in front of Fouchй's desk, making free with a Spanish cigarro and knocking ash to the marble floor.

'Now, there's this retired Capitaine Guillaume Choundas's notes, but he's dйbile on the subject of this Lewrie mec,' Fourchette breezed on, 'and thinks the Anglais is a demon from Hell, sent specifically by the Devil to torment him. I can see why he thinks so, since this Alain Luray Lew-riewas the one who sliced him up like a veal sausage and crippled him. Odd, though… how often Choundas was put in charge of something that smacked of spy-work combined with combat, and Lewrie just happened to turn up… like a bad penny, as the Anglais say, hmm?'

'Anything recent?' Fouchй pressed.

'We're getting there, citoyen' Fourchette said with a grin. 'In the Mediterranean, he put a hitch in Pouzin's plans, again with connexions to the same Anglais spymaster that ran things in the Far East. Poor old Choundas lost his arm to Lewrie that time. Poor old salaud… this fellow just keeps whittling Choundas down to a nub. It's good our Navy retired him, hawn hawn! Anyway…

'This Lewrie did rather well in the West Indies, taking prizes, keeping the Nйgres slaves on Saint Domingue, so their uprising did not spread to Jamaica,' Fourchette went on. 'I spoke to that Citoyenne Charitй de Guilleri, as you ordered… Mon Dieu, citoyen, what a fine young thing, and thank you for the assignment! I'd love to 'dip my biscuit' in that. The fellow did dress in civilian clothes and go up the Mississippi to New Orleans as a spy, though there was no provable direction by Anglais spy agencies, but it is hard to believe that he did it on his own, n'est-ce pas? Then, when we and the Amйricains had our little disagreement, Choundas was out there on Guadeloupe, and, again, Lewrie was instrumental in his last downfall. Crippled the fellow's frigate in his own harbour, and rolled up many of his privateers and smuggler vessels before the Amйricains captured him and his last convoy.'

'Perhaps this Choundas is not so demented, after all,' Fouchй rumbled. 'After that, then?'

'Strictly straightforward,' Fourchette said with a shrug, brushing his loose shock of dark hair back from his broad forehead and his oddly pale green eyes that sometimes, in the right light, looked yellow. He was lean and fox-faced, not much above middle height, but despite his insouciance, there was an air about him that made others tread as wary about Fourchette as most did about Fouchй. 'A time in the South Atlantic, escorting China convoys, a fight with one of our frigates, which he won… Uhm, there's a note from the Gironde that he was responsible for the reduction of two forts in the bay of the river, a bombardment of troops dug in on the Cфte Sauvage that resulted in heavy casualties, and one of our naval officers who was spying on the Anglais blockade ships, pretending to be a poor fisherman who'd trade with them, sent a letter to the Ministry of Marine to say that the man is a clever liar.

'Which does not agree with Pouzin's, or Choundas's, opinions, citoyen' Fourchette pointed out. 'They think this Lewrie just lucky, or well-tutored. Un type de poorly educated Anglais officer, one who will do anything to avoid being called 'too clever by half,' n'est-ce pas?'

'Which public face can disguise a wealth of cleverness,' Fouchй snapped, ill at ease with what he'd heard so far.

'This Lewrie did run into legal troubles last year,' Fourchette told him. 'He stole a dozen Nиgres slaves from an Anglais planter he'd duelled with… from the family, that is… to crew his ship, then was tried in absentia and sentenced to be hung, but… the Abolitionists in England got him off.'

'Perhaps he is lucky, as well,' Fouchй commented.

'Two medals, participated in the battles off Ushant, at Cape Saint Vincent, and Camperdown, and lately at Copenhagen,' Fourchette tossed away. 'Got sent into the Baltic, alone, to scout the Danish, Swedish, and Russian fleets before the battle… the new Anglais head of their Ministry of Marine is said to have appointed him to the duty directly. It is also rumoured that he carried two Russian nobles home… men who are further rumoured, so the Foreign Ministry dossiers say, to here participated in the assassination of the late Tsar.'

'What? Assassination, you say?' Fouchй perked up, going into an instant rage. 'How sure are those dossiers, Fourchette?'

'Oh, citoyen… ,' Fourchette disparaged, flicking more ash on the floor, 'speculative, at best. The Foreign Ministry people whom I talked to about it don't believe the Anglais could ever undertake anything that simple and direct. The Russky aristos most likely wangled a rapid way home, promising a diplomatic solution… so they could be in at the kill, and prosper on their own. That's how Talleyrand and the rest of the Ministry interpret it.'

'Talleyrand and his grands lйgumes are a pack of simple fools, Fourchette!' Fouchй barked, rising to pace with his hands in the small of his back, head down, and unconsciously imitating his idol, the new First Consul, Napoleon Bonaparte. 'Limp-wristed, over-educated, closeted aristos, and arrivistes! They would not recognise a rampaging bear in their dining room… They'd call it a hungry foreign visitor with no fine manners such as theirs! You have placed this salaud under observation Fourchette?'

'Since the first moment I spoke with you, citoyen' Fourchette assured him. 'A rotating crew of watchers, so he will not take alarm, even should he be here to spy on us, and has been instructed in tradecraft. The concierge at his lodgings reports he and his wife mostly spend their time here in touring cathedrals, palaces, and such, with shopping and dining. The Comйdie Franзaise a few nights ago, accompanied by another Anglais couple, uhm… ' -Fourchette had to refer to his notes for a moment-'neither of them are fluent in French, and he is the biggest offender. Both need the aid of bilingual servants and guides for even the simplest exchanges. Hardly what one would expect of a man sent to spy on us,' Fourchette said with a shrug and a sniff of derision.

'No, it is not, is it?' Fouchй said, raising his head and ceasing his frenzied pacing, calming as quickly as he'd raged. 'What are they doing today?'

'Coaching along the Seine, citoyen' Fourchette told him. 'Taking the air. Under observation by at least six watchers.'

'Well, then… perhaps…,' Fouchй allowed, sitting back down behind his desk and running his heavy hands over his bald pate. 'Our terrified Capitaine Choundas… our deluded Citoyenne de Guilleri… both have good cause to seek revenge on this Anglais, and imagine him an agent of the Devil. In so doing, they magnify this Lewrie's cleverness and guile. To get me to do their dirty work, hein?'

'Pardon, citoyen.' One of Fouchй's clerks, a fellow much warier of his employer than Fourchette would ever be, tremulously rapped on the half-open door. 'You are busy, citoyen? A letter has come from Minister Talleyrand, at the Foreign Ministry?'

'Oui, bring it,' Fouchй snapped, waving the man in impatiently and snatching the folded and sealed letter, winking at Fourchette as he did so. 'More foolishness from that oily, lame bishop, the lecher. Mon Dieu!' Fouchй exploded a moment later. 'Zut alors! Putain! Mort de ma vie! The fucking fools! Get out, get out, get out!' he barked at the little clerk, and threw the letter at Fourchette, startling the wiry younger man to his feet. 'At the next levee, two days hence, the First Consul will greet the very man we discuss, Fourchette! They've come up with a piece of diplomatic theatre, in the name of peace, bah!

'The Anglais, this espиce de merde, this fumier, Lewrie, will present to Bonaparte some swords he'd taken from defeated French captains, asking for one of his taken by Napoleon from him

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