The Game Called Revolution by - (room on the broom read aloud .txt) 📖

knew it would be filtered, separating the liquid from the innumerous dots that had once made up the message pellet.

There were two small glass windows a few feet below the opening she had poured the water into. Behind the left window was a transparent vial similar to the one the water had originally been stored in, while the right window simply held a round indentation. As Jeanne watched, water filled the left vial, while metal dots filled the right indentation.

Once it was obvious that all the pieces of the message pellet had been deposited into the right vial, Jeanne pulled a lever on the panel. There was a hiss and the right window filled with green gas. She didn’t remember exactly how it worked, but somehow the gas softened up the dots and made them reform into one solid unit.

Sure enough, a solid metal ball dropped down into a small bin below the windows. Jeanne picked up the message pellet, but the writing was still too small for her to read.

Fortunately, though, a magnifying glass hung from the ceiling at the front of the bridge for just such a situation as this. Jeanne went to it and, using the light from outside, was able to read the words written by the Marquis de Sade.

 

Congratulations, you found the words I ‘scribed

And managed to get out before you fried

Now you should return to Versailles

For your good king is going to die

4

 

 

 

 

Versailles, July 14, 1789 (Infini Calendar), 12:00 p.m.

“Oh, dear,” said King Louis XVI as he stood in the hallway at the Royal Palace. The corridor, like the rest of the Palace, was built for those with more discerning tastes. It featured an ornate wooden floor, gold walls, and man-sized paintings from the greatest artists in France. Even the doors in the hallway were intricately crafted works of art.

But it was not the splendor of the Palace that held his attention at that moment. No, it was the scene he was witnessing as he looked through the twenty-foot-high windows that made him understandably uneasy.

The magnificent garden in front of the Palace, with its grand fountain, expertly-maintained trees and elaborate patterns cut out of the grass, was normally a serene location the king and queen liked to take walks in.

However, on this day the garden was anything but peaceful. Currently occupying its grounds was a sea of people—mostly women—currently shouting angrily at anyone in the Palace who could hear them.

“We can’t afford bread!”

“This is all the Austrian Chienne’s fault!”

“Her and her damn sky boats have ruined us!”

“Don’t forget about the American war they dragged us into!”

Louis XVI turned to his advisor, the Duke of Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, and said, “Is this a revolt?”

The fifty-two-year-old duke ran a hand through his graying hair and straightened his black coat before giving his curt reply. “No, my lord. It is a revolution.”

“What is going on?” said Marie Antoinette, entering from a set of exquisite marble doors at the end of the hallway. She wore one of her trademark flowing dresses, each one of them priceless. This one was red.

The king turned to face his wife. “Just a demonstration. Nothing to worry about,” he lied.

The queen looked out the window and observed the rage on the faces of the crowd when they spotted her. They began yelling with renewed fury.

“Someone should go talk to them,” she said.

“Wait, my love. It is dangerous.”

However, he was unable to stop her before she opened the terrace and walked out to face the crowd below.

“There she is!” one shouted.

“She dares face us?” said another.

Several members of the mob threw rocks at her. One connected with her forehead, causing a trickle of blood to flow down her face.

She stood there for what seemed an eternity, taking their verbal, physical and overall emotional abuse. Finally, they seemed to grow tired of the tirade, and the abuse subsided. Satisfied that their anger had been quenched, Marie Antoinette bowed her head and went back inside.

Her husband ran over to wipe the blood off her forehead. “I’m so glad they did not do worse to you. What were you thinking?”

She said, “Some storms cannot be waited out. They must be faced.”

“Long live the Queen!” a few of the mob shouted outside.

“It seems to have worked,” said the Duke, who had followed them.

However, even more of the crowd continued to voice their anger.

“Don’t be fooled by her!”

“Yeah! She’s hoarding grain just like the rest of them!”

Marie Antoinette shook her head. “I may have simply bought us some time.”

“My lord, you need to consider leaving here immediately. I suggest heading to the Chateau at Rambouillet,” the Duke said.

“I think that would be best,” the queen said. “We can take the Majesté Divine.”

The Majesté Divine, or Divine Majesty, was the royal airship. The chateau she spoke of lay in the town of Rambouillet, about thirty-three kilometers southwest of Versailles. Louis XVI had acquired the property years ago for the purpose of hunting.

The king rejected the idea. “For over a century, this has been home to the royal family of France. I cannot abandon it so easily. Besides,” he said, addressing his wife, “you yourself said we need to weather the storm.”

“Yes, but I don’t think—”

She was cut off by an explosion, followed by a thunderous crash as a cannon ball barreled through the terrace window and missed her head by mere inches.

The three of them dropped to the floor. The king gaped at the crater in the wall where the iron sphere had lodged. “They’ve brought cannons!”

“They’re just normal cannons,” the Duke said. “Heaven help us if they brought steam models.”

