PROLOGUE:
Colette DiNapoli
Montreuil Sur Mer, Pas-de-Calais, France, 1693
I quickly fumbled about my purse, desperately searching for the key to open the gates. If Father found me out at night, I would be inside with full security for six months, even before curfew. “Oi! Where did I put my keys?” I exclaimed. Once I had withdrawn them, I unlocked the wrought iron gate, trying to prevent it from screeching as I closed it behind me.
I couldn’t go far—not on this street. It was crowded with gendarmes, the French law enforcers for Montreuil Sur Mer, my little village in the countryside. I just needed to find the safe-house I was looking for, and then I would be able to get the maps I needed and I could go home. Mademoiselle Garamond understood of my longing to roam around at night. She was the one I always sought when in need, and ever since I was a wee child, we had kept a deal. If I brought her rations of my father’s harvest, she would keep my night adventures a secret.
I was just about to knock on the door of her rickety, old house when I heard voices coming from inside. Knowing it could very well be the gendarmes or my father, I stayed perfectly still where I was, trying not to make any noise. From what I could hear, it was indeed the gendarmes, questioning Mademoiselle Garamond of my whereabouts. The thought occurred to run away, but I knew I wasn’t fast enough to escape without them seeing me. Don’t let your instincts get a hold of you. Stay here, Colette. Just keep yourself hidden between the brush, I thought.
“Is she outside right now?” one of the particularly nasty ones yelled. I cringed, recognizing that voice. He had caught me five times before, each time bringing me safely back to my father, but I could feel that he wasn’t in as good of a mood today. He hardly ever was. I was about to let my instincts run wild and just leave, but then I heard a true ruckus going on inside the house. “So, you’re telling me that you have absolutely no sense of Miss Colette’s location?” he screeched. I heard a crash inside. Probably some type of dishware shattering. There was silence. “Then you are of no use to us. I shall inform Sir Philius on your stubbornness, and proper actions will be taken. Unless, of course, you desire to turn Colette in on the spot and save yourself the hassle…?”
The silence continued, only to be followed by footsteps coming closer to the door. I assumed someone was blocking it from the [I]gendarme[/I]. Suddenly, there were shouting male voices from inside the house. “Equal rights! Equal rights!” The voices chanted. It certainly wasn't any of the gendarmes, I could tell. The group began to sound farther away from the doorway, and I noticed them as they entered out the back door with the gendarmes chasing them, leading them away from me. There appeared to be at least 10 of them. “Get out! Out, I say!” the male officer yelled, deciding to let them off as he reached the end of the driveway.
As I hid in the shrubs, my breath was lost in a moment of pure relief and awe at the men who had saved me. How courageous of them. Once again, I was spared of my father’s lecturing me about how much trouble I had caused being out and about at night.
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Christian Demens
Montreuil Sur Mer, Pas-de-Calais, France, 1893
“Did you see that girl?” I asked Marcus between gasps. “She was absolutely beautiful. Her eyes were just-.” I paused. He looked unimpressed at my romantic tendencies. “And she was protesting last night, as well,” I added, trying to put her position higher in his books.
“Christian, you have this phase with every girl you see. You are aware of the fact that your godmother does not allow this kind of foolish behavior at your age. Ever since last spring, you have been acting all heroic and lovey-dovey around damsels in distress. Tell me, Christian. Do you have this rebellious girl set on your mind all the time?”
“Well, it’s not always this girl. You know, I only saw her just a few moments ago—,” I tried to continue, but was interrupted by a voice from behind.
“Oh, is Christian in looove?” teased Phillipe. The rest of the protest group laughed as he made kissy-faces at me. My ears turned red from embarrassment, and I looked to Marcus for help. To my surprise, he was actually smiling at Phillipe’s antics, but he stopped them for my sake.
“Alright, let’s not focus on these unimportant things. Focus on equal rights, gentlemen. That is what we’re indeed out here for.”
The sound of footsteps behind me assured me that the rest of the men were proceeding to follow along as I led the protestors down the cobblestone path, our protest signs held high.
“Neville, quick question,” I blurted out. “Might you have any idea why the lights are not on at Miss Colette’s mansion? Surely her father returned home from his dinner with the Parliament tonight.”
“No, sir. I’m afraid you are mistaken. You see, Colette’s father cancelled his plans as part of his desire to reorganize his private library in the brick building a few blocks away. Some street rat must’ve managed to barge their way in and completely wreck it. They stole a few things that night, too. The only other person that would be in there would be the maid, but I believe she has the night off.”
“ ‘ello, Messieurs,” piped a small voice from behind in an unmistakable gamin accent. It was definitely the voice of a street rat. It was Lizette Kokoris.
“Speak of the devil…” I could hear Marcus mutter under his breath. Everyone looked at him, annoyed.
“Be quiet,” I could hear one of the boys whisper. “Do you want to lose our main source of information?”
“Bonjour, Lizette,” I greeted the little girl beside me dressed in entirely rags. “Might ye have any information for us this fine evenin’?”
Lizette’s toothy grin peeked through her parted lips. “Oh yes, yes! Lean in closer, Christy!” That was her nickname for me. Everybody leaned in closer, obviously fascinated by whatever Lizette had discovered.
"The gendarmes seem to have no interest in trying to halt your peaceful protests, messieurs. Tonight, their main focus is getting Miss Colette back home safely. But that is not all. The officer in Mademoiselle Garamond’s shack is due to be married to one of the female protestors. And she doesn’t even know.”
“Well, who, Lizette?” asked Marcus, impatient with all of Lizette’s little games that she like to play with us. She turned to look at him, an obvious scowl on her face.
“Since yer bein’ so rude, Monsieur Marcus, I think I’m only gonna tell Monsieur Christian. The rest of ye flies can bug off.”
Dissatisfied, but willing to obey, the rest of the protestors disbanded.
“Come just a little closer, Monsieur. I don’t trust everybody here,” she said, looking pointedly at Marcus. I leaned in just a bit closer, as I really didn’t like being too close to Lizette. She smelled weird, just like any other street rat.
“It’s Colette,” she whispered.
I just about passed out.
END OF PROLOGUE
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