The next to step up to the table was tall and young, with toned muscles, light hair, and a confident expression.

“I’ve also done my share of killing,” the young man said. “Rigged a thousand sails in storms higher than mountains. Must be worth something?”

“Not to me,” said Jacques.

The man shrugged and turned to leave.

“Wait. Bricklaying,” Jacques called after him. “Easy work for a navy man. They need bricklayers, with several fallen or crushed last week. I know the foreman. I’ll vouch for you.” He got up and marched off toward the scaffolding.

“I’m Benoit,” said the man as he followed. “Tell me, friend. Have you ever seen him? The King?”

“Many will claim they have,” snorted the gardener. “All I can say is this. I am a friend to no man. This way.”

The carriage was resplendent, edged in gold and adorned with painted images of angels, flowers, and exotic animals. It pulled up to the entrance of Louis’ palace and footmen scurried out to hold the horses and place steps at the door. A brightly colored macaw flew from a carriage window and settled on the shoulder of a guard by the door. The guard, in proper fashion, did not move even as the bird pecked at his hair.

A stately man of black skin and flashing eyes stepped out and down. This was Prince Annaba of Issiny, the Ivory Coast of Africa. His flowing cape was scarlet and sea-green, the scarf at his neck was blue, and his hat was trimmed with rainbow plumage that might well have come from his pet bird’s twin. Annaba was followed by his younger brother, Kobina, who was dressed as elegantly as Annaba. A second carriage stopped behind the first and several men and women climbed out, all adorned in clothes of brilliant colors.

Bontemps raised his hand in greeting. “Prince of Issiny,” he said. “Welcome to Versailles.”

Annaba glanced around. “Nice house,” he said mildly.

Bontemps ushered Prince Annaba and Kobina into the palace and along the corridors to the receiving room of the King’s apartment. Annaba’s entourage followed silently, their heads high. Courtiers stared at the newcomers to court, and Annaba, his macaw sitting upon his shoulder, returned their smiles with a smirk of his own.

“That’s right,” he said, loudly enough for the courtiers to hear, “I’m a stupid black man. I come from the trees. Hello, how are you? You think it’s going to be easy to fuck me? Wonderful. Keep thinking that.”

“Brother,” said Kobina. “Keep your voice down.”

Annaba waved his hand. “The French need money, so they need us.”

“Then why did they keep us waiting in Paris for a month?”

“How many times do I need to tell you, brother? Power is a game played with mirrors.” They reached a corner, turned into another long hallway. More courtiers and nobles gawked.

“We’re not safe here,” whispered Kobina.