Le Club Mystère

La Force, Paris,

27th December 1788

To find a man headless, though still sitting upright, in one of the many vats of chemicals in the tannery was quite a surprise for the workers early the next morning. From what they could glean by the smell, he had been there overnight, for the frostbite on his fingertips, as his arms had been outstretched over the rim of the large tub, had frozen them solid. When one of the workers tried to pry them from the side a few snapped off, causing the young trainee to hurl his stomach’s contents into the Seine below. No one around could explain how the man had wound up there, naked, and nameless the guards came and went, humming and confused. It wasn’t until they recognised the jewellery on one of the corpse’s stone-cold fingers as a gold signet ring worn by that of Captain Laurent, that the guards finally called themselves to action.

Captain Laurent had only recently been promoted, and as far as one of the younger guards, a handsome young man by the name of Édouard Levesque, he had been a shoo-in for the position, but the presence of competition had still been ripe within the Bastille. Most of the guards had immediately pointed their crooked fingers at each other. Laurent had been dedicated to his role at the Bastille and wanted nothing more than to make an honest living working for the king. And perhaps that was his only downfall.

Seigneur Des Ténèbres had been spotted around the scene, he had been a recent addition to the small band of officers working in Paris in the latter part of 1784, he was of noble descent, as far as they knew, with clothes only the wealthiest of aristocrats could afford, though it was dyed black. He wore a patented masquerade mask that hid his entire face, and a black veil that cascaded over his hair. No skin showed through his disguise, and his demeanour was unreadable as he stood beside the vat at the tannery at exactly a minute past minuit, his arms folded and a tenseness to his posture that was unlike anything officer Jean-Luc Henri had seen before.

He bid him good morning, though the sentiment got lost at the gentle enquiring tilt of the Seigneur’s head as he motioned towards Captain Laurent. “Bonjour, Seigneur,” he kept his tone steady, though the flickering green eyes in front of him shone with an intensity that he felt could burn through him. “Any chance you know more than I?”

Ténèbres gave a slight incline of his head for a moment, as though there was a man standing directly to his right, and his arms dropped from across his chest to lay limp at his sides. “Non,” his voice was gruff, as though he were masking it. “Not yet. The captain’s head, has it been found?”

Jean-Luc took a moment to gather his bearings, Ténèbres never spoke unless provoked, so the conversation rattled him for a moment. “Oui, out by the yard at the Bastille. It was impaled on a pike, with our flag wrapped obscenely around it. The men at the Bastille are pointing fingers everywhere.”

“But not in the right direction.”

“Aye.”

“Are they beginning to fight amongst themselves?”

Jean-Luc wiped the sweat from his brow as it began to trickle into his eyes. It was far from warm, but the nature of the scene had made his skin crawl and flush with heat. “They have. Word is that there are already four men gunning for the position. Not young ones either, men who have only recently moved their occupations to the Bastille.”

Ténèbres made a noise of recognition, understanding the nature of the crime now it seemed, and gently coaxed a small notebook from his breast pocket, and a pencil from its spine. He scrawled a few notes, before allowing Jean-Luc to see a map of Paris tapered to the front pages. He gestured to where the Tannery sat, then to the Bastille. “How does one behead a man of great standing merely metres from the most heavily guarded building in all of France aside from the palace, then sneak away into the night?”

Jean-Luc looked incredulously at the hairsbreadth of a distance between the two places and yet only one building lay in between, tucked away in a nearby street and away from prying eyes. “The Brothel of Madame Dérobé. She deals with officials all the time.”

“I shall talk to her this evening,” Ténèbres assured him, his tone light and comforting. He folded his notebook closed and tucked it back into the pocket it belonged in. “She has incredibly loose lips when money is involved. Well, as far as I know.”

Jean-Luc nodded once in understanding. “We could talk to her now,” he pressured, hoping that this latest information would be beneficial, and the case could be resolved as quickly as it had fallen into his lap. “If you are not busy.”

Ténèbres was silent for a moment, his head tilted around as though he was trying to listen for something, but it seemed to escape him, and his shoulders straightened. “Allow me to excuse myself, officer, I’m afraid I’m wanted elsewhere. Please, leave it with me.”

Ténèbres took his leave, using a nearby alley as his cover; his dark clothes allowed him to slip away into the night and Jean-Luc gazed worryingly after him.