Tower of Human Bones
June 3, 1779. The king's office.
I sat there idly staring out the window, with nothing to do. What could I say? It was because my subordinates were too damn competent. I'd reorganized the administrative departments in a Korean-style hybrid of horizontal and vertical structures, and efficiency across every ministry had skyrocketed exponentially. Last year around this time, martial law had me swamped to the point of exhaustion. Now, having nothing to do was the problem.
The ironworks had some buildings completed and were already pumping out iron. The mint was churning out francs. There was so much outflow of plated francs and écus to foreign countries that the mint was shrouded in mercury vapor. Knowing the toxicity of mercury as I did, all I could do was throw money at them generously. I'd told them to take a 1% performance bonus from the money they produced... but was that really the right policy? It was the only thing I could offer.
...Anyway, like it or not, I had almost nothing left to do.
"His late Majesty often went on undercover inspections at times like this."
Louis XIV? Well, that made sense for the Sun King.
"Sounds good. I'll bring some National Intelligence Agency agents."
"Yes, sir. I'll prepare the carriage for Count de Saint-Germain... er, Director Saint-Germain."
Saint-Germain? No wonder the name rang a bell. So that was the king's alias. Of course it felt familiar.
*
The same day, in the streets of Paris. I, Director Saint-Germain, was strolling down the Champs-Élysées, circling Louis XV Square.
Last year around this time, I'd lifted martial law right over there. Already a year had passed...
"Your Majesty. We've covered this area. Shall we head to the other side?"
"Yes."
There wasn't much to see west of the Tuileries Palace. Being a planned city, it was mostly middle- and upper-class residents. Factory managers, mid-level merchants from trading houses, that sort. Then or now, people doing their jobs lived pretty ordinary lives. Work, family, a bit of entertainment. It was boring enough to yawn.
"We've passed the Louvre Palace."
In contrast, east of the Tuileries felt crude but buzzing with energy. Probably because of all the common folk.
"Hold on, what's that?"
Was I seeing things? There was some incredibly Aztec-looking structure.
"The Les Innocents Cemetery, sir?"
A cemetery? Wasn't Paris famous for the catacombs? Was this before they even existed?
I smacked my forehead.
"I've been blind to the problems right in front of me."
An Aztec eyesore in Paris, of all places.
"Turn the carriage toward the cemetery. I need to see it up close."
*
Les Innocents Cemetery. Built in the 900s AD, this massive graveyard had held Paris's dead for over 800 years. The Aztec-looking building I'd spotted was a charnel house called a charnier.
After 900 years of burials, saturation was inevitable. So for the last 300-400 years, they'd been stacking bones in the galleries. That was the charnier.
"Even from over three hundred paces away, the stench is overwhelming."
The smell of Les Innocents was ferocious. In the midsummer heat, it was like a thousand times the concentrated reek of rotting pigeon corpses baking in Paris. If smells had colors, this was a thick, glowing chartreuse.
"Director Saint-Germain, for your information—those hills in the cemetery? They're not hills."
"What do you mean?"
"Conveniently, we're digging up a pit from eight years ago today. I'll show you."
The gravedigger and a dozen laborers climbed one of the cemetery's "hills" with shovels. After two scoops, skulls tumbled out. And a smell hit me—one I'd never encountered in life.
It wasn't ordinary decay. If it had a color, it was a sticky black. Not the black of asphalt or tar pollution, but the black of a suffering creature's agony.
I'd smelled something similar... from the neighborhood uncle who smoked after I got home from cram school. Turned out it was weed. Like rotten watermelon and melon left in the summer sun for four days. No urge to vomit, which made it even more nauseating. Headache and stomach cramps surged, but the instinct to suppress puking—that was the smell of Les Innocents.
I blacked out briefly from the stench, and a National Intelligence Agency agent steadied me.
"Director Saint-Germain. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I will be now."
The laborers piled the exhumed bones into the charnel house, layer upon layer. I waited until they finished. After one bell toll—an hour—they were done.
