricolour cockade. They carried muskets with bayonets and wore a sword on their belts, and were led by a much more neatly attired man who was clean-shaven, unlike the others, most of whom had at least a few days of stubble on their faces. His trousers and jacket were black, he wore a tricorne hat, and instead of a musket he held a folded sheet of paper that was half scrunched in his fist.

What is the meaning of this intrusion? Colette demanded. Can you not see that we are a house in mourning?

The man stormed up to her and shouted, You have all been denounced as enemies of the Republic, and are under arrest!

Denounced by whom? I would have the wretch’s name! Laurent demanded.

It was at this moment that a young man in elegant civilian attire came to the front of the group of soldiers. Laurent and Marc recognised him at once. It was the apprentice notary who’d come to visit that morning to request a recommendation.

Ranald! Laurent exclaimed. How could you?

Marc was furious, but even more so with himself than with the man who’d betrayed them.

Take them, the man leading the contingent said.

Not recognising Delilah as a member of the family, Ranald nervously cleared his throat and said to him, I’m unfamiliar with that woman. She could simply be a visitor.

She’s dressed as an aristocrat, and she’s affiliated with this family. That’s good enough for me, the man said, not sparing Delilah any further consideration. To the soldiers, he ordered, Take her too. Arrest anyone in the house who’s not a servant.

The soldiers swarmed forward and roughly took hold of the family, plus Delilah. Both Laurent and Marc were about to draw their swords but their mother restrained them.

Don’t, or they’ll kill you both on the spot, she pleaded.

Reluctantly, the brothers allowed themselves to be disarmed.

Delilah called out to the soldiers’ leader, What the hell are you taking me for? I don’t even care about your damned revolution!

That’s precisely why you’re all being arrested, the leader bellowed back. If you’re not a friend of the revolution you are its enemy, and will be dealt with as such!

As the family was escorted past the leader and Ranald, they overheard the leader say to the notary, As agreed, they’ll be permitted no visitors, so your part in their denunciation will remain unknown publicly.

You still intend to use that letter of recommendation after this? Have you not a shred of honour? Laurent hissed in disgust.

Ignoring him, Ranald said to the leader, You have my deepest gratitude.

The captives were led outside past the shocked footmen at the door and herded into two carriages with barred windows, being prodded all the way by the soldiers’ bayonets. Delilah was in one carriage with Colette, who was staying level-headed throughout the ordeal, and Adrienne who was crying with despair, with only her fear of the soldiers’ reactions preventing her from giving in to complete hysteria. Colette held her tightly, trying in vain to offer some comfort. The two brothers were in the other carriage, and although they desperately wanted to rescue the ladies and attempt an escape they knew that any such attempt would be utterly futile. There were too many soldiers for it to end any other way than by the captives all losing their lives. They knew that what lay ahead was bleak, but at least they were alive for the moment. If nothing else it would at least offer them the opportunity to make their final farewells to each other, as well as some time to prepare for the end.

As the horses started to pull the carriages away along the drive, Colette looked through the bars at her home for one last time. Bravely turning away from it, she looked the other way to the road, and was surprised to see three horsemen in dark but extravagant attire waiting at the edge of the trees a short distance away, not in plain sight but not hidden either. She tapped on Delilah’s shoulder to get her attention and pointed them out.

Delilah looked outside and saw them, recognising them at once. The vampires! They were three of the ones who’d come to the house during the grieving for Jacques.

Adrienne was startled out of her crying, having not been told about them. Vampires? Surely not, she said so fearfully that it was clear that she believed it.

They must’ve been the ones who put Ranald up to this, Colette concluded. That way their hand wouldn’t be seen in this before Jacques’ friend, and they get us out of the way.

I dare say you’re right about that, Delilah agreed.

Adrienne was confused. Why would vampires want us arrested?

Colette decided to explain everything to her now that it could no longer make matters worse. She figured that it might at least take Adrienne’s mind off of their own doomed fate while they were taken to Paris.

All too soon they entered the city, with its gloomy and poorly-lit cobbled streets that made the ride relentlessly bumpy. Before long they passed through an arched gateway and came to a stop in the courtyard of a building that loomed high over them on all sides. As they were pulled from the carriage, Delilah asked the nearest soldier, Where are we?

The Conciergerie prison, he replied gruffly, shoving her after Colette and Adrienne, who were being led to a nearby door.

Laurent! Marc! Colette called out when she realised that her sons were being led to a different part of the prison through a doorway on the opposite side of the courtyard.

Shut up and get inside, one of the soldiers barked, jabbing her in the back with the butt of his musket so hard that she stumbled.

