II THE LONG VERSION
Tuesday 2nd June 1789
What Madame Bossat Saw
Outside the Printing House in La Rue de la Harpe a small crowd has gathered in the cobbled street next to a broken down door. There is a palpable fear amongst them. None dare venture inside the premises. Close by, seated on a stone step, we find a dishevelled white-haired old lady, staring into space. Pressi attempted to attract her attention by insulting her. Beaumains interjected with a more comforting approach. The old woman is Madame Bossat, the landlady who had reported a murder to the Maréchaussée. She informs us that a white carriage with red trim drew up in the street shortly after midnight and a man knocked at her door. There was something frightful about the man; he cut a dark figure, yet his skin was pale. He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. He enquired after Monsieur Raymonde, the printer. Mdme Bossat was compelled to point the way to Raymonde’s door. As the menacing figure moved away, Mdme Bossat glanced towards the waiting carriage and witnessed a woman’s hand flop lifelessly out of the door.
Before investigating the Printing House, Pressi looked in the street and found an expensive and blooded lady’s handkerchief, dropped or discarded on the cobbles. It was embroidered with the initials M. A. Pressi handed the bloody evidence to Serjant Renault.
Murders in La Rue de la Harpe
Raymonde’s door had been broken down with violent force. Passing through the crowd and squeezing beyond the shattered door we happened immediately upon the body of a beheaded dog, lying just inside the doorway. The odours of ink, paper, machinery and blood filled the air. There were two large printing presses in the dim room and several worktables brimmed with reams of paper, piles of printed pamphlets and wooden blocks purposed for type setting. Hanging from the rafters, suspended by their ankles, were four bodies. Raymonde, his wife and their two sons had been strung upside-down and their throats deeply cut to the bone. Their life’s blood had been drained, evidently into buckets. Crumpled pamphlets had been forced into each of their mouths. “Literally made to eat their words n’est pas?” grumbled Babin. Despite having to overpower four people, Beaumains is convinced this is the work of a lone perpetrator. We soon discovered the grisly use of the Raymondes’ blood: Seditious pamphlets entitled What is the Third Estate?, had been over-printed on the presses with large bloody letters: Know Your Place.
Dismissed
Before leaving the Printing House, the investigators cut down the bodies, burned most of the pamphlets and then, in true soldier-style, pilfered anything readily portable that may have value. Dupois came away with a small white, black-eared puppy he found in a backroom. Dupios named his new friend, Blanco. Suddenly there is life stirring in the street. Despite the late hour Captain Malon himself had arrived and was barking orders to all around him. We reported forthwith. Renault handed over a copy of the seditious pamphlet and the monogrammed handkerchief in evidence of our findings. Malon’s face paled on seeing the initials M. A. on the handkerchief. “Speak of this to on-one!” he hissed, and promptly confiscated the evidence. We were dismissed from the investigation and ordered to report for duty at the Palace of Versailles in two days.
Wednesday 3rd June 1789
A Day in Paris
Pressi is convinced that last night’s murders are the work of a vampire. Babin accused him of reading too many books. Undeterred, Pressi spent the morning looking to purchase garlic, said to be a ward against the blood-sucking undead, but like all food items in these times, garlic is in short supply and ridiculously expensive. Pressi spent almost all of his livre on a single bulb. Babin spent his livre at the whorehouse. He gave one lucky young lady the best 3 inches and 89 second knee-trembling of her day. In return the young lady gave him a dose of the clap. Meanwhile Renault, Beaumaris and Dupois wasted a fruitless day trying to trace the owner a white horse-drawn carriage in the city.
Thursday 4th June 1789
Versailles
The Palace of Versailles lies 10 lieue (27 miles) to the west of Paris, across the Ile de France—a laborious nine hour ride by slow coach. Departing Paris, the coach first had to navigate the roads partially blocked by temporary markets of farmers, peddlars and ale-sellers established outside the city walls in an attempt to evade the extortionate taxes charged within the city. The scene on arrival at Versailles was in stark contrast to the poverty of the city we had left a few hours earlier. Expansive, immaculate gardens were populated by richly-dressed aristocrats wandering amongst attendant servants and musicians; and beyond the landscaped gardens was the magnificent palace itself.
