ANR Ch 1
by mimiApril 1824. The streets of Paris, haunted by the ghost of a decapitated king from 30 years ago. Claude Veil stopped by a tavern on Clichy Street, which also served as a restaurant, to take care of his dinner. He had just finished a week-long mission in the outskirts of the city, in the Serge region, and after changing shifts with other squad members, he had received a day’s leave for the next day.
The first floor of the inn, with walls made of stacked stones plastered over, had all the candles extinguished except for one. The innkeeper went into the kitchen for him as he took a seat. With a bit of butter, potatoes, and flour sprinkled in, and water poured, the soup began to boil quickly.
The innkeeper handed him a plate with two pieces of dried bacon and a slice of bread, and started to talk.
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“How is it there? Still chaotic?”
“Pretty much.”
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“The culprit?”
“Not yet.”
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He was referring to a fire incident that had occurred a few days ago. A church in Serge had burnt down to its skeleton. Fires were common, but several unidentified bodies were found in the basement. Because of this, military forces had been deployed to the entrance of the city walls leading to Paris, strengthening inspections and increasing reports of suspicious individuals.
“I’ve heard there’s a doctor collecting bodies. Could it be him?”
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The innkeeper muttered, but Claude, uninterested, placed a piece of bacon into the soup bowl. After letting the salty, meaty flavor seep out slowly, he started to eat with a spoon. The innkeeper pushed a cup of water towards him and continued.
“It must be the Royalists who started the fire. It’s obvious. Do you also inspect the nobles?”
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“…Well, in principle, yes.”
His response came a beat late, as he was busy eating. It seemed, by Claude’s attitude, that inspections of the higher-ups were not thoroughly carried out.
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“That’s why the culprit hasn’t been caught yet.”
The innkeeper clicked his tongue knowingly. It was obvious that this would end up unresolved. It was the soldiers who were having a hard time pretending to care about public security for a week. Scratching his thick forearm, he waited for Claude’s reaction, but the conversation seemed to end there. He switched topics.
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“They say the king is very ill. Did you hear?”
Claude, still uninterested, focused on his meal. The innkeeper stood with his arms resting on the back of a chair, looking down at Claude. He seemed pleased to see his food being eaten well, and sniffed as he wiped his nose with his hand.
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In fact, the reason he brought up the king’s health was not out of concern for Louis XVIII. It was because he was worried about the successor. It had been five years since he had put away the proud Napoleon medal in his cupboard, but in these times, when the far-right Royalists were frequently committing acts of white terror, it was important who the next king would be.
Anyone else would be fine, but he hoped it would not be the Count of Artois.
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“There are rumors of smallpox, and others say it’s just old age. It seems he won’t make it through the year.”
Of course, the most accurate source for royal gossip would be the nobility, but he had no aristocratic friends while running a shabby inn next to the quarantine station.
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The next easiest group to get information from was the military. Claude Veil, as a sergeant in the Paris guard, was one of the few people around the innkeeper who was relatively close to the government.
“Do you know anything? The House election is coming up soon, and there are rumors that the Royalists might win a majority of seats. If that happens, people like you, from common backgrounds, will have a harder time in the unit. Doesn’t that bother you?”
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“Brevet.”
Claude called his name. The innkeeper’s name was Brevet Hugo, and he was a very distant relative of Claude. The man, having just heard his name called, looked at Claude with an expectant expression.
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‘Yes, he must know something.’
He stared into Claude’s dark brown eyes, waiting for him to speak.
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“More soup, please. And a few more potatoes.”
However, Claude held out the empty bowl he had just finished, talking about something completely different. Brevet wordlessly took the empty bowl and went into the kitchen. Shortly after, he came out with the hot soup, and as if in return, Claude muttered in an indifferent voice.
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“It seems people are flocking to the Count of Artois. It looks like military power has already been handed over as well. Even in our battalion, I heard that a new officer will be appointed soon. I hear he’s from a family of exiled aristocrats, so I doubt he’s ever properly held a sword.”
The innkeeper listened intently to Claude’s words as they poured out. Even though he acted like he didn’t care, it seemed that Claude was concerned as well.
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Nobles who had left France during the Revolution of ’89 were returning. A commoner’s relative might barely run an inn in Paris, but a noble’s relative could be assisting a king in another country. Because that history of power could not be broken in just a few decades, the revolution failed, and the Bourbon dynasty was restored to France. Those who stood as leaders for the people were beheaded one after another, and the citizens of Paris were now tired of fighting. Most of them thought that as long as they had bread to eat, nothing else mattered.
