At the junction of the bridge and the walkway, the Bateleur collided roughly with the captain of the Prison Guard, jarring them both. The captain uttered a curse and growled for him to watch out as the Bateleur stammered his apology.
“Fool!” exclaimed the captain, and hurried on.
The Bateleur smiled and watched him go as he held up a ring of keys in his hand, spinning them around playfully. With a quiet chuckle, he tossed them up and tucked them into his clothes. The noise from this little encounter had alerted the circle of soldiers who now peered into the gloom by the bridge suspiciously. Unable to enter by the entrance due to the number of guards to his right, the Bateleur assumed the posture of a guard, holding his hand on his sword hilt and pacing back and forth at the edge of the light. When the guards near the entrance saw him, they relaxed and resumed their hushed conversation. The moment they looked away, the Bateleur darted across the gap and hid himself behind the corner of the building. A quick look around the corner at the circle of guards assured him of his success, and he slipped back into the darkness of the street. Here, with one last glance back towards the bridge, he leapt up and grabbed hold of a ledge in the stone. In total silence, the Bateleur swung himself up and began the strenuous work of climbing upwards, making for a small open window on the third story. After several tense minutes, he had managed to reach the window, swinging through the opening, and landing inside.
He was in a small dark room that opened up on one end to a lantern-lit hallway. The intruder brushed himself off and began to walk purposefully but casually into the hallway. Coming in the opposite direction, a small boy was carrying a tray of food, and as he passed by, the Bateleur dropped the keys onto the tray and kept walking until he reached the next doorway. He turned the corner and peeked out from behind the wall and watched as the boy passed another soldier who reached casually down and snatched the keys up before continuing without interruption. The Bateleur smiled and stepped back inside, heading back the way he came and nodding as he passed the soldier, who smiled back at him.
Once he was safely back inside the room he had entered by, he climbed back out the window and began to climb upwards once again. After scaling a fourth flour, he pulled himself onto the roof and crept across the rooftop, moving along above the heads of the soldiers who sat by the entrance, parallel to the river. Like a burglar on the roof, he moved past the double spires that surrounded the entrance, placing the circle of soldiers in between him and the corner where he had first scaled the building Then, with incredible agility, he began descending the building and swung his way down to the ground, where he landed soundlessly. He paused briefly here to survey his situation. After waiting a few minutes, he let out a low pigeon call, and an answering call came from behind the corner, signaling that his men were in place, the Marquis among them.
With this knowledge, he removed his juggler’s cap from his cloak where he had tucked it away earlier. Casting away the soldier’s uniform, musket, and hat, he placed the cap on his head and began capering towards the ring of light, the bells jingling noisily on his head. The soldiers, hearing the noise, jumped up and reached for their muskets, but when they saw the cartwheeling form of the well-known street performer, they relaxed slightly and began murmuring to each other.
“Greetings, oh soldiers of the Republic!” exclaimed the street performer, “why so glum on such a lovely morning?”
The Bateleur cackled wildly and began cartwheeling about and singing one of his many ridiculous songs. The amused soldiers smirked at each other, obviously believing the man to be out of his mind.
“Oy, he’s loony all right,” said one
“I think he’s finally lost it this time,” chuckled another.
“He’s more confused than a fish in a tree,” claimed yet another, “Crazy fellow.”
Suddenly, the performer stopped singing and cocked his head.
“You think I am crazy?” asked the Bateleur with a wild gleam in his eyes, “You should meet my family. Why my half-uncle, King Louis, once told me that he had gone sleep dancing through Versailles in his nightgown singing, ‘God Save the King!'”
Suddenly, the Bateleur began dancing and singing once again, as the soldiers burst out in a fresh round of laughter, taking pleasure in the man’s apparent insanity. While they were all doubled over in laughter, the Bateleur risked a glance in the direction of the corner where the group of men was, and what he saw reassured him. They were already making their way stealthily across the gap towards the bridge. He could even see the boat waiting on the bank below the bridge. A moment longer and they would be gone.
“Well, I must be going now, little children!” exclaimed the Bateleur merrily, “I must hurry home before it gets dark! You should too otherwise your mothers will grow angry!”
With that, the crazed performer let out another cackle and began singing and cartwheeling away. The amused soldiers watched him go as he danced towards the bridge and disappeared into the gloom, the noise of his bells fading with him. Once the Bateleur was out of sight on the bridge, he let out a sigh of relief and took off his juggler’s cap. He stared over the edge of the bridge and watched the little boat, carrying his men and the escaped Marquis to safety.
For a moment longer, he watched them, and then the Bateleur, having finished his work, took his leave. He crossed the bridge, leaving the island behind, but before he had walked all the way across, he stooped down and laid a small piece of paper in the middle of the street. Then, the Bateleur disappeared into the gloom, leaving the piece of paper lying conspicuously in the street behind him.
A few hours later, when the Captain of the Guard returned in rage after realizing that his keys were gone, he found the little piece of paper, still lying on the ground With a fierce gesture, he lifted it and examined it. On it, was the word “Le Bateleur” and below it was the symbol of a large, black eagle.
* * * * *
On the cobbled streets just outside “Place de la Révolution”, a certain street performer can still be found, making his living off of the donations of poor citizens of the Republic. Every day, precisely at noon, the same crowd of poor citizens gather around him, tossing in their meager donations. However, every so often, a solemn figure steps forward and tosses in not a coin, but a small slip of paper. Then, at night, let the soldiers of the Republic beware, lest the prowling Bateleur and his league of daring followers snatch away their prey.
Meet the Author:
What is your name?
My name is Darby Nugent, but my pen name is Andrew. S. Wadsworth.
How old are you?
I am 14 years old.
How long have you been at TPS/What’s your favorite class?
This is my fifth year with tps, and my overall favorite class has been Spanish 2 with Sra. Kelly.
Where do you live?
I live in a small town just outside of Springfield, Missouri.
What is an interesting fact about you?
I am the cofounder of Nugent Bros. Productions and Sloth Studios which are responsible for the creation of Sloths on Caffeine, a collection of amusing home movies about a bunch of stuffed animal sloths, high on caffeine. Slothsoncaffeine.com is the link to our website. All the content is entirely appropriate and family friendly, and it was actually created for my TPS Web Design class.
Why did you want to write this piece? What’s the inspiration?
The inspiration came one night when reflecting on some birds that we had seen in Kenya, and a certain eagle species called a Bateleur came up. Honestly though, the only reason I even considered writing this piece was because I really liked the title. “The Bateleur” sounded like the greatest story ever written. According to most credible sources, “Bateleur” meant “street performer” or “tight-rope walker” in French. Upon making that discovery, I found my true inspiration for the story.
Picture Credit: Darby Nugent
Impressive writing!