Chapter Twenty-Three: Saint & Sinner

The blue whale is enormous. One whale could probably fill the entire market at Les Halles in Paris with its tail alone, and this particular blue whale was three times larger than that. Saint Geneviève and the whale exploded from beneath the turquoise waters of the bay, alarming the already distraught fleet of French ships. The sailors couldn't decide which of the two deserved their attention more, the shockingly large, azure whale, or the beautiful, blonde girl atop it. The Saint sat upon the smooth back of the mammal as comfortably as if she had been lounging in a breakfast chair. She was, unsurprisingly, well kept. Her long hair, and her longer hemlines were all unruffled, and untouched by the wind and water. Her skin didn't look the least bit damp, and only her rouged lips shone brightly in the golden sunlight.

Saint Geneviève quickly glanced all around her, taking in the surrounding sea, the bay full of ships, the panicked French fleet, and then up at the brilliant sky and the French Man O'war. The airship was descending quickly, spinning and slipping through the air like a drunken honey bee. She frowned worriedly, and bent forward, pressing her lips against the cool skin of the whale. 'Venez,' Saint Geneviève whispered to the creature. 'We must help our friends!'

The whale gave a great juddering shiver in response, shooting forward, its tale whipping and lathering the cerulean sea like a fresh meringue. It sent up a sun-kissed crest over them both, and then, whale and rider suddenly, silently slipped beneath the water once more.

The sailors that had been watching stared in shock at the empty sea. Save for the ripples that radiated out across the bay, it was as if the entire spectacle had been imagined. they looked at one another in disbelief, but just as quickly as Saint Geneviève and her whale had disappeared, the water began to churn again. Tiny bubbles rising angrily to the surface, and a sudden, furious explosion erupted as Geneviève and the blue whale flew upward, roaring toward the Man O'war.

When Clotilde decided she liked being Francesca, she also decided to ignore most of Napoleon's tiresome whims, because she had other priorities. Capturing, or killing Marie Antoinette? Easy, she thought ... or at least not that difficult. She glared at the thought of that Queen and her black dagger. I will make sure she meets my neighbours in Hell, she thought.

Clotilde placed her hands on her hips. Oh, to keep this body! That's what she wanted. She was going keep this body and do whatever it was she very much liked with it, and to Hell with anyone that wanted to stop her. The daemon raised her arms and clapped her tiny hands together. A black cloud appeared just above her head and lightning crackled to life around her, bolts flying off in all directions. They struck down the remaining masts, they stabbed with their fire-bolts, they slithered between the boards of the ship, they set fire to everything that burnt, and then they flew upward, and raced at Francesca and her friends, dancing over them with their deadly fulminations.

Gaspard and Rudolpho ducked and rolled as one, dodging the jagged electricity. 'Can you reach your brother?' He yelled at Rudolpho as smoke and fire roared across the deck. Rudolpho squeezed his eyes together, they were watering from the smoke and soot. 'Si,' he muttered, spying Antonio not six paces from where he crouched. 'You ok?' He asked Gaspard. 'Great!' Gaspard smiled. 'Hope you can swim!' They both laughed. 'Allora,' the Italian said, looking straight ahead. 'Andiamo!' Lightning stabbed into the ship as they ran. Rudolpho barreled up to his surprised brother, and easily lifted Antonio aloft with a grin. 'Oh ho, you feel three paninis lighter, I think!' Antonio grinned in spite of himself. 'Put me down, you big oaf! They just don't know how to feed me on this maledetto ...' He grabbed his brother's arm as the ship suddenly tipped in the air, another piece of it falling away. 'Ship!' He yelled.

Marie Antoinette used the smoke to her advantage. She rolled with it, she slipped through it, her billowing skirts hiding her among the wildly shifting tendrils. The lightning could not find her, and Clotilde did not see her. The Queen quietly rose up behind the daemon, her ebony blade in hand. She stood there a moment, studying this tiny wisp of thing that crackled with ice and blue fire, and then she yelled out at her and stabbed the shocked creature in the back. 'Adieu, bête de l'enfer!!'

Clotilde shrieked. Her hands flew backward to grab at the knife, but it was buried too deeply. A wound as black, and inky as the ebony blade itself spread out, and along her spine. 'Alors,' the Queen smiled. 'Such a simple thing after all.' Clotilde's eyes hardened. She glared at Marie Antoinette a moment and then surprised the Queen by suddenly bolting away from her. The daemon raced over the disintegrating ship. She easily avoided the gaping holes in its deck, the clouds of smoke parted for her, the lightning seemed to slip beneath her feet and carry her through the air.

