Parrot and Olivier in America by Peter Carey Page A

bag thrown out of a loft.
    "Good God," cried Poole.
    On the ground beside the steps I saw the broken body of a man. It was Piggott. When Benjamin dragged me to his side I saw the printer's big white carcass twisted like a doll, his eyes wide open, the most horrific look of triumph on his face. This expression was not diminished one iota by the wailing of his wife to whom he spoke impatiently. "Marie, il n'y a plus aucune preuve ici. Tout est brule."
    Lord Devon quickly decided Mrs. Piggott was worth not a damn to him. He set her free to moan.
    "Fool," he cried to Piggott, as burning five-pound notes fell to the dark ground like cherry blossom. "Fool, it is raining evidence." Then: "Let the house burn," he ordered the printers, but they were Jacobins and they hated him and all his kind.
    Understanding his position, Devon rushed to his carriage, from which he produced a heavy tangle of chain and threw it hard against the ground.
    "That's one lesson for you," he shouted at the men.
    He disappeared for a moment and emerged waving two pistols. "And here's another." One of these pistols was quickly taken by Benjamin while Devon confronted the bucket brigade with the other.
    "What's that you say?" he cried. "What's that?"
    He struck Bunter on the shoulder and, by dint of a great deal of barrel-poking, "persuaded" the bucket brigade to stand in line while he walked up and down, reviewing them like grenadiers.
    Not once taking his eyes off his captives, he ordered Benjamin to pass Poole his pistol so the latter's hands were free to fetter these good men's ankles with the chain.
    While Devon snatched evidence from the sky, my flame-licked father smiled at me. He shrugged, dear man, dear father.
    "Come," called Devon to Poole. "You can help as well. You're not a bloody nursemaid."
    "But I have the boy," said Poole.
    "Yes, yes, yes," cried Devon.
    My daddy was tossing his head at me, as if he had a flea in his ear.
    "I have the boy, sir," said Poole.
    "Devil," Lord Devon said, "I will blow your brains out if you move."
    "Yes sir," I said.
    Chooka tossed his head. He meant that I should flee.
    "Run," my father cried.
    Devon swung around. But now Poole shrieked. He pointed, and who--even Lord Devon--could not follow his gaze? A fiery angel had appeared upon the roof, its hair ablaze and streaming upward, fire right down its spine. It ran along the ridge and flew into the air, smashing into an old oak through whose ancient branches it crashed nosily before passing out of sight. Three others followed, forgers rising like hatchlings in the night, their cries beyond the edge of nightmare.
    "Run," my father cried. "Parrot, run."
    I heard the shot go past my ear and Devon screaming. I ran like a rabbit, through the smoke and haze, through the gloom, through the field of broken wheels. The men were cheering me, a pistol roared. I ran, shirtless, into the open woods, through the broken bracken, into dark, so many years ago.

Olivier

I
    "IT'S OVER," cried my mother, rushing along the hallways of the Chateau de Barfleur in 1814. "It is finished. It is done."
    And yet, madame, monsieur, it was not over, not in the least. Or, if it was over, it was only for as long as it took Napoleon to be defeated at Waterloo. One hundred days later he was finished, packed off to exile, and Louis XVIII returned as planned. My mother could dash off to Paris any day she wished.
    Vive la Roi , you might suppose. How happy we Garmonts must be.
    To which I answer, not at all. First, my father was treated unfairly. Once the monarchy was restored he should have been a power in the land, but he had failed to flee from the revolution so he was not of the party of emigres who returned beside the king.
Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who's out?
    My father was made a prefect of a department in the provinces. He accepted this insult with good grace, although his own wife would not leave Paris to share his bed.
    You might reckon my mother in heaven to live so near the king,