Claude put the remaining strip of bacon back into the soup and continued.
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“If your hunch is right, the Count of Artois will be the next king. So make sure no talkative thinkers come here too often. I heard that the checkpoints in Paris will be strengthened as well. An order has been issued to regulate unauthorized newspapers.”
“This isn’t a place those sorts of guys come to.”
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“Yeah, so just keep being careful.”
Claude pretended not to notice the independent newspaper, Le Mercure, lying in the corner of the counter.
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At that moment, a commotion came from the second floor. There was a loud crash and someone screamed in pain, begging for help. The innkeeper Brevet’s expression immediately soured.
“Here we go again.”
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“What’s going on?”
“It’s that male prostitute the Baron de Pérrin brings around. The Baron sometimes offers him to people he favors, but it looks like he got stuck with someone clumsy today. He’s been causing a ruckus the whole time, and it looks like he’s finally finished.”
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There was another loud noise from the second floor. It sounded like something breaking. Soon after, a man came down to the first floor. Then he met Claude’s eyes. Recognizing the blue uniform of the Paris Guard, the man mumbled apologetically.
“I, uh, I didn’t hit him. He just… he just did it himself….”
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“I know. It happens often.”
Brevet cut him off, siding with the man. And then, as if to assure him there was nothing to worry about, he patted Claude on the shoulder, flaunting their friendship.
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Relieved, the man pulled his hat down and quickly left the inn. Claude, his eyes fixed on his retreating figure, muttered.
“Disgusting.”
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Then, as if the soup had lost its flavor, he put down the plate and continued.
“As befits a city at the forefront of fashion, is prostitution also ahead of its time? It seems like it’s okay to openly indulge in homosexuality these days.”
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“What do I care? The 20 sous (a lower denomination of the French franc) that guy paid today is more important to me than the revolution.”
Brevet wiped the table, indicating that he would turn a blind eye to anything as long as he was paid. Claude stopped eating and wiped his mouth.
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A moment later, a thumping sound was heard again, and someone slid down the stairs. It was a young-looking boy.
He hadn’t put his clothes on properly yet and was shivering like a dog, probably cold. His immature face seemed to stimulate the desires of some and evoke pity in others.
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“Sorry, but if you’re done, I’d appreciate it if you could go back. We need to get that room ready for another guest.”
Brevet said in a commanding tone with his arms crossed. The boy ruffled his red curly hair and sat powerlessly on the floor. Seeing this, Claude pushed his plate away and turned his body towards the floor.
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“He’s just a kid. That’s too much.”
“Don’t be fooled by appearances. He’s been an adult for a long time now.”
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“Why don’t you just call him a carriage?”
“Ah, no. I can walk.”
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However, he crawled along the floor, almost as if he was waiting. Claude, unable to watch any longer, gently grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and helped him up.
He sniffled and stuttered, and a blurred, unfocused sensuality could be seen in his eyes. It seemed the customer had drugged him. Saying he didn’t hit him wasn’t a lie, but the man had taken advantage of him in a more cowardly way.
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Seeing this made Claude feel deeply unpleasant. He wasn’t particularly driven by a sense of justice, but he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it either. He frowned and asked Brevet.
“Where is the Baron de Pérrin’s mansion?”
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“Why? Are you going to take him there?”
Brevet raised his thick eyebrows and looked at Claude. Surprised by the words, the red-haired prostitute also lifted his head sharply. And he checked the face of the man who said he would take him there.
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A typical northern beauty. His facial features were smooth, and his frame was sturdy. His dark hair went well with his restrained impression, and his calm demeanor was reflected in his bright dark brown eyes.
Judging by his faded but clean uniform, he didn’t seem to be an ordinary soldier. The poor boy, who had no idea about ranks, might have thought Claude was a high-ranking officer.
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As if he had received unexpected kindness, a blush appeared on his disheveled face. As he closed his mouth and pretended not to know, Claude continued.
“I hope you have enough energy to ride a horse.”
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“Ah…”
This was clear enough. It meant he would take him there. He was momentarily confused, but soon nodded. There was no reason to refuse.
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Brevet shrugged as if he didn’t want to interfere and told him the location of the Baron’s house. Then, Claude nodded as if he understood and got up.
“It’s about two leagues away, so I’ll be there in 30 minutes. I’ll leave right now.”
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With that, he took off his navy blue military coat and draped it over the shivering prostitute. It just so happened that he was returning from an outer patrol, so he had the horse he had been issued. The military horse, who had had plenty of rest, was led out of the stable by Brevet.
