An old coal transport horse cart stopped in front of an old inn on the eastern outskirts of Toul City.
Erice held the horse’s reins, turned, and knocked on the carriage, whispering through the small window, “We’re here. Check your ‘tools.’
After getting off the cart, Erice spent 2 sovs to enquire about Mara’s room number from the inn employee. He then turned to instruct his two subordinates:
“Room number 32 on the first floor. Teemo will draw their attention at the door later. Ehrendorf and I will enter through the window. Try not to make a big commotion. There’s no need for me to say more, right?”
The two strong men nodded silently, one of them turning to leave.
In room 32, Mara was organizing clues related to Necker when he heard a knock at the door: “Sir, your beer has arrived.”
“You’ve got the wrong room, we didn’t order any drinks.”
The knocking persisted: “But the payment has already been made…”
Assistant Evans rose in confusion, wanting to open the door, when Mara suddenly blocked him, frowning towards the window.
The next moment, with the sound of shattering glass, a hand reached through the broken pane to fiddle with the latch.
Mara’s pupils shrank, but his mind was exceedingly calm—having worked against the Royal Family in journalism for many years, he was accustomed to high-stress situations—he immediately blew out the candle, grabbed a luggage bag next to him containing a loaded pistol.
Evans, however, backed away in panic. Suddenly recalling the “inn employee” standing outside, he sought the latter’s help—Evans was just a novice who had started working a few years ago and could not anticipate the brutality of the assassin. Thus, he turned around, shouting as he opened the door: “Someone is trying to break in…”
Mara inwardly cursed “not good,” but before he could stop him, Evans was already lying on the floor, a blade protruding from his chest.
In the blink of an eye, with the dim light from the hallway, Mara lifted the luggage bag, aiming at the figure in the doorway, and forcefully squeezed the trigger.
“Bang!” A loud noise rang out, and the silhouette at the door toppled backward. Mara hurriedly dropped the luggage bag and rushed outside.
Meanwhile, the window behind him was pushed open. The first person to jump in saw Mara’s retreating back and immediately threw a dagger at him without hesitation.
Just as Mara turned his head to see the exit at the end of the corridor, he felt a numbness in his left hip. Reaching down, he discovered a dagger planted there.
He had medical training and knew he shouldn’t remove the dagger. He pressed firmly on both sides of the blade and limped towards the exit.
It was late, and in the inn’s lobby, only the drunken innkeeper dozed off on the counter. Seeing two shadows chasing from behind, Mara turned and fled outside the inn.
In a small town like Toul, the streets were deserted at night. Mara ran towards the town center in pain, but the faster he moved, the more blood poured from his wound.
The footsteps behind him, however, meant he dared not slow down or call for help—shouting would only give the assassin his location and serve no other purpose.
Soon, he felt dizzy and the world began to brighten before his eyes.
Just when he felt despair, he saw a silhouette in front of a small house’s window, apparently watching him.
He waved towards it vigorously and suddenly his left leg gave way, and he collapsed to the ground.
The person from the house quickly ran out, a woman in her twenties. She helped Mara up, but before she could ask, he weakly said, “Quick! Hide me, someone is trying to kill me…”
The woman was somewhat flustered, but upon hearing Mara claim he was a policeman from Paris, she mustered her courage and dragged him behind the fence outside the house.
She had just closed the fence gate when two men carrying pistols arrived.
The taller and more robust man looked around, about to continue the pursuit along the road, but was stopped by the shorter one.
The latter crouched down, running his hands over the ground, and soon touched something sticky.
He smelled the substance on his fingers and looked around alertly, saying in a low voice, “It’s blood. He’s nearby.”
The taller man nodded, searching through the roadside trees one by one, his gaze quickly settling on the small house.
Mara heard the sound of boots getting closer, his heart pounding so hard he dared not even breathe heavily.
Suddenly, footsteps stopped just outside the fence. Mara was quietly relieved when abruptly, two hands appeared atop the fence, followed by a figure leaping onto the top, coldly surveying the prey huddled in the corner.
“Good evening, ‘Mister Nosy’! Now where will you run?”
“Run!” Mara shouted in despair, forcefully pushing away the woman who had helped him, then closed his eyes, awaiting death.
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Then the sound of a “bang” from a gunshot.
Mara jerked, expecting pain, but felt nothing.
“Had the assassin missed?”
He shakily opened his eyes a crack, only to see the black figure on the fence topple straight down.
Then, seven or eight figures rushed in through the entrance of the fence. Someone, using the light from a torch, saw Mara and immediately shouted, “Here he is, it’s Mr. Mara!”
Prosper from the Police Affairs Department hurried over, crouching down and saying, “Crown Prince anticipated you might be in danger, so he had us follow. We had just arrived near the inn when we heard gunshots, thankfully… Are you hurt? Quick, we need to find a doctor!”
…
Paris.
Second floor office of the Industrial Planning Bureau.
Fouche placed a report in front of Joseph, saying gravely, “Your Highness, the night Mr. Mara arrived in Toul, he faced an assassination attempt. His assistant Mr. Evans was killed instantly. Mr. Mara was fortunate to receive the aid of a lady named Charlotte Corday, which allowed him to escape.
However, he sustained some injuries on his leg.”