Chapter 4. Conspiracy

Danglars' keen, envious eyes followed the glowing figures of Edmond and Mercédès as they disappeared into the deep shadows cast by one of the towering, rune-carved walls of Fort Saint Nicolas—a fortress whose ancient stones still shimmered with traces of old enchantments. Once they were gone from sight, Danglars glanced back at Fernand, who had collapsed, pale and trembling, into a dark oak chair inscribed with faded sigils. Nearby, Caderousse—slurring his words under the spell of strong wine—tried to sing a rowdy drinking tune, its coarse melody laced with the vestiges of crude tavern magic.

"Well now," Danglars said with a sly, almost musical sneer, "it seems this wedding doesn't exactly thrill everyone involved. The air feels thick with bad luck."

Fernand's voice came out low and broken, as if weighed down by a curse. "It's suffocating me," he confessed.

Danglars, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned closer. "So you really do love Mercédès?"

"I adore her," Fernand answered, eyes blazing with the hopeless fire of someone who's seen their destiny slip away.

"And for how long have you felt this way?" Danglars pressed.

"Since we were children. As far back as I can remember," Fernand murmured, his tone a mix of fierce longing and bitter resignation.

Danglars took in the scene—the drunken Caderousse, Fernand's trembling fury—and gave an exaggerated shrug. "Yet here you are, just sitting there. I expected someone of your proud heritage to do something more…decisive."

"What would you have me do?" Fernand demanded, voice shaking.

"How should I know? I'm not in love with Mercédès," Danglars said with a careless wave of his hand. "But as the old rune-scribes say, 'Seek, and you'll find what you're looking for.'"

Fernand's eyes narrowed. "I already know the truth," he muttered.

"And what's that?" Danglars asked, arching an eyebrow.

"If Mercédès hadn't vowed to end her life if anything happened to her precious Edmond, I'd have killed him myself by now," Fernand spat, emotion twisting his features.

Danglars scoffed. "People say things like that all the time. Sometimes they mean it, sometimes they don't."

"You don't know Mercédès," Fernand growled. "She'd do exactly what she said."

"You fool!" Caderousse blurted, waving his half-empty cup. "Even if she wouldn't, all you really want is to stop Dantès from becoming captain of that blasted ship!"

Fernand clenched his fists until his knuckles went white. "I'd die before letting her waste away in grief," he muttered. "I love her too much."

"That's real devotion, all right," Caderousse mumbled, thick-tongued from drink. "I guess that's what they call love, though heaven help me if I know anything about it."

Danglars tipped his head toward Fernand, eyeing him carefully. "You strike me as a practical man. Maybe there's a way to help you—assuming there's no need to go as far as…murder."

"And how exactly could you help me?" Fernand asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

"My dear fellow," Danglars said, ignoring him for a moment and turning to Caderousse, "you're on your third bottle. Why not finish it and let us talk this through quietly?"

Caderousse let out a boozy laugh. "Drunk? Me? You'd need four more flasks this size to knock me off my feet! Père Pamphile, more wine!" He rattled his cup on the table, making the rune-etched glasses ring like tiny bells.

Fernand, impatient, tried to steer the conversation back. "You mentioned helping me. How?"

Danglars pretended to think, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "Where was I? Ah yes—this meddlesome drunk keeps sidetracking me."

"Drunk or not," Caderousse hiccupped, "I want to know what you plan to do about Dantès. We're talking about a friend of mine—I can't just sit quietly!"

"Settle down," Danglars snapped. "We're not trying to hurt him, are we? Have another drink, Caderousse. Don't interfere where a clear head is needed."

"All right, all right," Caderousse grumbled, still eyeing them suspiciously. "To Edmond's health, then!"

He raised his cup once more, and Danglars nodded for Fernand to top it up. Then, turning his attention back to Fernand, Danglars said, "You're going on about killing, but that wouldn't solve anything, would it?"

Fernand's grip on the table tightened. "I just want him out of the way—but not dead. Mercédès said she'd end her life if he died, so I can't let that happen."

Caderousse lifted his head, gaze swimming. "Killing him? That's out of the question. He's a good guy. This very morning he offered to share his money with me, just like I did when he needed help. I won't let him be harmed."