He lifted the prostitute up first, and Claude himself climbed onto the horse as well. After Brevet’s farewell message to send his regards to his sister, the horse carrying the two slowly disappeared from the Rue de Clichy. The time was approaching eight o’clock.
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“You’re going to fall off if you keep slouching like that.”
“Ah… I’m sorry.”
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At Claude’s words, the red back of his head, which had been slumped over, faced forward. His body, which had been trembling from the drugs, gradually stabilized. The poor prostitute tried to predict what would happen.
Would he eventually have to give his body to this soldier? How many hours would he have to offer in exchange for the ride?
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But it didn’t matter much. He didn’t seem like he would treat him roughly, and above all, he was quite handsome. It wasn’t like he, a seller of bodies, was trying to pick and choose based on appearance, but with a man like this, he wouldn’t feel nauseous or have a rejection response like he did with others. If possible, it would be nice to do it face to face.
After finishing his own wild imaginings, the prostitute introduced himself as Michel. And he added that he was happy to do whatever it was that this tall soldier was expecting.
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The reply came a beat late. That’s because Claude was remembering the Mercure he had seen at Brevet’s inn and thinking about something completely different.
“…Huh? Ah, I’ll pass. I didn’t help you expecting that.”
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“Huh?”
Michel asked, not understanding at once.
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“I’m not interested in that kind of thing at all.”
“Ah…”
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Michel had nothing more to say and closed his mouth. He felt embarrassed and lowered his head again. Fortunately, the awkward silence was filled with the sound of hooves, so they were able to pass the time. It was only when they had completely left Paris that Michel spoke again.
“Um… I’m from a fishing village called Saint-Jean-de-Monts in southern Nantes.”
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He hadn’t been asked, so of course, there was no reply.
“My father was a sailor on Mr. Martin’s ship, but he was drafted and became a soldier. He left home wearing that blue uniform like you, but I heard he died in Russia a year later. My mother was hit by a carriage and died. I received 50 francs in compensation, but I spent it all in a few months.”
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Claude listened quietly to the story. The content was so dry that it almost made a rustling sound. Everyone has this level of tragedy these days. There was no need to show great emotion.
“So I came to Paris to make money, but it was already full of people looking for jobs. I worked as an apprentice in a shoemaking shop for a while, but I ran away because they didn’t pay me.”
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Michel’s story continued.
“Then I worked in a factory that dyed wool fabrics, but I couldn’t eat properly. The smell of chemicals made me vomit every day. I ran away from there after two months. And then I was so hungry that I grabbed anyone and begged to do whatever they asked me to do. That’s how I ended up doing this kind of work.”
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Prostitution in Paris offered equal opportunities to everyone, regardless of gender or age. The beginnings were all different, but the ends were all the same and ended with the same emptiness.
“It’s really unavoidable. In Saint-Jean-de-Monts, I could eat fish once a week, but in Paris, it was hard to even find a sardine head. But since Master took me in, I’ve been able to eat sausages every time, so I’m happy.”
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“Master, huh? So the Baron de Pérrin saved you?”
Claude finally responded to Michel’s words.
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“Yes. I was his regular.”
Hearing that answer, Claude knew that the expression “saved” was a bit misleading. The Baron de Pérrin’s actions were probably not an act of charity towards the poor but simply a more efficient way to satisfy his homosexuality. However, Michel seemed to be content with this life in his own way, so he decided not to criticize him in front of him.
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“Actually, Master doesn’t touch me anymore these days. I think he has a new lover, and he always seems to be in a good mood when he comes back from seeing them. So I thought I was going to be abandoned, but these days I get called somewhere every day. I have to make Master’s friends happy.”
“How do you get back after work? It doesn’t seem like you can walk.”
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“I’ve always walked back. Once you get used to it, it’s not that hard. But strangely, today I have no energy at all and I keep throwing up. The customer probably used drugs. It’s a little sad that I have to eat it knowing that. Anyway, if it weren’t for the officer, I would have spent the day homeless on the street. I think you’re the kindest person I’ve met in Paris.”
Michel, shy at the first kindness he’s ever received, curled his back again. Then, remembering Claude’s words to straighten his posture, he suddenly straightened his upper body.
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Claude corrected the title that Michel had arbitrarily given him. He hadn’t been commissioned yet, so he was still a sergeant.
“Anyway, you’re not a regular soldier.”
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Michel shrugged as if he didn’t care. As they completely left the outskirts of the city, Claude prepared to spur on his horse.
