Escort For The Witch: The Mystery of Psyche's Ruby - стр. 5

vanished, replaced by an expression of eternal peace – a peace born in acceptance of the fate they had chosen for themselves. Joel's trembling fingers brushed against Blanche's cold cheek. He heard alarmed cries not far off the outside and, a moment later, breathed his last.

That same gloomy, damp morning of September 1, 1715, at a quarter to nine, a proclamation was read from the balcony of the royal palace at Versailles: "Le Roi est mort, Vive le Roi2!"

Louis XIV3, the Sun King, was dead.

About the same time, the regent, Philippe II, Duke of Orléans4, had a secret meeting with the captain of the royal guard, ordering him to recover "Psyche5", a famous ruby, and all those rumored to have been involved in its disappearance. The culprits were to be interrogated and executed, but it had to be done secretly, without drawing much or any attention of the royal court.

Blanche de Mercier, the wife of Thibault de Mercier, was to be accused of witchcraft, interrogated, tortured, and then taken outside Paris and burned at the stake. Thibault de Mercier and his brother, the conspirator and instigator Joel de Mercier, along with their followers, were to be accused of heresy, slander, and sorcery. They were to be publicly quartered at the Place de Grève. The "traitors' " remains were to be fed to stray dogs, reminding Parisians, and all of France, that betrayal and disrespect for royal authority would be met with merciless cruelty.

I woke up to a "light" sensation of weightlessness. However, only the lower part of my body felt weightless—the part below my neck. Meanwhile, my head had somehow transformed into a bell that was being hammered on by a thousand invisible, massive, sadistic mallets. These little metaphorical sadists live in everyone's brain, hiding carefully until such an unfortunate time when they are let loose to wreak havoc on our bodies. This 'time' is otherwise known as a bender.

So, I was in a state of not-so-weightless weightlessness and couldn’t lift my head off the pillow. With my eyes still shut, I tried to analyze the situation. That is, to try and assess how much alcohol I had managed to put in me the previous night. What had set me on my drinking spree? What was I thinking? Was I thinking of the consequences?

Was I at all thinking? Those were the questions I couldn't answer for the life of me.

I tried to roll over onto my right side and felt an unpleasant, prickly pain shoot through my body, followed by another mallet blow to where my brain was supposed to sit.

After more tossing and turning, I became aware of even more pesky discomforts: extreme dryness in my mouth, mysterious humming in my ears, nausea, and a now crystal clear realization that I remembered absolutely nothing about what had happened last night! But then if I don’t remember, there’s nothing to be ashamed of… Right?

Something wet and cold touched my already aching ear, snorting loudly. Then this something pressed against my cheek and snorted again. I tried to push whatever was so diligently trying to wake me up away. And of course, I couldn’t. Should I have even been surprised.

"Gigantor, back off!" I mumbled, still unable to open my eyes.