Cadoville (unfinished)

Chapter X

Razor-sharp screams scrambled me to my feet the one morning, just a few days later, like the air itself were howling in my ear – a noise I soon realised was coming from the room directly below mine, the room tucked away behind Dr Spice's office. A rather innocent room at first glance, where he regularly poked, cut and sliced some of his more unfortunate patients in the name of healthcare.... Slipping into a big shirt and trousers, I trod softly downstairs, following the tortured screams though Dr Spice's office and stopped at the studded, oak door to the room below mine, the disembodied cries and squawks hacking through me like a butcher's knife. My skin prickled and erupted into little bumps. Kneeling down, I pressed my eye against the keyhole - something I swiftly regretted once I knew what I was seeing....

Dr Spice was on the floor, tucked between the knees of a patient squirming and squealing beneath the sturdy straps of a birthing chair, and a vicious set of sharp, pointy blades neatly laid out beside him.... Lifting his fingers, he nonchalantly flicked what looked like two, tightly clamped plums dangling ominously through the gap in the birthing chair over a porcelain bowl. I noticed another bowl nearby, closer to the door, which appeared to contain linen, marinating in an amber pool. Dr Spice mumbled something to an unseen figure. An assistant walked into view and stuffed a folded belt into the patient's mouth to muffle his screaming. Dr Spice picked up a scalpel and paused, wrapping his fingers around the plums. Without a word to the patient, he tugged and sliced them off in one swift, clean motion. In a blink, I sank my teeth in my fist to hush a gasp, hearing the testicles plop into the bowl below, Dr Spice clutched the bleeding wound with a handful of the amber-soaked linen, a steady scarlet stream trickling down his arm, collecting in his rolled-up shirtsleeve. That was enough for me....

Heading back upstairs, I closed my bedroom door and pressed my back against it, my hands trembling, my belly churning, breathing slowly, deeply, once, twice, thrice.... I couldn't do this.... All night, re-watching General Deschanel's execution, each time more detailed and graphic than the last, and now.... My door clicked open. Dr Spice – arms clean but sleeves still bloodied – strolled in, mauve smudges beneath his eyes and loose strands of hair in his face. He offered me a swig from his hipflask. Brandy – 'best brandy' he called it.

"I suspect you must be hungry. It's all ready, on the table. The water has started to steam...." I turned around to face him. The table was laid and the water bubbling in the next room, but the last thing on my mind was food.... "You're looking a little off-colour, Paoletta. Are you feeling under the weather?"

"What was all that noise?" I asked, Dr Spice staring back somewhat blank-faced. "...Downstairs."

"Tumour." He headed toward his apartment. "Come through...."

I sat down at the table, keeping my hands firmly on my lap. Dr Spice poured me a strong coffee and handed me a more or less still-warm pastry from the basket. Peering into the street, he lit his pipe and pulled up a chair opposite me but didn't speak.

"Where do you go every night?" I asked him, gently nudging the pastry to one side.

Dr Spice's eyes veered over to mine.

"A place for messieurs...."

"What place?" Horses clopped by and bells rang outside, briefly filling the silence while Dr Spice looked for an answer. "Why do you leave me alone every evening if I could still be in danger?"

Dr Spice breathed deeply and blew out a long plume of smoke.

"I throw a few dii, indulge in a game or two of Hazard, drain a glass of fine Bordeaux Red...." Dr Spice's voice trailed off into a sort of mumble.

"Every night?" I asked. "Isn't that a little excessive?"

"On the contrary, gambling halls are flourishing information markets.... Anyone – from princes to paupers – can be drawn to the dii.... One can readily acquire at little extra trade there too – not too long ago, a gentleman who was rather keen to leave Paris paid me to hide a diamond under one of his teeth. A woman also once asked me to castrate her husband, having found her husband one afternoon testicles-deep in some fille de joie...."

"Is it all just about money?"

"Certainly, morals don't put food on the table...." He took a swig from his hipflask. "You attended an execution yesterday, no?"

"General Deschanel's"

"Your first execution?" I nodded. "Well then, tell me about it."

I scoffed, crossing my arms and rubbing my cold shoulders. I had watched the general die from a window overlooking the Place du Carrousel, between mouthfuls of lobster and brie, Angélique having organised a private soirée for the occasion....

"There's not much to tell.... I'm fine...."

"Of Course...," he replied, dryly. "I suppose you have to be."

It's uncomfortable to admit but the spectacle was just as magnetic as it was scarring. Still, I refused to let Dr Spice take me for 'delicate.' Sometimes I believed my tough façade. Naturally, I got angry but I never cried or blubbed, no matter how hard my memories came back to bite.... Equally, I missed having an emotional pillow to punch, a shoulder to sob on, someone to scream at with no consequences – I missed my uncle.

"Are you at the theatre on Friday?" Dr Spice asked, refilling my cup.

"In the morning...."

"Excellent," said Dr Spice. He seemed to force himself to smile and nod. Scratching his cheek, he asked me, "would you like to go to an auction?"

"An auction?"

Dr Spice nodded again, pensively rolling his tongue around his mouth.

"Objets d'art, bijouterie..., the Royal Family's to be precise. The powers that be are selling it all off to buy more cannonballs."

"So, why are we going?" I asked. "...We can't buy anything there."

Dr Spice chuckled artificially and glanced at the floor.

"I need to acquire a doll."

"A doll?" I repeated, making sure I had heard right. "I take it this is a job?"

"Indeed. Marie Antoinette's childhood doll...." Dr Spice looked at me quite plain-faced. He was serious, though he surely knew this sounded absurd. I asked him why he needed this doll. "The room will be full of furniture, hand-crafted by Europe's finest artisans, going for up to 400 livres. Someone has made a similar reserve bid on said doll, which seems unusual when one considers it's a quite unremarkable object next to the plethora of gilt tables and such – I'd like to know why."

Peculiar indeed....

"How did you find out about this doll?"

"The clerk in the pay office is hopeless at cards – he's often in debt to me, but well-connected it must be said. There's more than one way to pay off a debt...."

"What do you need me for?"

"I will attempt to the steal the doll from the buyer without his knowing, then bring it back and examine it without delay.... I need you, however, to follow him, and tell me where he was intending to take it...."

I sighed and kneaded a fistful of my hair.

"Gabriella is enough, exhausting.... I don't want to go back to an auction – too soon...."

Dr Spice cut me off.

"This won't be as demanding as Gabriella, and I'll pay you for it."

I looked up at him, cradling my coffee between my fingers.

"Enough to get to Fribourg?"

"Certainly enough to buy nicer dresses for Gabriella...." He thought for a moment, searching the top corner of his skull. "Smarter dresses – the type that'll make her look like a Marianne."

"Where's the auction?"

"Palais de Luxembourg."

"I'll need a new dress..."

"No, I'm not taking a risk - You'll be in your boy clothes," Dr Spice said, which was disappointing.... "My assistant had a black suit, try that.... We don't know who'll be there, but, naturally, it's possible some of your father's old clients and even Citizeness Legrand will be there...."