“I don’t care what you call me, but you’d better hold on tight from now on.”
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The horse began to run. The Baron de Pérrin’s mansion was located near Châtillon, south of Paris, so they had to run a full league from now on. Soon the streetlights disappeared. The military horse carrying the two relied entirely on the moonlight to run forward.
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
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Claude arrived in front of the Baron’s mansion, let Michel down, and looked around. A luxurious rococo mansion built around the 18th century. The vast garden that ran between the gate and the mansion was impressive. There were no guards, and the gate was half open.
Michel asked Claude’s name as if he would see him again.
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“Veil.”
After repeating the name a few times, Michel slowly disappeared into the dark mansion garden. He turned around and greeted him several times, so Claude lingered around the area, waiting for him to disappear completely. Then, as he was about to turn around, he realized that he had unknowingly entered the mansion’s garden.
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He was trespassing on a noble’s estate.
He turned back towards the entrance, but the sound of water came from deep within the garden. At the same time, the scent of narcissus flowers, which his sister Catherine loved, wafted in the wind.
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Claude thought he should turn around and leave, but the ghost of his father, who had been killed by a cannon in a street fight, gently pushed his back and whispered.
It’s not a sin to pick a sprig for your sister. Besides, she’s sick now.
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Claude hesitated for a moment. He thought about what to say if he got caught. If they accused him of being a suspicious person, he might end up in jail.
But then again, he was the one who brought the house guest, wasn’t he? He could just say he got lost in the garden because it was so big.
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With a clear reason in his grasp, Claude moved towards the sound of water.
As he reached the eastern end of the garden, he saw a fountain. White narcissus flowers bloomed beautifully next to it, swaying gently. The early-blooming fragrance gracefully rode the winter wind, and the unopened buds shimmered in the moonlight.
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A well-maintained noble’s garden. It wouldn’t be noticeable if he took a few sprigs. Claude stroked the stem of the flower that had the largest bud and carefully bent down. Then, he discovered blue eyes shining brightly in the darkness and had no choice but to stop moving.
A man was lying in the garden.
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A man wearing a high-quality silk cravat over a red waistcoat. A face with dark blonde hair and a nose like a sheer cliff was revealed in the moonlight.
It was not enough to simply call him handsome. If Narcissus, the young Greek man who loved his reflection in the pond and died, was reincarnated, this is what he would look like.
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The blue eyes staring at Claude slowly blinked. A faint smile played on his lips. It seemed he was enjoying Claude’s reaction, as if he had been watching him the whole time. Only then did Claude realize that he had been caught picking flowers in the garden.
“Ah, this is…”
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What should he say? Flustered, Claude looked down at the narcissus flower in his hand, choosing his words. Just then, someone came out of the mansion and called out desperately.
“Eve! Eve, where are you? Eve!”
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It seemed clear that they were looking for this man. He was likely to come crashing in this direction soon, and it seemed like it would cause unnecessary misunderstandings. Claude wanted to explain his actions.
“So this is…”
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“Shhh-”
The man who was lying down brought his finger to his lips, as if he didn’t care, and gestured to be quiet. Claude, unconsciously holding his breath at the sound, froze in place like a statue.
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Soon, the voice looking for the man faded away in the opposite direction. Claude, having unwittingly participated in deceiving someone, saw a longsword with a lion emblem next to the man.
An officer?
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Then the man who had been lying down raised his upper body. The narcissus flowers that had been crushed were left in the place where he had been lying. Claude was still standing. The man was in a lower position, but his gaze was not that of someone looking up. He was undoubtedly a noble from a very high-ranking family.
Claude found it difficult to turn around. The man was still looking at Claude with a faint smile on his face. Just when he felt like a moment of time was crawling by slowly, he finally spoke to Claude.
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“The Guard?”
Judging by the fact that he recognized his affiliation right away, he must have been a soldier as well.
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“That’s right.”
The man smiled at Claude’s answer, as if he knew it all along. Then, he made a ridiculous misunderstanding.
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“Judging by your build, you’re Joseph’s type, and your looks too. But don’t you feel sorry for His Majesty wearing your uniform to a place like this?”
Claude frowned at the words.
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What the hell is this guy talking about?
Unlike his lofty appearance, his thoughts were quite low-class.
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“You have some strange misunderstandings. I have no acquaintance with the Baron de Pérrin. I just happened to meet a servant of this household and give him a ride. Isn’t it cruel to make him walk two leagues alone on a night like this?”
