saw the stalled tumbrel, he straightened. Clapping his hands, he ordered silence. Standing on his balcony, he gave the signal to the wiry executioner standing next to the guillotine.
Kanon’s mind raced, if Julius was able to bring about her death, what would become of Standard D? The Directorate? Her thoughts were interrupted as the executioner raised the guillotine blade. With the Duchess huddled behind her, Kanon watched as he swiftly pulled a cord, the blade slicing a cabbage on the plank below. The crowd erupted in glee as the executioner picked up the remains, showing it to the crowd.
The Duchess fainted at the sigh t—and though her hands were still tied, Kanon did her best to revive her.
“Duchess, ple ase don’t lose hope!” she cried.
“Oh!” the Duchess cried, coming to. “I have already felt the pain of a thousand deaths.”
The words broke whatever spell Kanon was under, stiffening her resolve. She would not go quietly to the guillotine to be butchered! Nor would she retreat into the anxiety consuming the Duchess. Kanon was an inspector, it was high time she acted like one.
Turning towards the balcony, she fixed her attention on the person waving to the crowd. As the mob grew quiet once again, his slightly accented voice boomed through the square.
“These women concocted a vile plan to overthrow the King of France!” he began, the roar of the crowd almost drowning out his words.
When Kanon could hear him again, he was reading off vague pronouncements of their guilt, mostly having to do with criticizing the King at the Duchess’s masquerade ball. As she strained to hear, the Duchess, fully revived, threw herself at Kanon.
“But this is unjust , Cécile—these charges are without merit!” she cried.
Kanon whispered assurances, as she turned her attention to freeing her hands from the bindings. The guard had given her several vital inches—she could almost slip her wrists from them.
“But we have done nothing wrong,” the Duchess cried to herself as Kanon continued fighting her restraints. As she did, Julius was reading the final verdict for their crimes—pronouncing the sentence of death.
“ And now let us begin, with the Duchess du Lac!” he finished to the roar of the crowd.
The Duchess fell down in terror, and Kanon cried out in anguish. It was all happening too fast. With a wave to the executioner, Julius sat down to watch.
T he tumbrel moved forward, coming to a halt as it reached the scaffolding. They were now directly in front of the guillotine—eye-level with the basket that would soon hold their heads.
The Duchess started crying as the executioner advanced on the tumbrel, lifting her from the cart. Kanon watched helplessly as he tied her wriggling body onto the plank.
“ My only crime is to shed tears!” the Duchess cried, the familiar refrain cutting through Kanon’s heart.
Throwing herself to the front of the tumbrel, she cried out in the loudest voice she could muster.
“Stop!” Kanon cried, directing her outburst to Julius, who looked mildly amused.
“I demand a trial to witness my denunciation of these charges.”
Julius smiled, shifting his weight and watching the reaction of the crowd.
“ A trial which you manipulate, Countess de la Motte? How very provincial,” he said, clearing his throat. “Boldness such as yours is characteristic of crime—calm is the manner of innocence.”
“When I am so unjustly accused how can you expect me to restrain myself? Let someone who has evidence of my collusion step forward,” Kanon cried, her reason holding sway with the mob.
The Duchess, realizing what was occurring, called to her friend.
“ Cécile, do not wager with these animals!” she cried, as Kanon winced at the words.
Momentarily transfixed by the exchange, the mob had now turned on the Duchess in vile cries.
Julius appeared delighted with the turn of events, signaling for the executioner to proceed. He moved the plank forward, situating the