The Mississippi smells like copper and smoke tonight, and Céleste Fontenot counts the dead before they fall. One of the bodies gave up a list carrying the mark of the Templars and three names belonging to contacts within the Brotherhood, each marked for execution before dawn. She must try to warn them.
[[Three Names]]Céleste knows these names.
Brother Augustin Delacroix carries decades of Brotherhood knowledge and secrets. She's never laid eyes on him, but has received information from him that has been instrumental in counteracting Templar schemes across New Orleans.
Céleste has had minor interactions with Union Army Captain Elias Ward. He provides logistical support in the fight against the Templars as they entrench themselves further in the city.
But the third name, Marie-Claire Toussaint, stops her breath. She grew up with Marie-Claire, who is a schoolteacher. Why is she on the list? Céleste doesn't know. But her feet are already moving.
[[Warn Brother Augustin and Captain Ward — and pray Marie-Claire survives the night.]]
[[Warn Brother Augustin and Marie-Claire — and hope the Captain has enough soldiers to protect himself.]]
[[Warn Captain Ward and Marie-Claire — and let the archivist's secrets die with him.]]The Tremé is quiet around her. The usual early birdsong muted. The soft murmurs of a neighborhood just beginning to awaken.
Céleste can see that the door to Marie-Claire's cottage is slightly ajar.
She steps up and gently pushes it wide. Standing in the front room, she has a view of the kitchen. The small cottage is eerily silent.
A small pile of children’s primers stands on a table with a collection of students’ writing. A shawl draped over the back of a chair. A lunch pail ready to go. A pot of grits on the stove that will never be eaten.
Céleste finds Marie-Claire Toussaint in the hallway. A garotte around her neck. Céleste sags to the floor next to her. Gently reaching out to gather Marie-Claire’s hands into her own.
She waits for something, anything, to help her make sense of this. This murder of a woman who had nothing to do with either the Brotherhood or the Templars. Who loved the students she taught. Who was kind and gentle. Whose only questionable decision was being Céleste’s lifelong friend.
She rises to her feet without discernible thought, turns, and slowly walks back out into the brightening sunshine.
[[Renaud]]Céleste leaps to the roof and scrambles to the peak. The sun lies low on the horizon before it makes its way into the clear sky.
An early morning crowd, originally heading for the market stalls running parallel to the docks, had gathered facing a two-story brick building. She recognized it as the building that had been converted into the Union Army officers’ offices.
She crouched to avoid detection, just as a man in the uniform of an officer was forced to his knees by another Union soldier. His hands were bound behind his back, and there was no hat upon his head. It was obvious, even from this distance, that he’d been beaten. The front of his uniform bloody.
She pulled a small spyglass from an inside pocket of her coat.
At almost the same instant, a senior officer stepped from the building, plumed hat catching the early light, and casually moved to stand beside the prisoner. He spoke, but Céleste couldn’t hear what he said.
Céleste raised the spyglass and peered at the kneeling man. She froze. Elias Ward. The Army captain who had been aiding the Brotherhood in their attempts to disrupt the Templars’ plans for New Orleans. She wanted to shout, to disrupt what was happening.
Suddenly, there was a gun.
One shot!
Céleste’s entire body jerked.
Ward’s body crumpled.
The officer in the plumed hat, smoking pistol in his hand, stood tall. And smiled.
Céleste raised the spyglass. Through the glass she could read the eagles on his epaulettes. A Colonel. She studied his face until she knew every line of it.
“I will remember you.”
She doesn't know his name. She will.
[[Locate Renaud]]The smell of ink and paper lingered in the air.
His body in the middle of the room. A slowly spreading pool of blood. His lifeless eyes wide. They’d cut his throat. Something in his mouth.
Céleste cautiously approaches. Crouches beside him. Reaches forward. It’s an anonymous note. A warning he was marked.
Her head droops. When she lifts it again, she sighs heavily. She grieves his lost voice. Words on paper. Intelligence through dead drops. A mind she knew only through its usefulness. Didn’t he know someone was coming to help?
Céleste stands again. Turns. Pauses an extra moment on the threshold. Then steps outside to see if he had time for one last message.
She finds it. A small scrap. One word. A partial name: Jean-L.