"Good work. I'm new to Paris, so forgive my ignorance. No one in the government ever flagged this cemetery?"
"About fifteen years ago, the late king ordered it moved. Or something like that. There were attempts, but corrupt priests blocked them every time."
Even dead, those priest bastards grabbed at my ankles.
"Every time I do this, I think that charnel house will collapse someday. Look—even a breeze makes it wobble."
The laborer pointed to the stacked bones in the gallery. Sure enough, they teetered like a poorly built Jenga tower.
"Our Majesty would probably clear it out in the next public works project. Stack them neatly underground or up high, whatever."
Like the catacombs.
"That won't solve the root problem. Ever hear of Cortés in the New World conquest?"
"I'm illiterate, sir."
I'll have to tweak the education system someday.
"Then listen. About three hundred years ago, down below New France in Nueva España, there were savages called the Aztecs."
Closer to civilized, but whatever.
"I think I heard something in Mass once. Isn't it exaggerated?"
"Sadly, no. They built towers of skulls and structures of bones."
"Heavens. Horrific."
"And right before my eyes, there's another Aztec-style structure."
I pointed to the charnel house.
"To me, this one's more gruesome than any temple in the tales."
*
The next day, in the king's office. I summoned Lavoisier. It was the start of the month, but his research was mostly free-form anyway.
"Lavoisier. It's been ages since I last saw you in person. Don't just stand there—come sit."
"Thank you for summoning me, Your Majesty."
"Right, right... The reason I called you is nothing major."
I unrolled a map of Paris and pointed to Les Innocents.
"Les Innocents? Perfect timing—Jenner’s been studying wells near there for his contagion research."
As expected. You can only trust the scientists.
"Good, that speeds things up. Straight to the point: we need to get rid of Les Innocents."
"True, when I was young, part of the charnel house collapsed once. I saw the Dance of Death fresco—just once. A masterpiece too good for bones."
"Noted as a Parisian. Now, as chemist Lavoisier, tell me three scientific reasons we can't leave it as is."
"Jenner would know better."
Fair enough. Anyone could see living next to corpses was bad for quality of life and health. You could pour buckets of lye and it wouldn't purify.
"Then assign the Academy a research task. Have them submit a Les Innocents demolition plan."
Whether ground to powder for fertilizer, burned for an ossuary, whatever—Les Innocents had to go. Humanely speaking, a tower of human bones was just too much.
*
June 12, 1779. Lavoisier and Jenner submitted their report on handling Les Innocents.
Their first idea: relocation. Neatly stacking underground, like catacombs. I wrote Rejected on it, with a footnote: Stopgap measure.
Second: build a prairie-style cemetery outside the city. I wrote Dismissed, footnote: Budget overrun.
Third idea? There was no third. The report ended at two pages.
"Why only these two?"
"Lavoisier and Jenner are chemists and physicians, sire."
Ah. I'd given STEM folks a humanities problem.
"I was thinking cremation or pulverizing for urns."
"Shall we use the National Intelligence Agency for bone grinding?"
"No need for spies to grind bones. Just tell the gravediggers and laborers."
No reason to use an intel agency for corpse disposal. And if agents got exposed, disaster.
"Um, Your Majesty. Do you believe in Christianity?"
"Yes."
Faithful enough as a kid to go to church. Stopped when talent inflation hit.
"I think our views differ on a few fundamentals."
"Don't beat around the bush—speak plainly."
"Desecrating bodies is pagan practice."
Religion it was. I opened the east office window.
"Les Innocents. You've seen it, right?"
"Yes, often."
Honestly, cremation? Just order it. I had more power than Louis XIV. But that felt wrong. Forcing it without Christian persuasion in Christian France? No different from colonies.
I wanted my people truly happy, without a single grievance. Not swallowing rage from my dictates, but genuinely savoring what I gave them, chewing every bite.
"Les Innocents' charnel house is visible even from here. I just hadn't looked closely, but the problems were always right in front of me."