This time Emsie wanted to take a turn at luring, leaving the hitting to Amarilla and Marshall Gney. The guards had temporarily stopped wandering and come to a standstill by the large door that led into the Casino building.
‘Hi, you, over there, hello!’ she shouted, keeping close to the stables where Gney and Amarilla waited. The guards, who were called Claude and Jean, where obviously surprised to be hailed.
‘What is it?’ said Jean, who was cautious by nature.
‘It looks like a girl,’ said Claude, who was the observant one of the pair.
‘What do you think she wants?’ asked Jean.
‘What do girls ever want?’ replied Claude, revealing philosophical depths that Jean was immediately troubled by.
‘What do you mean by “what do girls ever want?” Am I supposed to know the answer to that?’
‘No, you’re not; don’t worry. I think it’s called a rhetorical question,’ said Claude, ‘in my experience, which is considerable, girls usually want romance, flowers, diamonds, puppies, marriage, babies, kitchenware; that sort of thing.’
‘How did you get to be so knowledgeable about girls all of a sudden?’ asked Jean, with his distinctive brand of distaste and suspicion.
Amarilla’s incautiously audible groan of rage and frustration were neatly covered by Emsie saying,
‘This girl here would like to get a closer look at two handsome guards.’
‘Why don’t you come over here and look at us, then?’ asked Jean, who was clearly oblivious to the suggestive nuance of her tone.
‘Why don’t you come over here and let me look at you?’ replied Emsie, who was beginning to wish that she had stuck to the ‘hitting people’ part of the plan.
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Claude.
‘No it isn’t,’ argued Jean, ‘it’s much darker over there. It’s no good trying to be looked at by girls in the dark.’
Emsie was out of patience,
‘Do you want me to look at you or not?’
‘Yes!’ said Claude.
‘No,’ said Jean.
At that moment the door opened and Boo Dikka, Caractacus Carruthers and Dorf came out. Dorf was carrying a large and heavy sack.
‘Stop!’ said Jean.
‘Wait!’ said Claude.
‘No,’ said Dorf and he swung his sack briskly knocking Jean to the ground. Caractacus looked at the fallen guard and said,
‘He’s knocked out. You could say “cashiered!”’
Boo Dikka looked at Claude fiercely,
‘Run!’ she instructed. Claude looked at the towering presence of the British Queen and her piratical associates; he decided to do as he was told.
Emsie stepped back into the shadows and the Britons walked casually down the drive, not having seen her. They appeared to be discussing what fun it was to be on holiday in France.
After they had gone Amarilla, Emsie and Gney made their way over to the Casino entrance, where they planned to await the escaping Beowulf and Lewis. As they passed Jean, he half opened an eye and groaned.
‘You had your chance and you didn’t take it!’ said Emsie, who was slightly put out that the guards hadn’t been swift enough to take her bait.
Unsurprisingly Jean did not reply and sought solace by passing out again.
The siege of Mme Frappedelapins kitchen was heating up. This rising heat was both literal and metaphorical; Simone’s ‘wall of fat’ had, since he ignited it, turned into a ‘wall of flame.’ Mme Frappedelapins and Simone had, in defence of the honour of the kitchen, kept up a constant barrage of sharp or heavy implements at the guards, who were trying to get in through the door and past the leaping flames. Although at first, the barrage had been a very effective strategy, as time went on, it had become less so. This was partly due to the overwhelming number of guards, who could afford to take turns to try to get through the doorway, but it was more seriously affected by the diminishing quantity of suitable things to throw. The knives, pans, grinders and medium sized pieces of kitchen equipment had all gone. They were now down to cups and bowls. It was only the narrowness of the doorway and the height of the flames that maintained the viability of their defensive position.
‘I do not think that we can hold them much longer!’ cried Mme Frappedelapins as she hurled a fruit bowl over the inferno.
Simone grinned and showed her what he had been saving for such an eventuality.
‘It seems a shame to waste it,’ she said sadly, ‘however it would cover our retreat. I think we have bought our friend enough time.’
Simone was holding a rare bottle of ‘Father Ricardo de Ricci’s Malevolent Apple Brandy’ which had a well earned reputation as both a lethally intoxicating drink and as a highly volatile incendiary accelerant. It had been in the kitchen for some years, waiting for the right occasion, which had finally presented itself. Simone shed a tear, unscrewed the cap, offered a nip to Mme Chef (which she accepted), took one himself and then hurled the bottle into the flames with a cry of,
‘Don’t mess with the chefs!’
Mme Frappedelapins and Simone wisely and swiftly exited the kitchen through the spare stockroom before the inevitable had time to occur.
‘We’ve got them now!’ shouted Heinrich, shortly before there was a low whooshing sound followed by the sharp hiss as the fireball consumed the kitchen.
‘What was that noise?’ asked Cardinal Bull.
The nearest guard just pointed, as part of the kitchen wall collapsed and great tongues of fire began to appear through the fissures in the stone.
‘What is happening in there?’ he asked. The guard shrugged.
‘Keep watching the door,’ commanded the Cardinal.
‘Nothing is coming out of there,’ said the guard, ‘shall we fetch water?’
Bull tried to weigh the implications of both possible Kings of France being immolated in a Monastery fire, but couldn’t manage it. He wasn’t even sure who was next in line for the throne; let alone what their views were on Holy Gambling and the tribute to the Papacy. He could see his mission going (literally) up in smoke. He did not want to explain this to the Holy Father.
‘Get water quickly, we must get in and rescue the King!’
The guards began to look around for water.