She tucks the paper in her pocket. The web is bigger than she thought.
[[Find Renaud]]Céleste strode into the din of a full gambling house situated along Bourbon Street, immediately assaulted with cigar smoke and the heat of the crowd occupying the tables. Dozens of heads bent over cards had taken no notice of her. There was one, however, that caught her attention because it swiveled back and forth as if searching.
She had instantly known that this was the man she was looking for. Known only as Renaud, he was an information broker. As Céleste approached, she caught the tremor in his hand as he clutched his cards.
His head swung to the right, and his entire body twitched as his narrowed eyes alighted on her determined face.
She held his gaze as she took three more steps, arriving behind the chair next to him. Céleste paused for a moment before pulling out the seat and lowering herself onto it. She faced Renaud rather than the table. He hadn’t moved a muscle.
Her stillness unnerved him, and he laughed awkwardly. Céleste’s expression didn’t change as she took the cards from his hand and placed them face down on the table.
“Three names.” Renaud straightened in his chair. He said nothing. “You provided three names for execution,” Céleste quietly ground out. “And one was an innocent.”
At that indictment, his head whipped back around to stare at her. “I didn’t know,” his voice barely above a whisper. Color rose in his cheeks. Sweat along his hairline.
“It is of no consequence to me, Renaud. Who gave the orders?” she insisted. Renaud shook his head, “I can’t say.”
Céleste leaned slightly forward. Her voice taut, but steady, “Marie-Claire Toussaint.” The name hung tenuously in the air between them as Céleste stared him down. Renaud visibly swallowed, then he croaked out, “I didn’t have a choice. They were going to kill me.”
She rose and motioned, “Get up. We’re leaving.”
“No, please,” his voice started to rise in pitch.
Céleste began to reach forward, but he quickly stood and held up his hands, “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
She gestured that he should precede her, and they wound their way toward the doors. As they exited the gambling hall, Renaud realized they were in the alley, not on the street.
He whirls to face Céleste while beginning to back away. “You don’t have to do this. I know things,” he rasped. “Captain Jennings is the one who ordered the deaths.”
Her hand paused on its way to her knife.
[[Spare Renaud]]
[[Eliminate Renaud]]Céleste strode into the din of a full gambling house situated along Bourbon Street, immediately assaulted with cigar smoke and the heat of the crowd occupying the tables. Dozens of heads bent over cards had taken no notice of her. There was one, however, that caught her attention because it swiveled back and forth as if searching.
She had instantly known that this was the man she was looking for. Known only as Renaud, he was an information broker. As Céleste approached, she caught the tremor in his hand as he clutched his cards.
His head swung to the right, and his entire body twitched as his narrowed eyes alighted on her determined face.
She held his gaze as she took three more steps, arriving behind the chair next to him. Céleste paused for a moment before pulling out the seat and lowering herself onto it. She faced Renaud rather than the table. He hadn’t moved a muscle.
Her stillness unnerved him, and he laughed awkwardly. Céleste’s expression didn’t change as she took the cards from his hand and placed them face down on the table.
“Three names.” Renaud straightened in his chair. He said nothing. “You provided three names for execution,” Céleste quietly ground out. “And one was a man of God.”
At that indictment, his head whipped back around to stare at her. “Augustin?” his voice barely above a whisper. Color rose in his cheeks. Sweat along his hairline.
Céleste slightly inclined her head, eyes narrowing on him. “Who gave the orders, Renaud?” she insisted. He shook his head, “Dear God.”
She leaned slightly forward. Her voice taut, but steady, “He can’t help you now.” Céleste stared him down. “They slit his throat and shoved an anonymous note into his mouth, leaving him sprawled on the floor.” Renaud visibly swallowed, then he croaked out, “I didn’t have a choice. They were going to kill me.”
She rose and motioned, “Get up. We’re leaving.”
“No, please,” his voice started to rise in pitch.
Céleste began to reach forward, but he quickly stood and held up his hands, “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
She gestured that he should precede her, and they wound their way toward the doors. As they exited the gambling hall, Renaud realized they were in the alley, not on the street.
He whirled to face Céleste while beginning to back away “You don’t have to do this. I know things,” he rasped. “Captain Jennings is the one who ordered the deaths.”