Francesca, grudgingly, had listened to Marie Antoinette's instructions to stay here and wait for my return rather well, she thought. She sat, looking rather stupid, upon a piece of the deck that had not yet chosen to explode, be struck by lightning, or simply fall into the bay below. But ... She rather calmly mused, as the ship gave another great jerk in the air. It would not be too long before the entire Man O'war simply crashed into the water with all of them aboard.

It wasn't the sudden, screeching howl that interrupted Francesca's reverie, though that did, ultimately make her look up. It was her hair. Her damaged, and broken curls suddenly rose from her scalp like things possessed, completely contradicting the direction of the wind, smoke, and the spinning of the warship. It just upped, and stood as straight as a marine under inspection. 'This is it! The ship is committing suicide!' She exclaimed as she bounced to her feet, her coolness gone, and then she looked, horrified, into the face, her face, the face of Clotilde.

Clotilde spun a violet cocoon of ice around herself. The lightning crackled from her glimmering pores, her eyes shone with venom. 'Ciao Francesca,' she whispered it inside her head. 'It is time, I think, for you to be mine.' Francesca stepped backward, it was the electricity that surrounded Clotilde that was making her hair fly from her head. 'I don't suppose you wouldn't rather just ... go?' She asked hopefully of the daemon. Clotilde smiled, reaching out toward her twin. 'Take my hand Francesca. Let us be one.'

Francesca was proud of herself for not visibly recoiling from Clotilde. She bit her lower lip, stood her ground and shook her head. 'No.' She simply said. The daemon's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing. 'I think you will.' She reached for Francesca's wrist, but the tip of a rapier suddenly rang out, swooshing in front of her nose.

'I no think so!' It was Rudolpho. Antonio was right behind his brother, and Gaspard arrived, running up with the rest of the troop. Clotilde blinked, taken aback, then she grabbed the blade of the rapier and pulled it to her chest, pushing it into her skin. 'Go ahead,' her eyes twinkled with malevolence. 'Go ahead Signore.' She tightened her fist, the blade visibly cutting into her skin. Rudolpho looked helplessly back at the others behind him. 'I am,' he stammered, 'not pushing!' He was, actually, pulling the blade as hard as he could away from her, and couldn't believe this girl, this copy of his niece, was effortlessly holding on ... and with one hand yet!

Gaspard cleared his throat, doing his best to be heard above the explosions, the lightning, the wind, and the groans and cracks of the ship as it fell to pieces. He tapped Antonio on the shoulder, smiled, then frowned when he saw the round Italian's expression, pushed past him, and leant up to Rudolpho's ear. 'Rudi?' He asked. 'I may not be following, but don't we want to kill her?' He emphasised this last bit, and made knowing glances at the sizzling, electric, copy of Francesca. Rudolpho pursed his lips, looked from Gaspard to Clotilde, over at his brother Antonio, and back again. 'Eh?' He said at last.

'Watch out, uncle!' Francesca yelled, side stepping Clotilde and swatting at Rudolpho's rapier. The rapier Clotilde had pressed to her own bosom was criss-crossed with veins of ice that had discreetly chased their way up the blade and were, at that moment, about to surprise her uncle's fingers. Rudolpho let go of the sword with an oath, and watched it snap, and break like so much crystal as it fell to his feet. 'I liked that sword,' he frowned. 'Idiot!' Clotilde spat. 'You're all idiots!' You can't win, and you will all be dead, no matter what you try to do to me!' She giggled at this last bit, and the ship seemed to laugh to, as it gave another sideways lurch. 'Oh, ma chérie ...'

Francesca looked up, startled, it was Marie Antoinette, she had caught up to Clotilde, and was standing over the daemon's shoulder, whispering into her ear without a trace of fear on her brow. 'We can still hurt you, non?' The Queen placed her hand on the blade protruding from Clotilde's back and twisted it. The daemon shrieked, her skin flickered like the stars over Mediterranean Sea in August. Her eyes went black as the ebony blade, and her expression changed. Her whole face changed. It twisted, and bent. Francesca's features dripped off it like hot wax, and what it became next was as hideous as any gargoyle atop Notre Dame de Paris.