“A servant?”
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“I met a male prostitute who works on the Rue de Clichy.”
“Ah, Michel, I see.”
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The man called out the name familiarly.
“Thank you for giving him a ride? Then I’ll apologize for my misunderstanding. Joseph is so promiscuous these days that if I see a handsome man, I automatically think of that kind of thing.”
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The fact that he repeatedly called the Baron de Pérrin by his real name showed that the man was quite close to the owner of this house. Furthermore, his way of speaking, which seemed to have no aversion to homosexuality, created a strange atmosphere in addition to his appearance.
Why was he getting involved with these kinds of people today?
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Claude put aside his uneasy feelings and gave another light bow. Then, as he turned to leave, the man spoke to him once more.
“Weren’t you going to pick some flowers? You can take as many as you want. White narcissus is twice as expensive. I specially obtained the bulbs from the Montpellier region and planted them last year. They smell great and are resistant to the cold.”
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“I don’t intend to take anything without the owner’s permission. Please pretend you didn’t see it just now.”
“Joseph planted these for me. So you can think of me as the owner. Take as many as you want. Are you going to give them as a gift?”
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Claude nodded silently.
“Whoever she is, she must be a great lady.”
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The man smiled and stood up. Then, instead of Claude who was hesitating, he plucked a large bouquet of narcissus flowers and handed them to him.
“Take it.”
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Claude took the bouquet without realizing it. In the meantime, he saw the man’s hand, which was stained with sap from tearing the stems. He had expected it to be white and neat, but it was covered with scars and calluses. It was unexpected.
“Eve, where are you! Please stop playing around!”
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The voice was heard again from the other side. The two made eye contact, and the man turned to Claude and said again with a smile.
“I really have to go now. Unless you want to join us.”
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Claude frowned again.
He’s out of his mind.
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An unpleasant feeling flashed up. It wasn’t just the fact that he made such jokes at his expense, but the fact that the man was sleeping with the Baron was even more shocking.
In an instant, all the goodwill he had felt for him disappeared. Claude, without saying goodbye, grabbed the bouquet and returned the way he had come, leaving the mansion. He heard the man’s low laughter behind him.
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Claude returned home after 9 p.m. When he entered the living room, he heard Catherine’s cough. Sensing someone’s presence, she walked out of her room and greeted Claude.
“You’re late. Cough, cough. I’ll get you water to wash with. What’s that in your hand?”
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Catherine asked, illuminating Claude’s hand with a candle and seeing the bouquet of white narcissus flowers.
“You like them.”
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He handed them to her as if it was nothing. Then, a skinny wrist, like that of a corpse, protruded from inside her thin linen sleeve and took the bouquet.
Catherine, enjoying the fragrance, returned from the kitchen with a flower vase stained with dried water stains. Looking at the narcissus flowers artfully decorated on the dim living room table, Claude recalled his encounter earlier.
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It was as unreal as a dream. The ridiculous remarks that came out of the man’s mouth, and more importantly, his appearance.
The more he thought about it, the more unrealistic his face was. His eyes were so blue that it reminded him of the medieval superstition that blue blood flowed in the veins of nobles, and how smooth his nose and forehead were. He had never seen such a handsome man in his life.
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Perhaps he knew it well himself, as his tone and eyes were confident. Although the words that came out of his mouth were extremely vulgar.
Well, even though times have changed, nobles are still like that. They were the henchmen of the Bourbon dynasty who returned to Paris as if there had never been a revolution when the Republic ended.
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“Are you listening to me?”
Claude, lost in thought, raised his head and looked at Catherine. Seeing that he hadn’t answered her question since earlier, she repeated the same words once more.
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“I’ve heated up the hot water, okay? Go take a bath before the steam cools down. Cough, cough.”
Catherine coughed painfully and pushed him on the back.
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Entering the narrow space connected to the kitchen, there was a shabby bathtub. Catherine poured hot water once more into the lukewarm water that was half full. Then, she checked the temperature with her fingertips and lit two candlesticks placed on the shelf to illuminate the bathroom.
After she left, Claude took off his uniform and lay down in the bathtub. His tired body, trapped in a narrow space where he couldn’t stretch his legs completely, melted into the warm air.
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“I’m tired.”
Claude leaned his head back and muttered to himself. He decided to quickly erase the encounter with the strange noble man from his mind. To soothe his inexplicably sunken mood, he thought about how he would spend his day off tomorrow.
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Should he take his sister for a walk in the suburbs?