Her hand paused on its way to her knife.
[[Spare Renaud]]
[[Eliminate Renaud]]Céleste strode into the din of a full gambling house situated along Bourbon Street, immediately assaulted with cigar smoke and the heat of the crowd occupying the tables. Dozens of heads bent over cards had taken no notice of her. There was one, however, that caught her attention because it swiveled back and forth as if searching.
She had instantly known that this was the man she was looking for. Known only as Renaud, he was an information broker. As Céleste approached, she caught the tremor in his hand as he clutched his cards.
His head swung to the right, and his entire body twitched as his narrowed eyes alighted on her determined face.
She held his gaze as she took three more steps, arriving behind the chair next to him. Céleste paused for a moment before pulling out the seat and lowering herself onto it. She faced Renaud rather than the table. He hadn’t moved a muscle.
Her stillness unnerved him, and he laughed awkwardly. Céleste‘s expression didn’t change as she took the cards from his hand and placed them face down on the table.
“Three names.” Renaud straightened in his chair. He said nothing. “You provided three names for execution,” Céleste quietly ground out. “And I watched Ward die. I was on the rooftop across the way. I saw another officer in a plumed hat point a gun at Ward’s head, shoot him point-blank, and smile.”
At that indictment, his head whipped back around to stare at her. “What?” his voice barely above a whisper. Color rose in his cheeks. Sweat along his hairline.
Céleste slightly inclined her head, eyes narrowing on him. “Who gave the orders, Renaud?” she insisted. He shook his head, “Dear God.”
She leaned slightly forward. Her voice taut, but steady, “He can’t help you now.” Céleste stared him down. Renaud visibly swallowed, then he croaked out, “I didn’t have a choice. They were going to kill me.”
She rose and motioned, “Get up. We’re leaving.”
“No, please,” his voice started to rise in pitch.
Céleste began to reach forward, but he quickly stood and held up his hands, “Okay, I’ll go with you.”
She gestured that he should precede her, and they wound their way toward the doors. As they exited the gambling hall, Renaud realized they were in the alley, not on the street.
He whirled to face Céleste while beginning to back away. “You don’t have to do this. I know things,” he rasped. “Captain Jennings is the one who ordered the deaths.”
Her hand paused on its way to her knife.
[[Spare Renaud]]
[[Eliminate Renaud]]You’ve got two choices: tell me what you know about Jennings and who ‘Jean-L’ is or die by my knife,” Céleste says.
Renaud closes his eyes and slowly exhales. He opens his eyes and notices the sky is turning pink, then quietly begins, “I do not know who Jean-L might be. As for Jennings, he is Colonel Jennings, second-in-command of the Union Army forces here in New Orleans. And he is the officer in the plumed hat you saw this morning.”
Céleste instantly stiffens. It’s her turn to inhale and exhale deeply to gain control. “And?”
He shifts uncomfortably and continues, “He meets with members of his network at a house in the Garden District. I don’t know which one specifically, but it’s on Jackson Avenue.”
She looks Renaud in the eyes, “You now belong to me. You are my agent and will share what you learn only with me. Do you understand?”
He swallows heavily and nods.
Céleste brusquely turns her back to him, reenters the all-night foot traffic, and disappears from sight.
[[Jackson Avenue]]You’ve got two choices: tell me what you know about Jennings and who ‘Jean-L’ is or die by my knife,” Céleste says.
Renaud closes his eyes and slowly exhales. He opens his eyes and notices the sky is turning pink, then quietly begins, “Jennings. He is Colonel Jennings, second-in-command of the Union Army forces here in New Orleans. And he is the officer in the plumed hat you saw this morning.”
Céleste instantly stiffens. It’s her turn to inhale and exhale deeply to gain control. “And?”
He shifts uncomfortably and continues, “He meets with members of his network at a house in the Garden District. I don’t know which one specifically, but it’s on Jackson Avenue.”
Céleste’s voice is low and dangerous. “Who is Jean-L?”
Renaud notices the sky is turning pink, shakes his head slightly, then closes his eyes.
In that silence, she steps forward. Her knife flashes, and Renaud crumples to the ground.
Céleste brusquely turns her back to him, reenters the all-night foot traffic, and disappears from sight.
