The Throne Room smelled of sulfur and fear.
In the center, where the King usually sat, was a mountain.
Not of silk or velvet. But of gold.
Melted gold.
Bars, ingots, and misshapen lumps that used to be chalices. The heat radiating from them distorted the air.
"Next," I said.
My voice was a rasp. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper.
A grenadier of the Old Guard stepped forward. His uniform was stained with the blood of the Blue Prophet's fanatics. He looked tired.
"Name?" I asked.
"Corporal Dubois, 4th Regiment."
I reached into the pile. I picked up a heavy gold coin. It was warm. Fresh from the mint in the basement.
It wasn't stamped with my face. It was stamped with a simple word: Dette. Debt.
I handed it to him.
"Payment for services rendered," I said.
He took it. He bit it. His eyes widened. Solid gold. A year's wages in his palm.
"Vive le Roi!" Dubois shouted, saluting.
He marched out.
"Next."
Napoleon leaned against a pillar, watching me. He was cleaning his fingernails with a dagger.
"You bought them for a month," Napoleon said quietly. "But winter is coming."
"I bought time," I wheezed. I didn't look up. "Time is the only currency that matters."
I handed a coin to the next soldier.
"Thank you for your service," I said.
My hand shook as I gave it to him. A tremor. My nerves were misfiring.
"Your Majesty!"
The doors to the Throne Room burst open.
Fouché ran in. He looked pale.
"The Bishop," Fouché gasped. "He's back."
"Juigné?" I asked. "I thought we liquidated him."
"He brought friends," Fouché said.
Through the open doors, I heard singing.
Hymns. Dies Irae. Day of Wrath.
"Excommunication," Talleyrand whispered from the shadows. "He's going to declare you anathema."
I wheeled my chair around.
"Let him in."
Archbishop Juigné strode into the room. He wasn't alone. Behind him were twenty priests in black robes, holding candles. And behind them, a mob of angry nuns.
They stopped at the foot of the gold pile.
Juigné pointed a shaking finger at me.
"Heretic!" he screamed. "Thief! You have desecrated the House of God!"
He held up a scroll. The Papal Seal was broken.
"I have a letter from Rome!" Juigné shouted. "The Holy Father has declared that any man who touches the stolen gold is damned!"
The soldiers in the room froze. They looked at the coins in their hands. They were superstitious men. Gold was good, but hell was forever.
"The Pope is in Italy," I said calmly. "The telegraphs are dead. How did you get a letter so fast?"
Juigné hesitated. "God's messengers are swift."
"Or maybe," I said, "you wrote it yourself."
I signaled Fouché.
The Police Minister stepped forward. He held a leather-bound book. The Black Ledger.
"What is that?" Juigné asked.
"A receipt," I said.
I opened the book to a marked page.
"October 14th, 1782," I read. "A donation from the British Ambassador. 50,000 livres. For the 'Restoration of the Altar.'"
I looked up.
"Strange," I said. "The altar wasn't restored that year. But you did buy a new chateau in the Loire Valley."
Juigné went white.
"That... that is a lie!"
"Is it?" I turned the page. "Here is the entry for the orphanage fund. You transferred it to a Swiss account under the name 'Brother Thomas.'"
The priests behind him murmured. They looked at their leader.
"This is a forgery!" Juigné yelled. "The Devil's work!"
"It's in your own handwriting," I said. "From your own confession."
I closed the book with a snap.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
"I can read more," I said. "I have the entries for the nuns, too. Mother Superior? Shall we discuss the wine cellar incident of 1789?"
The nuns gasped. One of them fainted.
"What do you want?" Juigné whispered. The fight had gone out of him. He looked old and defeated.
"I want a sermon," I said.
I pointed to the balcony.
"Go out there. Tell the people that the gold was a voluntary donation. Tell them the Church is patriotic. Tell them God loves a solvent King."
Juigné looked at the gold pile. He looked at the Ledger.
He swallowed hard.
"And if I do?"
"Then this book stays closed," I said. "And you keep your chateau."
Juigné nodded slowly. He turned to his flock.
"Pray," he ordered. "Pray for the King's wisdom."
He walked out to the balcony. To lie for his life.
I slumped back in my chair.
"Brutal," Napoleon said, grinning. "You didn't just beat him. You bought him."
"Everyone has a price," I muttered.
"Your Majesty!"
Another interruption. A rider, dusty and travel-stained, ran into the room. He collapsed at my feet.
"Message from the East!" the rider gasped.
"The telegraphs are down," I said. "How did you get here?"
"I rode three horses to death," the rider said. He handed me a sealed scroll.
I broke the wax. Austrian Imperial Seal.
I read it.
My blood ran cold.
To the Government of Paris:
Due to the silence of your communications, we assume the revolutionary government has failed. To restore order and protect the peace of Europe, the Imperial Army of Austria has crossed the Rhine.
100,000 men.
General Mack.
I dropped the paper.
"Austrians," I whispered.
"Invasion?" Napoleon asked. His hand went to his sword.
"Worse," I said. "Rescue. They think we are dead. They are coming to carve up the corpse."
"Give me the army," Napoleon said instantly. "I can march in three days. I'll meet them at Valmy."
"No," I said.
"Why?" Napoleon demanded. "We have the gold now! We have the men!"
"We have 50,000 recovering drug addicts and a broken communication network," I said. "General Mack has 100,000 fresh troops and a functioning supply line. If you fight him, you lose."
"So we surrender?" Napoleon spat. "After everything?"
"No," I said. "We default."
"What?"
"We declare bankruptcy on the war," I said. "We negotiate."
"Negotiate with an invading army?" Talleyrand laughed nervously. "They won't stop for a letter."
"They will stop for an Emperor," I said.
I tried to stand up.
"I will go to the front myself," I said. "I will meet Francis II. I will show him I am alive. I will show him the gold."
I pushed myself up from the chair.
My legs trembled.
"Your Majesty, don't," Larrey warned. "Your heart..."
"I am fine!" I shouted.
I took a step.
Thump.
My chest exploded.
It felt like a mule kicked me in the ribs.
The room spun.
I fell.
Hard.
My face hit the cold stone floor. I tasted dust and blood.
"The King is down!"
Hands grabbed me. Lifted me.
I couldn't breathe. My lungs were full of fluid.
Larrey was there. He ripped open my shirt. He put a stethoscope to my chest.
His face went pale.
"The valves," Larrey whispered. "They are calcifying. Turning to stone."
"How long?" I wheezed.
Larrey looked at Napoleon. Then at me.
"24 hours," he said. "Maybe 48. If you don't move."
"If I don't move," I gasped, "the Austrians take Paris in a week."
I looked at the map on the wall. The Rhine was hundreds of miles away.
And Charles...
Where was Charles?
I closed my eyes. I saw his face. The wolf cub.
I can't wait for you, son, I thought. I have to play the final hand now.
"Pack the carriage," I whispered.
"You can't travel!" Larrey shouted. "The vibration will kill you!"
"Then I die on the road," I said.
I grabbed Napoleon's arm. My grip was weak, but I held on.
"You are the Protector," I said. "Protect the city until I get back."
Napoleon looked at me. He saw the grey skin. The blue lips.
He nodded slowly.
"Go," he said. "Buy us a future, Accountant."
I closed my eyes as they carried me to the carriage.
The clock was ticking.
And this time, I couldn't stop it.