Sherzad’s song compelled sympathy without words.
Marie-Josèphe opened her eyes. His Majesty tapped his fingers impatiently.
“Make her leap, Mlle de la Croix.”
“I cannot, Your Majesty. I can only beg it of her.”
“Leap, sea monster! I command you.”
Sherzad snorted, slid underwater, and vanished.
Marie-Josèphe ran to His Majesty’s carriage and flung herself to the ground beside it. On her knees she reached into the open carriage and touched the King’s shoe.
“She begs you to release her, Sire. I beg you. Please. Please.”
“The ransom saves her. She proposed the agreement.”
“A few more hours —”
His Majesty drew his foot from Marie-Josèphe’s hand.
“May I withdraw, Your Majesty?”
“Certainly not. I’ve invited you to Carrousel. I expect you to attend it.” He rapped on the side of the coach. “Drive on.”
Yves hardened his heart against the sea woman’s pleas and his sister’s supplication. Midnight would bring Sherzad’s doom. He could not save the creature, he could not save his sister from grief, or from her own stubborn folly. He could only save himself.
I can please the King, he thought, and the King will order me to continue my work. I can anger the King, and lose his aegis, and spend the next year, the next ten years, the rest of my life, in a cell in a monastery reading treatises on morality.
If he had doubted it before, he now knew that Louis the Great, the Most Christian King, possessed more worldly power than any other man, more worldly power than the Prince of Rome. No matter that his influence had declined with war and famine, no matter that neither his Carrousel nor his sea monster would restore his youth. Louis in decline remained superior to any other prince’s summit.
Yves thought, If I could make His Majesty immortal — or if he believed I made him immortal...
The carriages drew up in front of the chateau, in the Ministers’ Courtyard, facing the Marble Courtyard.
The Marble Courtyard was transformed for a performance. The sea-machine rolled waves of blue and gold across the back of the stage, while layers of clouds hung above it. Thousands of candles turned the dusk to daylight. Draperies of sky-blue velvet concealed the doors and windows of the chateau. M. de la Lande conducted a lively tune.
“Where’s M. Coupillet?” Marie-Josèphe whispered.
“Didn’t you hear?” Lotte said. “Such a scandal — His Majesty dismissed him.”
“But he wasn’t — he didn’t —” Marie-Josèphe thought, guiltily, He offended me, but I didn’t mean him to be humiliated, I didn’t mean him to be banished, I should never have told Count Lucien —
“He persuaded M. Desmarest to write grands motets, then took credit for the music! His Majesty could never forgive such a thing.”
Marie-Josèphe’s guilt subsided, to be replaced by embarrassment. Silly fool, she thought, to think an insult to you might earn retribution.
The chamber orchestra’s music turned ominous, then gave way to the brilliant notes of young master Domenico Scarlatti’s harpsichord, playing Marie-Josèphe’s score as the background for the ballet.
Marie-Josèphe caught her breath.
Domenico’s technique did justice to Sherzad’s music. Démonico is wonderful! she thought. He played from memory: the score remained in her drawing-box.
Marie-Josèphe closed her eyes. The Inquisition advanced ominously on the sea people.
The audience gasped. Beside her, Lotte shivered deliciously. Marie-Josèphe opened her eyes.
An awful monster leaped from the rolling waves. The demon danced across the stage. It resembled Sherzad, Sherzad made to look horrible, her face all protruding fangs and long ears and twisted goat-horns, bloody lips and great red eyes. Painted sea monsters dived among the waves as the dancer cavorted.
A golden chariot descended from the clouds. Tritons appeared, sounding a fanfare with their trumpets. The horses of Apollo stepped like clockwork across the stage, pranced in place as the sun god descended, and sank out of sight beneath the waves.
The harpsichord sang with a joyous, victorious air, the theme of Sherzad’s freedom.
His breast shining with a gold sunburst radiating diamonds, Apollo confronted the sea monster. The short sword gave small protection against the sharp talons of the creature; like knives, the talons scored Apollo’s small round shield. Yet as the combatants danced, the sea monster gradually yielded to Apollo’s will, cringing before him, embracing his knees, bowing its head in willing submission to collar and chain.
That isn’t what Sherzad sang! Marie-Josèphe cried to herself. Despite the ballet, Sherzad’s song telling Sherzad’s story thrilled her; the music existed for anyone who would take the trouble to see it.
Apollo led the sea monster across the stage. In the shadows beside the harpsichord, a tenor rose to sing, accompanied by Domenico’s sublime technique.
Apollo, god of the sun,
Your flight creates the dawn.
Your might conquers the sea,
Your light gilds the waves,
The creatures of the ocean
Surrender to your glory!
The music ended. Tenor, Apollo, and Domenico bowed to His Majesty, while the sea monster prostrated itself on the stage. His Majesty nodded and smiled, accepting their representation of his triumph. Around him, royalty and aristocracy, cardinals and bishops applauded him. He took their tribute as his due.
“What a wonderful performance!” Madame exclaimed. “What lovely music! Did Signor Scarlatti compose it?”
“Sherzad composed it, Madame,” Marie-Josèphe said.
“The sea monster!” Madame laughed. “You composed it yourself — how talented you are!”
“Marie-Josèphe, dear heart, don’t cry,” Lotte whispered.
Count Lucien rode Zelis to Cardinal Ottoboni’s carriage. He bade Yves dismount and attend his King.
Yves bowed to His Majesty and kissed Innocent’s ring.
“Your success pleases me, Father de la Croix.”
“Your Majesty. I —”
Yves glanced at Marie-Josèphe, but she could not possibly hear what he was about to say. Perhaps she would never forgive him for the choice he had made.
“Your Majesty, Your Holiness,” he whispered, so no one else could hear. “I’ve proved — proved the effect of the sea monster’s strange organ. It is... as you hoped.”
His Majesty remained as impassive as the practice of fifty years of rule could make him. Innocent reacted with dismay.