[[Jackson Avenue]]Céleste makes her way along Jackson Avenue, the scents of magnolia and jasmine wafting on the breeze, acutely aware that she stands out here. In this neighborhood, built with the money from cotton. If someone asks, she is prepared with the cover of delivering a note.
She turns into a narrow side street and finds herself alone. Céleste climbs up among the branches of a Southern Live Oak tree and stills, looking for a tell. Every Templar safehouse has one if you know what to look for.
There it is. She’s moving, even as she spots it. A window with the curtains drawn on a bright, busy morning.
Céleste is quickly through an unlocked garden gate, then an open kitchen door.
Jennings is not here. She searches the parlor he has obviously claimed for his meetings. Papers strewn across a desk. Eyeglasses, a map, and a note with the words ‘Jean-Lazare. 619 Toulouse Street at noon.’
Then Céleste sees it. And she stops. She’s confronted with a daguerreotype of a woman and two small children. He has a family.
She needs to get to the French Quarter.
[[619 Toulouse Street]]Céleste waits, standing on Toulouse Street. The bells of St. Louis Cathedral peal in the distance, while the sun heats her skin. Her eyes move to the porte-cochere entrance of Jean-Lazare's home, as the mid-day noises of a city full of life carry on the air.
She makes her way through the arched passage leading from the street into the courtyard. Footsteps quiet and unhurried. Searching for an unobtrusive entry point to the house itself.
She locates a second-floor window, slightly open. Céleste silently scales the exterior wall, raises the sash, and slides into the cool interior. As her eyes adjust to the darker spaces, she passes into the hallway. Hearing voices, she shifts toward them.
Céleste pauses on the threshold with her head inclined toward the burnished dark wood of the door. Two voices. One insistent. The other measured. Only two, she could handle that.
She breathes out and pushes into the room.
Céleste is expecting to surprise Jean-Lazare, but he is already looking at her. Colonel Jennings reaches for his weapon. Without a glance, Jean-Lazare raises a hand, stopping the movement. Stillness hangs between them.
“Mademoiselle Fontenot.”
Jean-Lazare says her name the way you say the name of someone you've known a long time and finally get to meet.
She is off-kilter and suddenly frightened.
He continues, “You have been busy and undone months of planning.” His voice is barely above a murmur, but somehow carries in the quiet room. “Your resumé is impressive.” A slight pause, then, “Losing Renaud is especially frustrating.”
Céleste’s head is swimming. How is it that he seems to know everything she’s done within such a short interval? It’s only been a matter of hours.
“But I have a gift. For you to do with what you will.” Jean-Lazare gives a sad smile. “Renaud received the list from someone you have completely trusted within your Brotherhood here.”
Her stomach drops at the revelation, and her hand twitches. Jennings reaches for his gun again, and Jean-Lazare raises his hand. Immediately stilling the Army colonel’s movement.
Jean-Lazare crosses his right leg over his left knee as he continues to study Céleste. “If you’d like, there is a place with me. I will share more of what I know. Or, if you choose, you can leave, never to return.” A slight tilt of his head, then, “You have until the bells of St. Louis Cathedral ring the quarter hour to decide.”
A pipe rested on the side table. He reaches for it, taking his time to prepare the bowl with tobacco before lighting it. Then, returns to the papers he had set aside just before she entered.
Céleste’s mind raced in the way it does when you're too exhausted and too grief-struck to think properly. Her world had incontrovertibly shifted without her permission.
Without a word, she glances at Jennings. He glares at her but gestures at the desk to her left. A single sheet of paper rests atop it. She steps toward the desk and reads. It lays out names, dates, the shape of Jennings' network in precise detail. Everything she found tonight, and more. Jean-Lazare has been thorough.
[[She discovers she already holds a pen.]]
[[She ignores the pen resting beside the page.]]''The Name She Chose''
The Mississippi’s mud-brown waters ebb and flow as Céleste watches the ships and boats embark and dock. The sounds of the city fade. She is still for the first time since the night began. Perhaps she could continue the work in the light.
''The Shape of Water''
The sticky midday air is still as her feet carry Céleste through Jackson Square. The crowd parts as she knifes through it, headed towards the French Quarter and home. She needs some sleep before figuring out her next move. There is so much to do.