~ Questioning ~
“I know nothing,” Tupen says for the fourteenth time. The former general, and prisoner, sits perfectly still during his interrogation, his face a mask of placidity.
Napoleon's interrogator paces about the man.
“Come, come, Tupen. Have you not been well-treated since your release? Was the bath, grooming, clothes, and food we provided not satisfactory for a man of your former station?” The interrogator bends in the middle, meeting Tupen eye-to-eye. “It can all be taken away again. We could return you to your cell to live out your days as a caged rat. Or you can tell us who this Man in the Iron Mask is and why he wants you free.”
Tupen ever so slightly shakes his head. “I know not, Monsieur. Do not mistake my apprehensiveness for refusal to cooperate. I am as puzzled as you by this affair and doubly as fearful. Why this iron-masked stranger wishes to take custody of me is beyond my reckoning. There must be countless souls who would see me dead for the duties I performed under the Crown. The people of this new bastard nation consider my acts of valor as crimes and atrocities. This man you deliver me unto could well prove one of them.”
The interrogator sighs and shrugs before leaving the room. The adjacent parlor he enters contains the Broken Bards.
“I am at loss,” he tells them.
“Why?” Cyrano asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“Because Tupen is at a loss. The poor devil truly does not know why he is requested. Nor does he know who our mysterious villain is.”
“Are you certain?”
“As certain as he, Monsieur.”
With a lavish, graceful turn, Cyrano paces about the room. “Perhaps. Perhaps…an interrogator is not needed in this matter.”
Reluctantly, the interrogator inclines his head. “It may be well possible, Monsieur, despite my doubts. What alternative do you propose?”
“Torture!” the Phantom offers as he raises an enthusiastic finger. “I could remake my Iron Forest! That should make him talk.”
“Nay, nay!” Cyrano protests with a wave of his hand. “What the man needs, what we need, is a detective.”
The interrogator spreads his hands. “Only the world's greatest detective could solve this mystery at this point. And he lives in England.”
“Then I must suffice.” Cyrano brushes the side of his long nose and gives a subtle smirk.
The interrogator stifles a laugh before bowing and waving an arm in invitation. “You are free to try, Monsieur. But the science of deduction differs greatly from the art of swordplay.”
“Nonsense! Why, when engaged in a duel, I often deduce a man’s weaknesses in less than a second's time. Believe me, Officer, as with swords, so with tongues.” He makes his way to the door but turns with a flourish to add, “And what is more, there may well be things he knows yet does not know he knows. Tupen may know one, and he may know two. Yet, it may fall to me to combine them to make three.”
Cyrano goes through the door to find Tupen still sitting placidly. “General Tupen, you are one of the few surviving relatives of the dead king, are you not?”
Tupen frowns and nods.
“And that would give you some claim to the throne, would it not?”
Tupen grimaces. “If such a throne yet existed, I suppose. If it did, I would refuse it. Such a seat cost many a kinsman their noble and royal heads.”
Cyrano grins. “A wise man, you! Tell me, do you know what this is?” He pulls something from his pocket and shows it to Tupen.
“A key,” Tupen answers. “A key of some queer make.”
Cyrano flips the key like a coin as he paces in a circle about the seated man. “This queer key was found hidden behind the painting of Louis XIV by the painter Claude Deruet. Are you familiar with the work, General Tupen?”
Tupen shrugs lazily in his chair. “My cousin had many a portrait of him commissioned by numerous artists. I know not which one—”
“Very good,” Cyrano says, cutting him off. “Was Louis… a man of many secrets?”
Tupen shakes his head and chuckles. “Well, of course! Was he not the King?”
“And were you privy to any of these secrets?”
On this, Tupen pauses to think. Cyrano observes the man's shifting eyes. The eyes are not the eyes of one formulating a lie, but of one searching memories for an answer.
“I… I know not. What secrets I did know were tactics for past campaigns, things irrelevant now.” An idea seemed to come as Tupen's face alighted “Perhaps I am wanted by this iron masked man for my military value.”
“Ha!” Cyrano cries. “That is a chance in a million, I dare say! The great Napoleon has rendered generals like you obsolete. Why, in a game of chess he could beat you with pawns alone!”
More furious than brave, Tupen rises to his feet to face Cyrano. “That may be. But were my king still alive, he would easily be a match for that Corsican dog! Were it not for the betrayal from his own subjects, King Louis XIV would have gained dominion over the whole of Western Europe!”
Cyrano gazes into the man's angry eyes, blinks, and nods as a curious thought crosses his mind. “I thank you, General Tupen, for your time. Come now. You and this key are to be delivered to Le Havre.”
Tupen sneers. “You have more nose than brain De Bergerac. You are nothing more than a fallen gallant serving a foreign usurper. Napoleon is using you as he is bidding you use me. You and the rest of your triad of deformity deserve death.”
Cyrano lays a hand on the hilt of his blade. “There is much a man must suffer in life, but never an insult.”
Tupen scoffs. “I hope you end up guillotined someday. Of course, your nose would have to proceed your head, it being the bigger of the two.”
Cyrano's eyes narrow. “You’ve a bold tongue.”
“No bolder than your nose, traitor!”
A moment later, Cyrano emerges from the interrogation room to meet with his two partners and the interrogator. “We ride to Le Havre. I carry the key. Quasimodo, please carry General Tupen, as he is currently unconscious.”
“And what shall I carry?” the Phantom asks, with a fiendish titter.
Cyrano crosses his arms and raises his chin. “My dear Erik, the only thing you are competent in carrying is a tune.”
“Ha!”
Quasimodo steps forward. “You say we must ride, but I cannot. Horses hate me, and I don't have the skill.”
The Phantom sighs. “Ah, if but I still had my dear white Caesar. That horse was worthy of me. But now, have I other means of travel. It seems you will ride alone, good Cyrano.”
Cyrano eyes the Phantom and strokes his chin. “We will take a coach. I will drive. Quasimodo and Tupen can ride in the back. You, Erik, I suspect will appear when needed upon our reaching Le Havre?”
The Phantom bows. “When I am least wanted and most needed, I will be there!”
Chapter 9