Francesca laughed in spite of herself. Everyone stared at her in disbelief, but she didn't care, she was just so relieved to be the only Francesca again. Clotilde spun around and smacked Marie Antoinette across the face, sending her spinning backward. The daemon, and now she really did look like a daemon, roared like one and stomped what was still very much a copy of Francesca's stomp upon the deck, and then it positively rained lightning.

The entire ship started to split apart. It had done its best to hold itself together. It had fought and clung to every beam, every nail and scrap of copper and linen, but now it was done. The poor airship gave a great, pain-filled groan, and it all seemed to snap everywhere at once. The Amiral knew what it was, when a ship was ready to die, and this ship, his ship whispered au revoir to him.

The Man O'war snapped like so much kindling. Everything seemed to suddenly become pieces. There was no more ship, just the furious tempest, the air, and pieces of wildly spinning debris.

Francesca's eyes were closed. She was calm. She didn't cry out to the others, she didn't even make an attempt to reach out in the hope of holding a familiar hand. She wasn't scared to die.

She fell.

The air coddled her. It was summer air. How this summer seemed to never end. The roaring of the explosions had all but been swept away now. It was her, and her family and very soon it would be death. She didn't mind.

Her eyes snapped open.

She felt a sudden pull, a tug, a fierce, frozen grab at her arm. Francesca cried out now. They teared, oh how they teared as the world rushed up at her! 'I will drown you, I will take you to the bottom of the sea and I will hold onto you until your pretty, little lips smile no more.' It was Clotilde.

With all the ferocity of the storm behind her, she slammed into Francesca, clinging to her with a terrible glee. Francesca lashed out with her free arm, she swung out with her feet. She punched at the grotesque head, she wrenched her body round, kicking at it, over and over again, but the daemon would not let go. Francesca howled in pain as her arm turned to ice beneath the daemon's grasp.

Saint Geneviève and the great, shimmering blue whale came sailing up through the air, the debris from the Man O'war whizzing by them both. 'Francesca!' She yelled, reaching out a slender hand. 'Come to me!'

Francesca twisted her head around, somersaulting through the air as Clotilde clung to her, the daemon's fingernails bit into her arm like shark's teeth. The pain! Oh, the pain as the skin on her arm turned from olive to ice. 'FRANCESCA!' Saint Geneviève yelled her name again. Bewildered, she looked around, and as the wind flicked the hair from her eyes, she gasped at the impossibly enormous head of the great, blue whale as it sailed up, and nudged her. It's eye, the size of a dinner plate, swivelled around and blinked, blinked and then narrowed as it caught sight of the daemon viciously clinging to Francesca's frozen arm. The whale roared at Clotilde, angry vapour poured from its blowhole, and before Clotilde could cry out, the beast opened its gargantuan jaws and snapped the daemon in two.

* * *

Francesca was never very clear upon what exactly happened next. She was certain Clotilde was as shocked as she was, because she did remember seeing the daemon look up and blink in surprise. Was it the whale? Or was it seeing Saint Geneviève? Did she realise she had lost? Francesca shook her head. At any rate, the daemon blinked, and then just crumbled away. Just like that, it was over. She thought it was a horrible death, but that daemon deserved to die. She thought of her friend the Sergent Condé and she pressed her lips together. Yes, she frowned, Clotilde's fate was just.

Francesca sighed, trying to remember the rest, but she couldn't. Geneviève rescuing her, and being pulled atop the blue whale, even as the cetacean was still digesting - that much was obvious, but it was Gaspard who had told her how the whale swam through the air as easily as it might have done through the ocean. He remembered it all! Laughing that laugh of his. He described how the whale, still licking its daemon covered lips, darted and dashed around the clouds, avoiding the spiralling remains of the smoking Man O'war like a minnow avoiding a net in a pond. He described how the Saint easily snatched all of them up, even the hefty Tigullio brothers! How she plucked them from the air, and dropped them one by one upon the back of the whale before safely floating them all down to the bay below. He described how they hit the water with a great splash next to the French ships, and how that whale sent the horror stricken sailors over the side, all too happy to abandon their home for Geneviève and her whale.

Francesca walked across the deck of the ship as it rolled out of the bay, stopping next to her uncles. All three of them together at last! She beamed up at these men and reached out to hold Leo's hand, but laughed instead as Rudolpho picked her up in his arms and swung her round over his head like a doll. Antonio smiled into her eyes and carefully took her by the hand, the hand Clotilde had savaged. Her arm shone in the fading sunlight. It had been transformed by Clotilde's touch, and there was nothing, nothing he, Leo or even Soleil could do about it.