Catherine, who spent her time knitting at home all day, had extremely limited outdoor activities due to her frail body. She had married a fallen aristocrat, miscarried twice, and divorced. For his sister who had returned to Paris, Claude, who had just turned an adult, had no choice but to become a career soldier.
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It was one of the common paths chosen by commoners who had not learned a skill in order to make a living. If he made a contribution and received the Legion of Honor, he could become an officer regardless of his background.
Or he had to become a priest, which was impossible for Claude. That’s why he said he had no choice.
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The start wasn’t bad in its own way. He was intelligent and had exceptional physical strength, so he was well-regarded as a soldier. However, after the Bourbon dynasty was restored, it became difficult for commoners to be commissioned.
Claude started as an infantryman and was promoted twice, but he failed to be commissioned as a second lieutenant and his rank stopped at sergeant. In the meantime, the price of bread in Paris had doubled, but his salary had been frozen for three years.
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The bathwater smelled of rusty pipes. Claude, raising his upper body, rubbed his body with soap that didn’t lather well. The water was cooling quickly, so he quickly finished his bath. Then, after changing into the pajamas that Catherine had left behind, he dried his wet hair and went into his room.
✧ ✧ ✧
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Two days later, the city of Paris, approaching Easter, was bustling with activity. The weather was nice, so people gathered in the square from the morning. Laundry hung on clotheslines in the narrow alleys, fluttering in the sunlight.
“Hey, did you have a good vacation?”
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Magnon, spotting Claude on his way to the barracks, patted him on the shoulder and greeted him.
“What brings you to work so early?”
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Claude turned his head to the side while holding the reins of his horse.
Magnon was a squad leader in the same platoon. The French king, whose past glory had faded, was filling the shortage of soldiers by drawing lots. Magnon was a conscript who had been recruited in this way, but surprisingly, military life suited him, and he remained in the unit even after his six-year term of service had ended.
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“You look even better. You should have taken your sister on an outing.”
“I did. I went all the way to Versailles, so the carriage fare cost twice as much.”
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The two passed through the massive iron gate and entered the parade ground.
“It’s a good thing the weather is nice. There will be a commander-level inspection today. I don’t know how great a guy the battalion commander is who’s coming, but I heard that the Count of Artois will visit in person.”
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“Did the Count have the rank of commander?”
“Maybe he did. Actually, it doesn’t really matter whether he does or not, does it?”
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“I guess not.”
Claude nodded and entered the stable to return his military horse.
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The Count of Artois was the younger brother of the current King Louis XVIII. He was the first to leave France when the revolution broke out, and regained power after the monarchy was restored. He had been bestowed with three ducal titles, but people still called him Count.
The head of the ultra-royalists and the man who was almost certain to succeed to the throne. The very fact that such a man was personally visiting the inspection itself showed the political position of the newly appointed battalion commander too clearly.
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Claude smiled bitterly. There would be nothing to look forward to after all. He thought that an even more inflexible man than the former Major Neker had come.
“Oh, you’re here. Just put the saddle over there.”
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The supply NCO, barely acknowledging Claude’s salute, spoke in a languid voice. Claude stroked the mane of the horse, who he had become attached to during the short period, and handed over the reins.
In the corner, another supply corporal was feeding a horse he had never seen before. A well-proportioned white horse from the Blois area. Claude couldn’t help but glance at the horse. He seemed to know who the owner was. He turned around and left the stable, then entered the barracks building.
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The French Guard consisted of three regiments and was responsible for the security of the capital under General Marmont. Their main task was to monitor outsiders entering from the outskirts of Paris and crack down on illegal gatherings and publications.
Because some of the National Guard, which had disappeared in the aftermath of the revolution, had been incorporated, there were Bonaparte supporters (Napoleon’s followers) mixed in among the soldiers and junior officers, and the officers who took charge of them were mostly aristocratic sons of royalists allied with the Count of Artois.
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And in between were the commoner conscripts and career soldiers. They were essentially acting as a buffer between the two forces.
The total number of personnel was just under 3,000. The 2nd and 3rd Regiments used the Mars building as their barracks. It was the place where the Imperial Guard, which had been disbanded after the Battle of Waterloo, had been stationed, and next to it was the military school, and the Tuileries Palace could be seen across the Seine.
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The structure of the barracks itself was simple. Three baroque-style buildings built during the reign of Louis XIV faced each other in a square, and the first floor of the main building in the center was used as a barracks for ordinary soldiers.
