Free Irregular Verbs by Matthew Johnson

door, “do you think if we close for a while—the people, will they—”
    “Forget?” Louverture pushed the door open, blinked at the light outside. “Of course. With enough time, people can forget anything.”
    His mind raced as he ran back to the Cabildo. A paradox was not a dead end, he had forgotten that: it was an intersection of two streets you hadn’t known existed. He smelled sulphur as he reached the square, saw smoke rising from near the courthouse. The gardien at the door levelled a pistol at him as he neared.
    “Keep back, please,” the gardien said.
    Louverture raised his hands. He could not recall if he had ever seen a gardien draw his gun before. “I’m Officier Louverture,” he said, slowly dropping his right hand. “I’m reaching for my badge.” He fished it out carefully, extended it at arm’s length.
    “Go in, then,” the gardien said, “and you might want to get a spare uniform if you’re staying.”
    “What’s going on?”
    “A bomb. In the courthouse.”
    “Sweet Reason. Was anyone killed?”
    The gardien shook his head. “It missed fire, or else it was just a smoke bomb—but they found two more just like it at the Cathedral and the Academie Scientifique.”
    “Excuse me,” Louverture said, waving his badge at the desk man as he went inside.
    “Louverture!” Commandant Trudeau said, looking up from the charts on his desk. “I told Clouthier you wouldn’t be able to stay away.” Clouthier, his back to Louverture, nodded absently. “Quite a mess, isn’t it?”
    “Commandant—Officier principal—I think I understand it now,” he said. “I think I know who is doing this.”
    “Which group of irrationalists?”
    “Not irrationalists; scientists. It’s an experiment.”
    Trudeau looked confused, the first time Louverture had seen it on his face. “Explain.”
    “A series of larger and larger experiments. The theatre accidents, the omnibus failures—they were done on purpose, to test how much it takes to change people’s behaviour. The notes, and the bomb probably too—they were to test us.”
    “Test us for what?”
    “To see how much it would take to make us react irrationally, see every accident as sabotage, every abandoned briefcase as a bomb. Perhaps we too are just a test for a larger experiment.”
    “But the notes,” Clouthier said, turning to face him. “Who were they threatening?”
    Louverture glanced out the window, at the statue in the middle of the square. “Reason,” he said. “She dies tonight.”
    “I’m sorry, Officier, but this makes no sense,” Trudeau said. “What would be the motive?”
    “I’m not sure. Jealousy, a wish to possess reason for themselves alone? Or perhaps the motive is reason itself. Perhaps they simply want to know.”
    “This is ridiculous,” Clouthier barked. “He wants us chasing phantoms. We know who the irrationalist leaders are; arrest them, and the others will follow soon enough.”
    “And how will people react when they see the Corps out in force, with pistols? Will they remain rational, do you think?”
    “I’ve ordered a
couvre-feu
for eight o’clock,” Clouthier said. “People will stay inside when they see the lights are out.”
    Louverture closed his eyes. “As you say.”
    “Will you join us, Louverture?” Trudeau said, his attention back on the maps on the desk. “We can use another man, especially tonight.”
    “Is that an order, Commandant?”
    There was a long pause; then Trudeau very carefully said, “No, Officier, it isn’t. Go home and get your rest—go quickly, and show your badge if anyone questions you.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    Louverture went down the stairs, pushed through the gardiens assembling in the lobby; noticed Pelletier, saluted him. Pelletier did not answer his salute; perhaps the boy did not recognize him without his cap and uniform, and at any rate he was talking to the gardiens stagières around him. Not wanting to interrupt, Louverture stepped