Soleil tapped at the inside of the mirror. 'Excusez-moi, ma reine?' Queen Marie Antoinette held the Specchio over her shoulder. She studied herself, ignoring the reflection of herself as Soleil. She turned her chin left and right, she thought her hair, bundled back atop her head looked rather splendid. 'Oui? Que voulez-vous?' She asked, as Soleil's insistent tapping grew louder. 'What I would like,' answered the Specchio perhaps a little too testily, 'is for you to stop admiring yourself and to help me out of here.' Marie Antoinette laughed, her deep voice ringing out across the sea. 'Out?' She laughed again, and knelt down so that she was eye to eye with her daughter. 'Donc, mon amour ...' Her daughter pressed the tip of her nose to her mother's. 'Oui, maman?' 'I think ...' The Queen pressed a critical finger to the silvery surface, 'that this mirror needs a bath.' Marie Antoinette smiled as the protests started burbling up from behind the glass. 'Would you do maman a favour, and dangle it behind the boat for a spell? Just until it is bright again?' Marie Thérèse took the Specchio from her mother, and immediately skipped across the deck, pausing only to grab Joseph's hand. 'And be sure the sharks don't get it!' She called after her daughter, laughing again, as the Specchio's shrill complaints faded away with Marie Thérèse.

* * *

'And what,' demanded the Amiral. 'Makes you think you have any chance of succeeding against Napoleon?' Rudolpho laughed. 'Succeeding?' He tapped the tip of a new rapier to the toe of his boot. 'We not succeeding, we killing the pretend empereur!' Gaspard smiled at this, and Giuseppe too chuckled. 'Killing?!' The Amiral continued in disbelief, walking to the edge of the deck, resting his hands upon the rail. 'You do realise,' he said, 'that the Empereur has never ever been defeated?' He paused so that bit of obviousness could sink in. 'Never!' He repeated, smacking the palm of his hand against the rail for emphasis. Dominique grimaced at this display, thinking some nice calming brandy would be in order shortly, and quietly retreated to the galley to fetch some.

'Listen.' Leo stepped up beside Marie Antoinette, and she turned her head to see what the Italian had to say. He nodded to the Queen. 'We have her.' He said, simply, pointing at Antoinette with his thumb. The Queen smiled now. 'We have her, and we all know Napoleon is terrified of what will happen when the French realise their Queen is alive ...' He paused, and lowered his voice. 'They will realise they have a choice.'

The Amiral grimaced. He looked over at Marie Antoinette, and inclined his head in salute. 'Bon.' He said. 'And have you a plan to bring La Reine to Paris? Because Napoleon has agents everywhere. You can not just walk back to the Palais Royale with Marie Antoinette on your arm!'

Leo pursed his lips, and a tiny smile crept along the corner of his mouth. He pulled his spectacles off, and inspected them a moment before sliding them back onto his round nose. 'Oui, mon Amiral, I do have a plan. Antonio?' He asked his brother, would you?' He stopped himself. Everyone looked over at Antonio expectantly. Francesca, who was standing right next to her uncle looked up at him, half expecting him to conjure Soleil back from the Specchio. She did not expect him to simply step aside and put his arm around the shoulders of the dirty, old Captain. Judging by the dull silence that followed, no one else did either.

'Ah,' Gaspard nodded, with a grin at the Captain, and then at the rest of the group. 'Our Captain is our prize, don't you know?' Francesca wrinkled her brow, what the hell was he talking about? Gaspard winked at her and she blushed furiously. 'Captain? If you please?' He smiled at the group. 'As you know, I am a rather talented ...' He paused, 'A Jack of all trades?' 'You mean scoundrel and thief?' Offered Rudolpho, much to the amusement of the others. Gaspard looked over at Rudolpho, and smiled again. 'Touché. I mean, you can not fool a ...' He laughed. 'A scoundrel, such as I, eh, Captain?'