“‘Just’ normal cannons? I very nearly lost my head!” the queen said. She brushed broken glass out of her hair and dress. “We must leave here at once.”

The king, though, still refused. “I have been bullied by the Third Estate long enough. They shall not push me out of my own home.”

“But what of our children? Would you have them stay in reach of that bloodthirsty mob?”

“We have plenty of guards here. They’ll disperse the crowd.”

A courtier rushed into the hallway. “My Lord! Are you all right?”

“We are fine,” the king replied. “What is that paper in your hand? Is it a message?”

The courtier, seeing that the three of them were all laying low on the floor, did likewise. He handed the king the paper he was holding. “We have received word from the Minuit Solaire. They have reported a riot at the Bastille, and not only that…”

Louis XVI read the paper. “Mon Dieu! It is far worse than we thought.”

5

 

 

 

 

Paris, July 14, 1789 (Infini Calendar), 12:55 p.m.

The Minuit Solaire was currently anchored at a telegraph pole on the southwest outskirts of Paris. The crew had tethered the airship to the tall wooden pole and hooked a cable into it. This way they could transmit messages to the Palace of Versailles. Only a handful of telegraph poles existed thus far, and they were only used for emergencies. However, Jeanne felt this surely qualified.

She listened to the tap-tap-tap of the message as Maurice the telegraph operator repeatedly pushed his index finger down on the copper handle at his console at the wall next to the entrance on the bridge, behind the captain’s chair. Like the other two operators on the bridge, he wore a red, white and blue jumpsuit.

“All done, ma’am,” he said.

“Very good.” Now the king would know there would likely be an attempt on his life some time today. She just prayed they weren’t too late.

Everything that had happened so far could not be simply a coincidence. The Marquis de Sade had obviously known there would be an attack on the Bastille, but how? The mob had seemed too angry and their rage too spontaneous to have been a premeditated attack. Was it possible someone had been subtly manipulating the Parisian populace, stoking the fires of their hearts in controlled bursts until they exploded on just the right day?

But if so, who? And why would the Marquis de Sade give the knights a chance to warn the king? The more she thought about it, the more uneasy she became.

She sat down in her captain’s chair and took hold of a rubber tube with a wide opening that hung down from the ceiling, next to the seat. She spoke into it. “Celeste, I want the communications cable reeled in immediately. We have to get back to Versailles ASAP.”

The engineer’s voice came through the tubing, slightly distorted by the process of traveling up from the boiler room, through the walls and ceiling, and back down to Jeanne. “Milady, we’re not finished repairing the damage from earlier. It’s not safe to go full speed.”

“Give us as much as you can. If we don’t return to the Palace soon, I fear something horrible may happen.”

“We’ll do what we can, but it’ll be a bumpy ride. Also, I can’t guarantee chunks of the ship won’t begin falling off before long.”

“We’ll make it. I have faith in your abilities.”

Even through the tubing, Celeste’s voice was gushing. “Thank you, ma’am! I’m honored to hear that from you.”

 

***

 

Within twenty minutes the Minuit Solaire reached the Palace of Versailles. Looking on from above, it was obvious the grounds had been thrashed. Numerous fires big and small spread through the garden, and most of the Palace’s windows had been shattered. There were also many guardsmen tending to the damage across the grounds and working to put out the fires.

The ship sat down on its designated landing pad behind the Palace, next to the pad for the royal airship, the Majesté Divine. That pad was empty, meaning the airship had left—hopefully with the royal family safely on board.

Jeanne, Pierre and Victor disembarked the airship. A royal aide ran up the landing pad’s ramp to meet them.

“What’s the situation?” Jeanne said.

The aide, a teenager, had obviously been through the worst experience of his life, judging by his lack of composure and the way he trembled as he spoke. “It was awful, ma’am. A large mob of women—there must have been thousands of them—attacked the Palace. They demanded lower bread prices—along with the queen’s head. Her Majesty tried to calm them down, but it only worked on some of them. The rest of the mob began firing cannons—”

She cut him off. “Steam cannons?”

“No, ma’am. Just regular cannons. Her Majesty, along with the Duke of Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, tried to persuade the King to leave, but he wouldn’t have it. But then we received your message, and His Majesty relented. The royal family left in the Majesté Divine thirty minutes ago.”

“Where are they headed?” Jeanne said.

“They talked of going to Rambouillet, but ultimately decided to head for Montmédy.”

Montmédy was a fortress in the Lorraine region of northeastern France near the German and Austrian borders. It made sense for the royal family to flee there, since the monarchy had so much support in that area, and it was the most unlikely place in France to experience political unrest.

The aide gave Jeanne the heading the royal airship was taking, and she thanked him. The knights then went back into the Minuit Solaire and the airship took off along the heading for Montmédy.

The royal family may have escaped the Palace siege, but that didn’t mean they were safe just yet. It was the duty of the Ordre de la Tradition that they make