"Who said anything about harming him?" Danglars answered smoothly. "Let's have another toast to Edmond, shall we?" He poured more wine into Caderousse's cup. "Think of it more like…removing him from the picture for a while. If he's locked away, that's almost like he's gone."

"Prison?" Caderousse muttered. "People do get out eventually. And if Dantès is locked up unfairly, he'll come out looking for revenge."

"Revenge for what?" Fernand broke in, scowling.

"Ah, that's the rub," Caderousse insisted, although his words were heavily slurred. "Who'd accuse him of a crime, anyway? He's no murderer or thief."

Danglars frowned. "Quiet! We're only talking hypotheticals."

"Well, I don't want any part in it," Caderousse grumbled. "Edmond's my friend—my best friend."

Danglars turned back to Fernand, ignoring Caderousse's ramblings. "If you're serious about this, you don't have to kill him. Just…make it look like he's involved in something treasonous. They'll arrest him, and with any luck he'll stay locked up. But consider this: if he ever gets out, he'll be furious with whoever put him there."

"I'd be waiting," Fernand said through gritted teeth, "ready to fight him if necessary."

"Right," Danglars nodded, "but Mercédès would hate you if she found out. Keep that in mind."

Fernand cursed under his breath. "True."

Danglars leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Here's an idea: write an anonymous note to the king's procurator. Say Dantès was carrying secret messages between Napoleon's supporters. Mention that letter from Elba everyone's been whispering about. If anyone searches him or his cabin, they might find something…incriminating."

Fernand looked uneasy but determined. "I'll do anything if it stops this wedding."

Caderousse's face clouded. "But Edmond's innocent!"

"It's just a joke," Danglars said, waving him off. He reached for a scrap of parchment, took a quill in his left hand, and wrote:

"To the king's procurator: This is to inform you, from a friend loyal to the throne and to the Church, that Edmond Dantès, first mate of the ship Pharaon (arrived today from Smyrna by way of Naples and Porto-Ferrajo), is carrying a secret letter from Murat to the usurper, and another from the usurper to the Bonapartist group in Paris. If you arrest him, you will find the letter on him, on a relative, or hidden aboard the Pharaon."

He handed the note to Fernand. "That's how you could do it. Write 'To the king's procurator,' fold it up, and it practically delivers itself."

Caderousse glanced at the parchment in alarm. "No. This is serious. If someone sees that, they'll think Dantès is a traitor. He'll be taken away in chains!"

Danglars gave a half-smile. "Relax, I was just fooling around." He crumpled the paper and tossed it into a corner where shadows pooled. "I'm no enemy of Dantès. I'd be upset if anything bad happened to him."

"Dantès is my friend," Caderousse repeated, though his voice was getting thick again. "I won't stand for anything that ruins him."

"And who's trying to ruin him?" Danglars said with a shrug, standing up as if to leave. "Not me, nor Fernand. Let's have another drink in his honor, shall we?"

"Yes, a toast to Edmond and Mercédès!" Caderousse chimed in, swaying to his feet. "Sure, I've had a lot to drink, but I'm still steady enough."

"Is that so?" Danglars replied, amused. "Maybe you'll prove it by walking back to Marseilles without stumbling?"

"I'll walk straight to the Belfry of the Accoules!" Caderousse boasted, face flushed. "Come on, Fernand, you heading back to the Catalans?"

Fernand shook his head, voice heavy. "No. I'm not going there."

"All right, suit yourself," Caderousse said. "Danglars, let's go."

Danglars took Caderousse's arm and guided him toward the old Porte Saint-Victor leading into Marseilles. After they'd gone about twenty paces, Danglars glanced over his shoulder. He saw Fernand scoop up the crumpled note, stuff it into his cloak, and slip away in the direction of Pillon.

"Hey, did you see that?" Caderousse asked, blinking blearily. "He said he was going back to the Catalans, but it looks like he's taking the road to town."

"You must be mistaken," Danglars replied, his voice smooth. "He's just heading toward the Vieilles Infirmeries."

"I could've sworn…" Caderousse muttered, running a shaky hand over his eyes. "Curse this wine—it's messing with my head."

Danglars kept walking, a thin, satisfied smile on his face as the moonlit streets of Marseilles stretched out before them. "Come, come," he murmured under his breath, "it's set in motion now. Everything will play out on its own without any more help from me."