L'appel Du Vide [Call Of The Void]

[13]

Philippe felt a sort of spite at his parents as he bought two bottles of cheap spirits. He knew that it was terribly misdirected, but he couldn't help feeling it. Papa's voice rang in his ears, laughing at him for being made a fool of by his best friend since childhood.

He still couldn't believe that Alicio had betrayed him.

"Five livres, Monsieur," the shopkeeper said absently as he chewed on dry bread.

"Surely, that is too much for a bottles that's only quarter spirits and three-fourth water," Philippe replied.

It had been ages since he'd actually had a bottle that wasn't adulterated. Even before the Revolution, it had been a rare commodity, but his family had had the ability to purchase it for an occasional treat.

"Well, there's a heavy tax on alcohol, Monsieur, and this is my price. Take it or leave it."

"No one in this country will stop until he bleeds the other man dry," Philippe muttered as he grudgingly pulled the coins out of his pocket and slammed them on the counter.

He walked towards the river Seine. The chill tore through his jacket and into his skin. The night would've been a beautiful one back in the forest, but in the city, it was ugly. Several drunk men stumbled around, shouting slogans that would definitely get them executed if they were caught. However, the Gendarmes were too busy warming themselves up in taverns and breweries after getting their weekly pay, and for once, the freedom of expression was real.

The general bustle thinned as Philippe  progressed towards the river. It seemed like practically the whole city crowded on its banks during the day, he knew, but it would be radically different at night. Though the filth on the banks would remain unchanged and the mark fo civilization would be unmistakable, it was probably the least likely place where he would encounter anyone.

He didn't want to interact with anyone. Not after the person who was the closest to him, perhaps except Maman, had thrown him to the dogs. The pain was coiled up tightly in chest-- a venomous snake waiting for its prey. Philippe was well aware that his temper brought him nothing but the worst situations he'd ever faced, which was why he decided to isolate himself as he emptied out the venom, its potency a little diluted by the lightheartedness the alcohol would give him.

He was quite near the river now, he could make out by the moonlight. The stench of the Seine permeated the air.

What could he do?

 He wished he hadn't offered himself up as the sacrificial goat in Marie's extravagant plan, but he was helpless now.

Perhaps, Philippe wondered, he shouldn't show up at work tomorrow and feign illness. He could use the extra hours to deliberate his next step.

Or, a little voice in his head said, you could eliminate the enemy before he even realises that the game is on.

He glanced at the river before him, the shimmering moonlight on its curves like the scales of a snake. He looked around, examining the silence around him as he sat down. He placed the two bottles in front of himself and stared at them, trying to decide which one of them to open first. His mind wasn't really on it, though. It raced through the possibilities, the various relationships and the chinks in Duc Agard's armour that he could exploit.

The duc was a smart man. His arrangements were perfect. Philippe knew that his own chink--the fact that the army men and the nobles in Bordeaux were thirsting for this--had been exploited to its very core. The man meant to the win the election there and was ready to do anything in order to do so.