A Sharpness On The Neck (Saberhagen's Dracula Book 9) by Fred Saberhagen (book suggestions TXT) 📕

no walls screaming with inflammatory placards. Like the house where Paine was lodging, this anonymous dwelling stood amid its own fenced grounds.

      According to the dictates of the Committee, each place of residence in Paris, including houses and apartment buildings, was now supposed to have the names of all the inhabitants clearly posted on the door. But evidently this one was an exception.

      At the door a colorless servant said that Master … er… Citizen Gabriel was expected home early today. And yes, Citizen Gabriel was expecting Citizen Tallien to call. The servant led the visitor around the house to a quiet garden in the back.

* * *

      This was the place where the elder Sanson still liked to tend his flowers, and now and then some vegetables as well. Plump geese in their separate enclosure greeted the strangers with a hospitable flurry of honking.

      And the venerable gentleman himself, patriarch of the clan of executioners, glad to see a visitor, put down his pruning shears and began to talk of gardening with Citizen Tallien.

      Time passed, pleasantly enough, except that Radcliffe was on tenterhooks waiting for Melanie to arrive. Where could she be? Of course there could be a hundred harmless causes of delay.

      When the man of the house arrived home from work, Philip could not help noticing that the new chief executioner’s clothing was quite clean—he must, of course, have changed somewhere before leaving the Place de la Revolution. His wife had his pipe and slippers waiting.

* * *

      When they went indoors, the senior Sanson petted his dog, smiled at the cat, and invited his guest to choose between a brandy or a glass of wine, which his wife had waiting for him. Meanwhile the ormolu clock on the mantel ticked on, in a perfect image of bourgeois domesticity. Small children, the patriarch’s grandchildren, came running to rejoice that Papa had come home from work so early.

      Their mother chided the younger children for bothering Papa now, when he had a visitor; later on Papa would tell them a story.

      And Gabriel protested, in a way that seemed a matter of family ritual, that he knew no stories. But after making a brief excuse, he went off with his children anyway.

* * *

      Old Sanson, puffing on his pipe, frowned slightly as he regarded Radcliffe, now seated in a chair opposite. “Citizen Tallien, was it in the course of business that you became acquainted with my son?”

      “Yes sir. In a manner of speaking it was.”

      “Ah. Then in Martinique, you are—?”

      Radcliffe did his best to think fast. “I have a connection with the authorities there, sir. With the system of justice. Though mine is not precisely the same profession that you share with your sons.” After a pause he added hastily: “And which is an admirable profession indeed.”

      The old man nodded. Suddenly he looked grim. “Though some will dispute the fact. Of course it is a great benefit to society.”

      “Of course, sir.”

      “Have you seen my machine in operation?” Then, before Radcliffe was compelled to find an answer, he pressed on: “A vast improvement over the old ways! In the old days, at best, the sword—and with the sword, even if the victim did not resist, even if he was perfectly composed, the executioner had to be very skillful, with steady nerves and hand. Otherwise— dangerous accidents!” Old Sanson shook his head and puffed his pipe, evidently recalling some examples.

      “Yes,” said Radcliffe. “I’m sure the new way is much better.”

      “The sword quickly grows dull; it has to be sharpened and whetted often. If there are several to be executed on the same day…” Again the patriarch shook his head and muttered darkly. “The guillotine is much better—I see the newspapers have begun to call it the guillotine now.”

      “So I have heard.”

      The old man’s old wife came bustling by, testing furniture to see how well the maid had dusted. “Papa, Papa, the young people don’t want to hear about such things.”

      “Nonsense, of course they do. The young man here is in almost the same business. Besides, everyone should hear them.”

      People in this respectable if somewhat isolated household were looking askance at Radcliffe’s clothing. Only the coat he had taken at the wax museum made him look at all respectable; his other garments still bore noticeable traces of the scaffold and the grave. Well, these days poor clothes could be taken as a sign of Revolutionary fervor.

      Gabriel came back into the room, having finished for the time being playing with his children.

      Old Sanson looked at him from under heavy brows. “What is this, Gabriel, that I hear about a wooden blade?”

      The young man blinked. “Yes, father?”

      “Someone told me that yesterday you used a wooden blade in the machine. Well, never mind it now—but when you have finished with your guest, I want to talk to you about it.”

      “Certainly, father. We were trying a little experiment. The idea is to prevent rust.”

      “Citizen Tallien,” said the young maid from the doorway. “Your wife is here.” And it was at that point that Melanie came in, well-dressed and looking radiant.

* * *

      At the end of the 18th century, coffee was still something of a novelty in Europe; Gabriel Sanson’s wife was soon offering some to her visitors.

      “Have you ever tried coffee, citizens? It is all the latest thing.”

      “I have heard that it is also Citizen Robespierre’s favorite drink by far.” But then, despite the hopes of Citizeness Sanson, the Incorruptible had never come to call on the executioner.

* * *

      Melanie was introduced to the old people as a young relation of old Curtius’s.

      The patriarch appeared interested. “Eh? Yes, I know the man. And how is he?”

      “Feeling better.” There seemed no reason to burden one ill old man with the troubles of another.

* * *

      Radcliffe, when presently he had a chance to take Melanie aside, embraced her feverishly. “My darling Mellie, if you will have me, we will be truly married the first chance we get. Perhaps at sea.”

      “Oh, Philip. I want