Delilah turned to confront the man, who quickly warned, Move along, or you’ll get the same.

Laurent and Marc tried to get at their mother’s assailant in a rush of anger, but were restrained by the soldiers escorting them and shoved through the doorway. The leader of the band of soldiers went in with them.

Delilah, Colette and Adrienne, who was instinctively clinging to her mother, were led into a small makeshift office that was only lit by a few candles where a tired-looking man in a dirty, unkempt uniform sat at a crude wooden table that had only a few sheets of paper and a quill and inkpot on it.

So who are these ones? the man at the table asked apathetically.

One of the soldiers answered, Mother and daughter, Colette and Adrienne de Polignac, and a family friend who was taken with them.

What’s your name? the man at the desk demanded impatiently.

Delilah gave her real name, since a false one wasn’t going to help her situation.

The man wrote down their names and said to the soldiers, Alright, take them away.

The three women were marched away, and were taken to a passage lined with barred cells. Some of the occupants reached out to the soldiers as they passed, pleading for release and swearing to their innocence, but the soldiers simply slapped their hands away or jabbed the butts of their muskets at their fingers savagely. Other prisoners glanced at the new arrivals with mild curiosity, but said nothing, and there were some who, although awake, were in such a deep state of despair that they didn’t even look up.

Delilah noticed that all of the prisoners here were women, and supposed that the men were kept elsewhere, hence why Laurent and Marc had been led inside through a different door.

When they reached an empty cell they were pushed inside, and the door was quickly locked behind them. The cell was dank, and the smell of urine was prevalent. There was some straw scattered across the stone floor; the only bedding that they were given, and it certainly wasn’t fresh.

In a barely audible voice that was trembling with fear and despair, Adrienne asked, Oh mama, how long must we remain in this awful place?

The soldier who’d struck Colette overheard her, and said, As far as I’m concerned you can rot in that cell ‘til Old Nick comes to collect you.

Or until we send you to him, another added, and with a chuckle the soldiers left.

Delilah wanted to voice a retort about them and the other bloodthirsty revolutionists being the ones that Old Nick was waiting to collect, but kept it to herself, as it would only cause things to get even worse for her and her companions.

As the three women walked over to the barred window to look outside, Adrienne felt something soft beneath her foot. With a squeal that made her heart skip a beat, the rat she’d trodden on darted out of the cell through the bars of the door. She let out a scream of fright, and then sobbing with complete hopelessness, she collapsed into her mother’s embrace.

The night passed sleeplessly, all three of them shivering in the bitter cold despite huddling together. Delilah had spent most of that time thinking about her friends, wondering if they were in Paris looking for her. She’d been trapped in this time for almost a week now, but without any of her technological devices her friends would have no way to isolate her from the hundreds of thousands of other human life signs.

When the glow of dawn started to faintly illuminate the cell they heard the sound of slow footsteps shuffling along the passage outside. Too cold to get up and see who it was, they waited. The footsteps stopped several times along the way, and when the person reached their cell they saw why. It was a haggard and unshaven old man who was handing out small individual loaves of crusty bread to the prisoners from a satchel that hung from his shoulder. He didn’t wear any sort of uniform, and his clothes were grimy, even his short scarf. He looked at how many were in the cell, and then proffered three portions of bread through the bars.

Delilah got up, her legs stiff from sitting in a fetal position all night. She took the bread and demanded, How long are we going to be kept here?

Your clothes are still clean, so you must be new here, the old man wheezed, his rotten breath reeking of cheap wine. I’m afraid I couldn’t say. It could be days or months.

Delilah realised that the man lacked the animosity of the soldiers. He wasn’t wearing a cockade, and seemed to lack the fanaticism of the revolutionists. And then what? she asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

He frowned regretfully. There’s a reason the Conciergerie Prison is known as the guillotine’s waiting room.

Chapter 2

1912

But we shouldn’t even be here! We haven’t done anything wrong. We only ended up in here because a bunch of aristocratic vampires arranged for some idiot notary to get us arrested, Delilah retorted before thinking about how the old man might respond to the subject of vampires.

I really am very sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to help you. And you’re not the first prisoners to blame vampires for your arrest. It’s a strangely common delusion among new prisoners.

I’m not crazy, she tried to assure him.

I do wish there was something I could say to offer some consolation and put your mind at ease.

So we’re going to be beheaded for no very good reason, Delilah said dejectedly.

The man shrugged, unsure of what to say. Your young friend over there’s shivering with the cold, he observed, noticing the terrified and freezing Adrienne. He removed his scarf and handed it to Delilah. Give this to her. It’s not much, but it might make her a little warmer.