Story: "Daredevil - Part 3 - Wheels of Fate"

Napoleon, a survivor from the Mutiny of the Bounty, and a demonic killer in the cobblestoned streets of Toulon, 1793.

This is Part 3 of the story.
If you haven't read Part 1 or Part 2 yet, please start there.

WHEELS OF FATE

TOULON, NOVEMBER 1793

The darkened upstairs hallway of the inn ‘Le Vieux Monde.’ Lamb exited the room. Not his own room.

“What is it you doing?”

Lamb turned around to find Naboleone, all five foot six of him, standing right beside the door.

“Insurance.”

“De quoi s’agit-il?”

“King’s English, please. You’ve been conversing too much with your little frenchified whore.”

“I no … understand not. En-sou-rants?”

“In-su-rance. Protection. In case Antoinette was seen entering the inn.”

“Who is it that this room belong to?”

“That black-bearded, long-haired fellow, who showed up only yesterday. Jean, something or other. He’s a stranger. Just the type that would be suspected. Naturally.”

“Ah.”

“So, before we dumped the corpse, I ripped off a piece of your bloodied nightshirt, and now I’ve left it in Jean’s room, tucked under his mattress.”

“Devious.”

“Well, I don’t like to trust fate. I’ve tried that. Didn’t work. Fate is a cold, lying bitch. No, in this world, we must write the play, or be played. I don’t like to be played. So, that’s what I was —” He froze mid-sentence, staring over Naboleone’s shoulder.

“Quoi?” Naboleone turned, seeing the apparition emanating from the dark hallway, floating towards them, its long white robe soaking wet and clinging to its tall emaciated shape, white hair and white beard hanging damp and limp, water-droplets beading on pale-marble skin, bloodless lips the color of a faded bruise, eyes wide open, irises of a washed-out blue, shot through with pinkish red.

Lamb and Naboleone stood frozen to the spot as the ghostly form approached, its watery blue-pink eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking, unseeing.

Then out from behind the white apparition, stepped a black-bearded, long-haired, wide-shouldered, olive-skinned man of medium height, dressed all in black. Jean. The stranger whose room Lamb had just exited. Jean put a gentle hand — a large thick-fingered workman’s hand — on the ghost’s shoulder, leaned in, lips by ear, whispering something inaudible. The wraith halted, stood still for a moment, then … blinked, twice, eyes focusing.

“My God, what now?” Looking down at his wet robe, running a bony, white hand through his wet hair and beard, turning his head to look fully at Jean. “Where have I been? What did I do this time? Did I … hurt … anybody?”

“We have company, Freund,” Jean said gently, in a deep, soft voice. “Samuel Job Lamb and … Carlo Ramolino … is it?” He smiled, as if at a private joke. “Unless I am mistaken.”

“Oh,” Freund turned his attention to the two men, focusing on them for the first time. "I apologize. I have a condition. It’s known as — "

“Sleepwalking,” Jean interjected, a bit too quickly. “Samuel, Carlo, I’m going to help Mr. Freund back to bed.”

“No, Jean,” Freund said, firmly. “I need … sustenance. Strong wine, bread, cheese, meat. Salt.” His hands were trembling. “They are serving downstairs now, no?”

“Yes.” Jean sighed. “If you must. Yes, I suppose you must. But let’s at least get you into dry clothes.” To Lamb and Naboleone: “Perhaps we’ll see you downstairs later?”

“Certainly, please join us,” Lamb said, recovering, his voice sounding calm, though Naboleone, who had a fine ear for these things, could sense the tension underneath.

Jean nodded, and led the white-bearded man, Freund — hands now shaking even more violently than before — into the room adjacent to his own.

As the door closed behind them, Lamb grabbed Naboleone by the shoulder. “Hold on a moment. Before rejoining the merry crew downstairs, lets talk. In my room.”

Naboleone followed Lamb into his room, closing the door behind them.

Lamb walked over to the small window, looked out at the lightening sky, rays of pre-dawn sun blushing the horizon, a pinkish blue reminiscent, Naboleone suddenly thought, of Freund’s oddly pink-blue irises.

“I have made a decision,” Lamb said, his back to Naboleone. He turned, but was still a dark outline against the blushing sky, face covered in shadow. “I was going to give you up to General O’Hara, reveal your identity. I had calculated that was my best move.”

Naboleone smiled. “That I was … prêt … preparé … prepared for.”

Lamb’s shadow shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter now. I have changed my mind. I know you have power, and I believe you will get even greater power in the future. Tremendous power. You are that kind of man. You radiate it. The wheels of fate turn for you.”

Naboleone gave a small bow, accepting the compliment, the little smile still playing on his lips.

Lamb continued. “I believed this before tonight. I have known, since I met you, that you have the power to grant me what I want in return for my services. But until tonight, I did not believe that you would actually be willing to wield that power, to act on my behalf. I believed you would cast me to the side as soon as I was no longer convenient to your plans. I did not trust you. But now …”

“Now?”

“Now you and I have a bond, stronger than the steel bracelet that bound Antoinette to your bed, the true bond of loyalty, of brothers-in-arms, that comes from meeting a great challenge, a great test, together, relying solely on each other in a situation where it truly matters. After tonight, I know we have that bond, and therefore I trust you. And you can trust me.”

“Yes, I trust you.” Naboleone’s eyes burned. “Yes, you can trust me.” He hit the flat of his hand, hard, on his chest.

Naboleone meant it. Lamb knew this, knew he had read the man right, that he had spoken the language of the young artillery commander’s true heart, the language of loyalty between men, forged under fire. Lamb had knitted the two of them together with his words.

Lamb stepped forward, put a hand on Naboleone’s shoulder. “You know what I want, and I trust you to provide it.”

“Yes. I will. I swear.”

“And I,” Lamb said, solemnly, not quite knowing where his sudden insight was coming from, but absolutely certain that he was speaking the truth, as he said: “I will give you your first major victory, the one that will set you on your course to greatness. I will give you Toulon. And Toulon will give you France, the empire, the world.”

— END PART 3 - TO BE CONTINUED —

Click here to go to Part 4 of the story.