Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [57]
“Those ships will have to stand further off the coast,” Sangros muttered in his ear, “if they do not come into the harbor immediately.”
The doctor felt unreasonably relieved by this prediction. Before he could answer, Christophe’s voice came booming from outside the gate.
“Vini moi, m’sieu l’docteu!—come with me!”
The carriage had vanished from the beach, but three saddle horses waited in its place. Christophe mounted without a backward glance. Lebrun followed suit and the doctor brought up the rear. Unfamiliar to him, his horse was more skittish than he liked, tended to shy at every fragment of windblown debris that the wind carried past, and even at the whitecaps foaming on the sea below the narrow trail. The wind was beating in their faces, and sometimes came the odd raindrop, almost with the velocity of a bullet. As they rode into the edge of town, papers began to pull free from the packet Lebrun carried, whipped away by the wind. The doctor did not know if he ought to say anything about it. When one of the sheets plastered itself across his chest, he stuffed it into his shirt without looking at it.
Great trees of the lightning writhed in the cloud above the mountain by the time they reached the Place d’Armes, but the wide square was still fairly busy, with marchandes packing up their stalls, their customers just beginning to scurry for shelter. As the three horsemen crossed, a great chunk of the papers detached itself from Lebrun’s bundle and scattered away over the steps of the church. Lebrun seemed to smirk when the doctor’s eye caught his, and this time Christophe had noticed too—his face contracted to a fist, but he said nothing.
Within the courtyard of the Government House the raindrops were beginning to slap down with greater frequency, raising puffs of dust. Quickly they handed off their horses to a groom who waited under the tall palms, and climbed the steps at as fast a gait as might preserve their dignity. When they had passed under the doorsill, Lebrun turned back to look at the rain, which just that suddenly had begun pouring down in sheets.
“Comme c’est impressionnante!” he said, his face shining with humidity and the exertion of their dash up the stairs. How impressive it is!
The doctor merely nodded; the roar of the rain was quite deafening. Christophe looked at Lebrun impassively, then led their way along the corridor. As they passed, the doctor thought he saw Pascal, slipping discreetly into a side door.
Christophe brought them to the anteroom where Toussaint was accustomed to receive his petits cercles during Government House balls. No further, though there were only the three of them, and the door of the inner cabinet stood ajar.
“Do sit down,” Christophe told them. As the doctor and Lebrun obeyed him, Pascal put his head in the door to ask if they would take coffee, and then went out again.
“Well then,” Christophe said to Lebrun. “You may now give to me the papers addressed to Toussaint Louverture.”
Lebrun cupped an ear and returned an inquiring look. Christophe went to close the casements to mute the roaring of the rain. Beyond the glass, everything had turned a greenish black. Christophe repeated the statement as he resumed his seat. The doctor, feeling the corners of the paper prick the skin beneath his shirt, wondered if the documents Christophe was requesting had been scattered during their ride.
“By my orders they must be confided to no one but himself,” Lebrun said. “And the issue is not the documents, sir, but the prompt admission of the fleet into the harbor.” He hesitated, looked at the doctor, and went on. “You must know that the Captain-General Leclerc intends to show you every favor, if only you cooperate with him.”
“For