'Oh, mon dieu!' Marie Antoinette exclaimed. 'Amiral, we will take back Paris, and we will take back La France!' Her eyes flashed angrily.' Because we have this English bastard on our side, not to mention Geneviève.' She looked out over the rail searching for the Saint and that great whale, and not seeing them, turned back to the Amiral with a slight shrug. 'And who better to take us to Napoleon's door than he?' The Amiral looked questioningly from her, and back to the Captain, and then walked up to the man with the deeply lined face and stared at him a moment before his eyes widened in surprise. 'But!' He shouted in surprise, 'But this man is a criminal of France!' Then he realised he was now a criminal too, and he turned back to the now smiling Captain. 'You look like an idiot, Sir, and take off that ridiculous costume!'

Leo looked a little deflated, as he was excited to make the announcement, it was his plan after all, but still seeing some confused looks, Rudolpho, for one, though that really wasn't that satisfying, he glanced over at Francesca instead, and gave her a knowing wink.

'May I have the pleasure of introducing our ace, so to speak?' The now laughing Captain nodded. 'You may indeed Leo!' Leo gave a little flourish with his hand, and bowed slightly. 'It is my pleasure to introduce to you, Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington.'

Francesca balked. The Duke of Wellington?! He was part of their party? The Duke, for she wasn't going to call him the Captain anymore, now was she? He was tugging at his nose, and it pulled away like soft pizza dough. Arthur Wellesley saw her expression, and grinned. 'Theatre makeup,' he offered. 'Napoleon's agents have been after me ever since I escaped London, and this guise has helped me rather enormously.' Francesca nodded silently. Now that he was cleaning himself up, he didn't look old, or lined, or particularly threatening anymore, he looked nothing like the man that had been standing there a moment ago. Instead he looked almost handsome ... for an older man, he was probably around thirty-five she decided, yes, an attractive thirty-five. In fact, if it wasn't for a decidedly crooked nose, perhaps more than handsome.

This surely changed everything, she thought. And evidently, everyone else thought the same, even Rudolpho looked impressed. Gaspard sidled up to her. 'I knew all along, you know,' he whispered at her. She snorted. 'Sure you did!' His eyes widened in mock horror. 'But I did Francesca, I did!' They both laughed, and then he leant over and kissed her full on the lips, and she blushed so quickly, and so hard, she thought her face was on fire.

Epilogue

The sails above her head snapped lightly as the last of the summer wind filled them. The ship easily sped through the dark blue water. The Amiral was at the helm, and he looked like a newly made able seaman, with the way he now smiled. His man Dominique looked quite at a loss next to this happy Amiral! Francesca stretched out on the Turkish blankets Rudolpho had spread across the deck for her to relax upon, and she reached down to scratch Oliver's neck. The cats had appeared, as if by magic that evening, and the grey cat blinked up at her happily with his emerald eyes, and then he looked over at the smiling Principessa Pesca ... just to be sure he was getting the larger part of Francesca's affection. Satisfied, Oliver curled up into a ball at her side, and purred extra loudly in the hope the little, orange Principessa might hear exactly how much happier than her he really was.

Leo was nearby in deep commiseration with Rudolpho, he was holding that strange pocket-watch up, and was obviously trying really hard to explain something to his hairy brother. She looked over her other shoulder, and saw Antonio strolling with Saint Geneviève. The Saint was laughing at something he had said, and he looked enormously pleased, when she suddenly leant over, lifted his spectacles from his face, and kissed him on the nose. Oh, how Antonio blushed! Like a schoolboy, giggled Francesca. The rest of the men were at the front of the ship. She spied Gaspard, regaling the Duke and Giuseppe with some undoubtedly exaggerated story, and by the quality of their guffaws and chuckles, it was quite clear they were enjoying it ... regardless of whether they believed that boy, or not.

Francesca shook her head, smiling. 'Your cats are lovely.' Marie Antoinette walked up, holding a barefoot Marie-Thérèse in her arms. 'Aren't they lovely?' She asked her daughter. The girl nodded. 'Lovely,' she repeated, kissing her mother with a smile.

Francesca lay back against the colourful rugs, and sighed a deep, contented sigh, and then her stomach suddenly growled. 'Really?' Her eyes widened in surprise. 'I suppose,' Soleil said from the hand mirror lying on the carpet next to her. 'That pasta with pesto is what you'll want as soon as we see your mother?' 'Hush!' Said Francesca, laughing, and then she suddenly felt, that they really were going to win this war ... but first, she grinned, she was going to go back to Italy, mother, and home!

* * *

And so, here ends Book One of The Third Uncle. I hope you enjoyed it, as always, comments are always very appreciated! Thank you so much for reading. I need to puzzle out the next book now ...