The 3rd Battalion, to which Claude belonged, was the most ragtag unit in the 2nd Regiment. There were many first and second-year conscripts, so there were constant problems, both big and small. Soldiers were not allowed to commute to work, but the act of escaping from the barracks to see their families was openly carried out.
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Claude opened the door to the barracks where the ordinary soldiers lived. The piercing smell of alcohol and the body odor of unwashed men filled the air. A few who were awake recognized him and greeted him with a “Hey, Captain” kind of greeting.
There was no sign of military discipline. It was enough to understand the feelings of Major Neker, who had applied for a transfer to another place after being tormented by them all year round.
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“Victor.”
He called one of the corporals outside the door. The man, having heard Claude call his name, quickly hid his playing cards and came outside. After receiving a light salute, Claude pointed to the inside of the barracks with his chin, signaling him to clean it up.
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“I heard that there will be a parade on the parade ground because of the new battalion commander’s appointment. Wake up all the guys who are still sleeping and get them assembled within 30 minutes. They might take a look around here too, so please get rid of at least the smell of alcohol.”
“Yes, I understand. But Captain, um….”
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The corporal hesitated a little before speaking.
“Auguste hasn’t returned to the unit yet.”
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Hearing the name, Claude made a troubled expression. It wasn’t surprising because it wasn’t a one-off thing.
“Did you go to his house to look for him?”
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“Not yet. I was thinking of going if he doesn’t come back by lunchtime. Since there’s a parade, I thought I should tell you first….”
“Okay.”
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“And also…”
He hesitated again. This time, he was even more embarrassed to speak, scratching the back of his neck and looking at Claude.
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“The Easter special allowance. I wonder if we’ll get it this year? The battalion commander is changing, so everyone seems to be secretly expecting it.”
He thought he was going to say something else, but it was about the allowance. Claude chuckled. He must have thought that reaction was positive, as the corporal followed him and subtly raised the corners of his mouth.
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However, the words that came back were disappointing.
“I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen.”
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The meaning of the laughter must not have been that. The quick-witted corporal nodded.
“I’ll pretend I don’t know anything.”
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“Just don’t let them get too excited. The bigger the expectations, the bigger the disappointment.”
Claude put his hands in his pockets, seeing the corporal’s bitter expression.
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He himself had hoped for it as well. Even when Major Neker left, there were expectations for his successor. He thought that they might receive about 10 francs per person for the next Easter.
But it was no use. He hadn’t met the new battalion commander yet, but his gut feeling was right. If he was someone who received the favor of the Count of Artois, there was no way he would take care of the allowance for the common soldiers.
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“Good work.”
Claude left the barracks building and moved to the NCO administration building. And an hour later, the parade began.
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About a thousand soldiers of the Paris 2nd Militia lined up and filled the parade ground. One squadron of cavalry surrounded the perimeter. The purpose was nominally a military discipline event ahead of Easter, but anyone with any sense knew that this was a congratulatory parade for the newly appointed battalion commander.
From a distance, it looked reasonably well-organized. When the soldiers holding muskets in the front row raised their muzzles and gave a signal, the platoons simultaneously reorganized in groups.
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Passing through the ranks were a total of five people: the regimental commander, the three battalion commanders, and the Count of Artois, who was the subject of the ceremony. Among them, the man riding the white Blois horse was by far the most noticeable.
The black avi vest (coat for officers) with a long tail, the white cuffs that slightly covered the back of his hands, and the elaborate gold buttons and decorations embroidered on the chest line revealed the man’s status and position. And the dark blond hair and blue eyes visible between the bicorne hat worn slightly to the left. He was a handsome man to the point that his presence was clearly revealed even from afar.
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His name was Yvesde Ferrier. He was the grandson of General Georges de Ferrier, known as the Lyon Noir, the Black Lion, and the newly appointed battalion commander of the Paris 2nd Guard. He was also Claude Veil’s new superior.
Oh, come on.
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Claude recognized him at once. It seemed that memory automatically improved when meeting an unforgettable handsome man. Even though they were so far apart, he could be sure. The guy was definitely that crazy aristocrat he had seen in the Pérrin Garden a few days ago.
He was confused. Claude had naturally expected someone older. A conservative and inflexible paunchy aristocrat of a similar age to the former Major Neker. A soldier who was just a shell, who always carried a sword to hide his shabby skills with no practical experience.
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But the man approaching before his eyes looked like the incarnation of Napoleon’s Grande Armée, the Great Army. A broad chest, a lean and muscular upper body, and a sabre (military sword) with a lion emblem was clearly placed on his right waist.
