“Perhaps, Seigneur le Comte. But again, I would suggest that such a plot might not be considered very credible, even compared with the last such. These are not hardened revolutionists, seigneur, but a small group of wild-eyed artisans and rebellious youths. Competence is not easily to be found among them.”
“True,” reflected d’Avaux. Indeed, the last publicized plot on the pope’s life had been a farce, an attempt to do him to death with image magic, sticking pins in a doll dressed as the pope. “Nevertheless, if we add a soupçon of competence to their armory?”
“I still hold out no great hope of success, seigneur.” Ducos sounded almost disappointed.
“That will not be necessary, Ducos. Simply a spirited effort will do. All I ask is that they appear to have intended a prominent outrage. For our purposes, a near thing will be better since it will achieve all of our aims without bloodshed.”
“Yes, Seigneur le Comte. With your permission, I shall be about it. You understand, this will almost certainly require me to absent myself from Venice?”
D’Avaux nodded and waved him away. He steeled himself to do without his factotum for a few weeks. In some ways, that would be a relief. Having Ducos around was more than a bit like having a mad dog on a leash. Taxing to the spirit.
* * *
D’Avaux’s spirit would have been considerably more taxed had he seen the smile on Ducos’ face after his factotum left the comte’s chamber. All of Ducos’ careful planning had finally come to fruition. Every piece of his scheme, finally in its place.
The smile of a man, finally slipping the leash.