Free Le Colonial by Kien Nguyen Page B

question! I’ll teach you everything I know. First, we need to set a trap.”
    “A trap for whom?”
    Jérôme did not reply. He was rummaging through a heap of trash near the back entrance of the tavern. With the door closed and the moon in its last quarter, hardly any light shone on the alley. Henri could not see what his accomplice was searching for. He felt foolish and frightened. He wanted to run, but curiosity held him in place. In the dark, the sailor seemed a large dog digging for a bone.
    When Jérôme straightened up, a long, black, twitching object dangled from his hand. It was difficult to distinguish, but Henri was certain that it must be a snake, and he jumped back.
    The sailor gave a coarse laugh. “Relax, it won’t bite you. It’s only a rope.”
    He whipped it through the air, shaking off the excess dirt. To Henri, he continued, “I am going to catch myself a moneyed pig. Do you suppose you can help me trip him and make him fall?”
    “With this rope?”
    “Yes, doubtless,” replied Jérôme. “My plan is crude, but it will work if you follow my instructions. I’ve done it before.” He handed Henri one end of the rope and explained, “Take this and go to the other side of the street. Conceal yourself in the dark. When I pull on the cord, you hold it as tight as you can so we can trip someone.”
    Henri nodded as he began to understand. “I know this game. My father and I did something similar to catch wild animals in the forest.”
    “Very well then,” the sailor said. “Remember, tonight we are going for bigger game. Aim for his neck so that you can knock him back with as little force as possible. Do not attack a horse or a carriage. We just want to rob a person walking alone. We don’t want to fight unless we have to.”
    Henri walked to the other side and crouched next to the wall. The rope swung gently in his hand. Sooner or later somebody would wander through the alley. He could only hope that it would turn out to be a drunken merchant instead of a vagabond. It was impossible to make such a distinction now, in the thick of night. He was nervous, and the fear unsteadied his hands.
    He could hear the chatter of people talking in the distance, as well as the rumbling of horse-drawn carriages and the barking of a dog. He had other worries in mind. If this plan did not work out, and he got caught, the authorities might learn about the crime that he had committed in Paris. He feared that he would be put away in the most dreaded prison of all, the Château d’If. His mother would weep if she found out. The seething anger he had once felt toward her abated. The thought of her alone in the Hôtel Dieu flooded him with guilt.
    The rope in his hands jerked three times. It was Jérôme’s signal that someone was approaching. Henri stiffened his back against the wall, held his breath, and listened. Footsteps reverberated in the night. He wanted to drop the cord and run away as fast as he could. But before he could move, a figure appeared at the curve of the narrow street, walking toward them at a brisk pace. He had no time to think. The rope tugged at his hands. He gave a mighty pull. It lifted, and the target let out a muffled cry before crumpling to the ground. A three-cornered hat flew in the air and landed on the cobblestone street.
    Henri caught a glimpse of the victim’s half-hidden face. His thick, dark hair was shorn in a straight line over his brows. Beneath his bangs, his eyes seemed to have been bleached white with pain. The outline of a silver cross on the man’s chest reflected a weak trace of moonlight. Realization shot through him: he had wounded a holy man—a priest. Jérôme sprang from his hiding place. As though he had a sixth sense of where the money was hidden, he reached and found the purse.
    “Curse my luck,” he howled, “it’s empty.”
    In frustration, he kicked his fallen prey. Henri’s hands dug into Jérôme’s shoulders, pulling him back.
    “Don’t hurt him