The White Carriage
The driver drew to a halt and deposited us in an enclosure where many other carriages wait. Coach drivers busied themselves attending to their horses and vehicles, whilst their masters lingered in the gardens. Amongst them Beaumains spied a white carriage with red trim. Babin strolled over to engage the driver in conversation but the driver, a large man with a menacing countenance, remained obstinately silent. “Who is your Master?” asked Babin. The driver fingered a nasty-looking horsewhip and gave no reply. Babin, regarding the coach, concluded the carriage looked Venetian in fashion. The brooding driver positioned himself so as not to allow for a close-up inspection.
Amongst the Guests
We mingled, to the extent our limited standing as soldiers would allow, and made enquiries among the guests: "Who is the owner of the white carriage?" At last we receive a name in answer. The name fills many with dread—the Comte de Fenalik. Fenalik, we learn, is German and a recent arrival at the French Court. He has gained rapid influence with many in high places—including the Queen it is said.
The Most disappointed Woman in History
Pressi talks to a Madame Debrienne, a mover and fixer in high society circles. She doesn’t know much of the personal details of Fenalik, but he is gaining notoriety as the host of debauched parties at his Poissy country mansion. An incredibly beautiful woman named Claudette approaches Pressi. She overheard him talking with Mdme Debrienne. Claudette would sincerely like to attend one of Fenalik’s parties. She smiled demurely and made it clear she'd be eternally grateful if Pressi could arrange an introduction. Seizing upon the opportunity Pressi invites Claudette to a more secrete part of the garden. When his smooth talking had her almost panting to be shagged bandy, Pressi whipped out his baby carrot and instantly splashed out on her dress. He tucked himself away like nothing had happened and walked off. The girl was left devastated.
The Captain and the Physician
Captain Malon sent for us to join him inside the palace. A footman greets us at the servant’s entrance and leads us through to a drawing room. The interior of the palace is grand and opulent and yet shows signs of neglect. Malon is waiting for us along with an exhausted Dr Rigot—physician to the gravelly ill young Dauphin. Malon asks for a recap of our account of the murders at the Rue de le Harpe. Before anyone else can speak, Pressi spins his vampire theory to the captain and, as the owner of a white carriage, accuses Fenalik of being the murderer. Serjant Renault stops Pressi from continuing with his fantastic theory in front of the captain. Malon however, latches onto the name Fenalik. The captain considers Fenalik to pose a danger to the crown. He produces the monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and shows it to Rigot. “Could it be hers?” the captain muses. Rigot takes the handkerchief and assures Malon he will present it to Marie Antoinette at his next opportunity and gauge her reaction.
Good Grief
Pandemonium overtakes the palace. The news that the Dauphin has died is circulating. People at the palace fall into hysteria at the news. Some of the hysteria is genuine and some obviously faked, as an outpouring of grief is the expected reaction to such catastrophe for the nobility. The king and queen were already being removed to a place of privacy, when amid the mayhem, the Comte de Fenalik strides along a corridor and stops directly in front of us with a satisfied grin on his face.
Fenalik
Fenalik locked eyes with Pressi who, unable to withstand a sudden oppressive power exerted upon him, was compelled to look away. Fenalik’s wolfish grin spread wider. He stood with hands clasped behind his back and exuded an impossible aura of arrogance. Measuring up everyone stood before him, he asked, “Do I know you?” Babin made to speak, but a simple glance from Fenalik caused Babin to flinch and recoil in silence. “Terrible news about the boy isn’t it? I shall comfort the queen personally,” remarked the Count as if making idle conversation. He smirked and continued with an odd comment: “I wonder you know. Did that doctor infect the boy?”
The Handshake of a Monster
Fenalik then extended a talon-like hand to Beaumains who accepted it to shake without thinking. When Beaumains withdrew his hand, he became aware of warm blood dripping from a small cut. “Oh. Sorry about that. Was that my fault?” commented the irksome Count in a sarcastic tone, before confidently strolling away along the corridor.
Though Fenalik’s touch had been light, the cut caused by the press of his finger nail opened into a deep laceration, spreading from Beaumains’ wrist to his lower arm. Blood oozed profusely from the wound. We hastened back to the drawing room to find Doctor Rigot who was forced to apply significant pressure to finally stop the bleed. Beaumains passed out.
Babin wondered whether this would be an appropriate time to ask if the doctor had an ointment that might treat the itching rash developing on his todger.
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