Was the figure he had seen in the Baron’s garden that day a mirage created by the moonlight?
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Today, the man riding a horse and straightening his back was not Narcissus but Mars himself. He suited the role of a soldier so well that it would not be strange if his head were chopped off at once for carelessly praising him with words like beautiful.
Claude sighed. He had naturally expected him to be an officer, but he never imagined that he would be assigned to his own 3rd Battalion. What’s more, he was the grandson of the Lyon Noir.
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There would be very few career soldiers living in Paris who didn’t know the Ferrier family. However, he didn’t even know the name of the legitimate son, so the rudeness in the meeting two days ago was like an unavoidable accident.
Claude turned his gaze and realigned himself in front. He felt the sound of hooves getting closer. Every time they passed by riding their horses, the soldiers lowered their guns and raised their heads to 15 degrees above the horizontal.
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Soon they arrived in front of the platoon to which Claude belonged. The formalities were fulfilled with repeated commands. Claude also lowered his bayonet and raised his head. Then, his eyes met those of Captain Ferrier, who was looking directly down at him.
Ah…
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Claude hadn’t expected him to be looking, so his face froze.
Did he recognize him after all?
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It was dark that night and they didn’t exchange many words. Judging by the fact that he had even thrown out sexual jokes, he must have thought that he would never see him again.
But then again, it didn’t make sense. He didn’t bother hiding the fact that he was a guard, so it must mean something. Various hypotheses about him floated around in Claude’s head.
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A pervert with a nasty hobby, or a noble libertine who enjoys homosexuality. If not, was he just a braggart who made terrible jokes?
He was probably a close friend of the Baron de Pérrin. No, maybe they had a special relationship. The lover that the prostitute Michel had mentioned might have meant him.
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If that were true, he had unintentionally revealed his sexual preferences to his subordinate. So it would be a bit difficult in its own way.
The French army prohibits homosexuality. Even the most prestigious aristocratic officer would not be able to avoid dismissal.
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Captain Ferrier was also thinking about these things, as he had been staring intently at Claude’s face since a while ago. The two exchanged glances again for quite a long time, as they had two days ago. This time, he was definitely looking down at him.
It was a moment when some of the soldiers were finding it strange.
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“There are numbers missing.”
Captain Ferrier, who had already taken his eyes off Claude, was counting the rows with his eyes.
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“Have the platoon leader report the number of soldiers.”
At his command, Claude stepped forward half a step instead.
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“Lieutenant Mirabeau, the platoon leader, is on leave.”
“Leave?”
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He asked incredulously. Then, the Count of Artois, who was next to him, chimed in.
“That must be the eldest son of Baron Mirabeau. I’ve seen him a few times when he was young.”
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The captain’s expression softened at the Count’s sudden interjection. He put on his signature smile again.
“If it’s the son of someone with whom Your Excellency has an acquaintance, I don’t need to add anything more.”
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“I’ll tell him that you were disliked by you from the first day.”
“If he took a scheduled vacation, there would be no problem.”
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The captain laughed lightly, indicating that he would just let it go. His gaze turned to the empty space behind the last row.
“Even so, there is one more missing.”
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“One infantryman has deserted his post and has not yet returned. We will immediately have the unit look into it.”
Claude’s gaze towards the upper ranks met the captain’s once again. The blue eyes blinked slowly. After a moment of silence, he opened his mouth.
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“State the rank and name of the adjutant reporting now.”
“Sergeant, my name is Claude Veil.”
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That’s how the introductions that hadn’t been made that night were completed.
Claude felt a strange pressure from Captain Ferrier, who was silently looking at him. It was a different feeling from simply suppressing people with rank.
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Was it because they had met in private first? Or was it because of the nobility that came from birth?
No. The thought that came later was too absurd. Claude had not felt that way even when he watched the king’s street parade. All humans are born equal. He was not a member of the revolutionary forces, but his values were in line with the ideals of the era.
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Unlike Claude’s mind, which was filled with endless thoughts, the captain’s command was succinctly given.
“A mess. Sergeant Veil, come to my room after the parade.”
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And they rode their horses to the next row. When the group of officers had completely passed, the platoon members returned their guns and swords to their original positions.
At that moment, all the soldiers there had the same thought. That Veil was going to get chewed out again instead of Lieutenant Mirabeau. That their Captain, who had always looked out for them, had been badly disliked by the newly arrived bad-tempered aristocratic officer.
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Claude himself was thinking that too. Until he entered Captain Ferrier’s room two hours later.