Light Fantastique

by Cecilia Dominic

  “Now what?” Edward asked.

  “Tonight the crew splits up the liquor and disappears back where they came. And we have our tubing.”

  A bright light overhead seared Edward’s vision, and he rubbed his eyes. Patrick grabbed him and dragged him back into the warehouse.

  “What—?” He blinked to clear the afterimage. “What happened? What was that?”

  But he remembered Marie’s warning from their first airship trip, that a small flame could ignite the hydrogen in the balloon and cause disaster. Objects landed on the asphalt and grass outside with sickening thuds, and the cool air took on a serrated smoky feel.

  Patrick’s normally ruddy face had lost all color, confirming Edward’s suspicions.

  “Go back to the theatre,” Patrick said. “You’re in no shape for rescue and salvage.”

  The door opened, letting in a plume of smoke, and the foreman stumbled in. “Won’t be any rescue from that,” he said and took off his cap. The others did likewise.

  “Take your friend back to the theatre,” Louis told Patrick. “I can tell he doesn’t have the stomach for what we’ll have to do.”

  The foreman took charge. “Louis, Henri, make sure the burning is confined to the field and not spreading. Then we’ll figure out what we can save.”

  Edward noted his words—what, not who.

  “We don’t need you,” the foreman told Patrick and shoved a box of something that clinked at him. Edward suspected the Frenchman wasn’t telling the truth, but Patrick didn’t argue. He nodded, put his cap back on his head, and gestured for Edward to follow him out of the back of the warehouse.

  “The crew on the ship was French,” he said. “Let them mourn them and their nobleman.”

  Edward looked up at the sky when they reached the wide boulevard. The moon split the clouds for a moment, but it was long enough for him to see some sort of device with a white canopy floating down from the sky. The moonlight disappeared before he could point it out to Patrick, but he suspected there had been at least one survivor from the airship disaster.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Roma Camp, 4 December 1870

  Johann felt Marie stiffen when she saw Inspector Davidson. Iris also sat straighter, and her face assumed her customary mask, an expression he called neutral academic because Edward had a similar one.

  Has she spoken to Davidson yet?

  “Ah, good, I was hoping to find you here,” the inspector said and waved to them. Johann felt the suspicious gazes of the other people in the camp follow Davidson and flick back and forth between him and them. Even Zokar lost some of his wistful geniality he’d had once he revealed to Marie he was her uncle.

  Welcome to the mixed blessing that is family.

  “You know this man?” Zokar asked.

  “He has been annoyingly present as of late,” Johann said.

  “I heard that,” the inspector told him. “I’m glad I have all of you gathered here. Oh, hello Doctor Radcliffe.”

  “Inspector.”

  He sat on a makeshift bench beside Radcliffe and accepted a bowl of stew from Saphira.

  “Now wait a minute,” Zokar said. “My men brought you in because they caught you nosing around. This isn’t a social visit.”

  Saphira shrugged and gestured for the inspector to eat. Zokar huffed and went to speak with his men.

  “Delicious, thank you. As for what I was doing here, I’d heard rumors that one of my targets had made a camp down here, so I was trying to find it. My men and I split up to search, and I got lost.”

  “We are aware of who you are and what you do, that you’re not a typical policeman.”

  Marie looked around. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought you investigated murders.”

  “Only the ones that have particularly strange characteristics. But as I have said to your colleagues, I am part of a team of counterespionage agents with interest in international organizations like the Clockwork Guild and cults like the neo-Pythagoreans. You will not be surprised to know that your former employer Parnaby Cobb has been mixed up with the Clockwork Guild.”

  “But how? They attacked his airship. And I knew a lot about his affairs, and there was never anything remotely hinting that he was associated with them. In fact, we had to look for and remove their spy devices frequently.”

  “As an actress, you are a mistress of making people believe in something made-up. Would you consider that the battle was a carefully choreographed illusion?”

  “And the camera ravens?” Johann asked.

  “I am still not sure whose devices those are. There is something strange going on at the theatre.”

  “Wait a second.” Marie glanced around at everyone. “So everyone knew what you do except me?”

  “He only told me today at the Louvre,” Iris said.

  “And me at the Cinsault house.” Johann tried not to move too much lest the crinkle of the letter in his waistcoat give its presence away. Although perhaps Davidson wouldn’t be so eager to confiscate it when he was so outnumbered.

  They all looked at Radcliffe.

  “He just asked me to keep an eye on things at the theatre clinic and let him know if anything strange came in,” he said. “This is the first I’m hearing of his broader purpose.”

  “So why are you happy we’re all gathered here?” Iris asked. “Do you have news for us?”

  “Only a couple of items, and I was hoping you all could help me with a puzzle.”

  Zokar approached them. “There has been an airship crash.”

  Davidson rose. “Where?”

  “At the Gare du Nord field. No survivors.”

  “I should go, but I will come to the theatre tomorrow provided that the Prussians don’t start shelling.”

  “They may,” Zokar told him. “News from the front is that whatever gains the French army made didn’t last, and it’s back to siege as usual.”

  “We should go as well.” Marie stood, as did the others. The letter crackled when Johann moved, and Davidson raised an eyebrow.

  “I will be particularly interested in what you have to say, Maestro, seeing as you’re the primary suspect in the murder of Frederic LeClerc.”

  * * * * *

  Marie said goodbye to Zokar and Saphira. Her mind still tripped over the words uncle and aunt. Those were words she’d always reserved for other people’s families. Like Johann’s. But it seemed his family, like all others, had its problems.

  “What do we do now?” Iris asked once they traversed the tunnels. “We’re back to facing a problem that’s bigger than all of us, and it seems that Cobb has found us again.”

  “Yes, he’s tried to get to me twice now.” Marie held up the lantern to illuminate a fork and the scratches on the wall, unmarred here, told her which branch to take to get out. She wished the pattern to all their problems was as clear.

  “We need to do something to get rid of him, or at least get him to leave you alone,” Johann said.

  “And you can’t have him leading the Clockwork Guild to you,” Marie responded, reminding herself that he tended to act with his own interests in mind.

  “Plus there’s the murder of Monsieur Cinsault,” Radcliffe pointed out. “And now Frederic LeClerc.”

  “And Cinsault was also somehow involved in the neo-Pythagoreans,” Johann said and pulled a letter from his waistcoat. “I need to look at this before Davidson takes it back. This is the one I was able to keep from the bunch Madame Cinsault gave me.”

  “Right,” Iris added. “There’s also the question of whether to trust Davidson. Let’s stop and look at that here. We seem to be alone.”

  Johann pulled the letter from its envelope, and Marie illuminated it with her lantern.

  “Lafitte. I know that name. The family are theatre patrons, very protective of their daughter.” />
  “Then we have a problem because this is signed by Amelie Lafitte,” Radcliffe, who apparently read faster than any of them, said. “It’s about a meeting of students to study the ancient rules of trade and she’s inviting Monsieur to come and speak to them about his expertise in applying those principles to modern times.”

  “It’s perhaps in code,” Iris remarked. “Trade could mean the activities of the cult.”

  “Likely,” Radcliffe agreed. “You’d need her to confirm that.”

  “Good luck getting close to her,” Marie said. “She has one of the strictest fathers in Paris.”

  Johann’s rueful expression told her that he thought of his own childhood. “All the more reason she’s seeking to engage in something rebellious like dabbling in the secrets of an ancient and deadly cult.”

  “You said her family are theatre patrons.” Iris looked at Marie. “Could you see what information you have on them? Perhaps your mother would know of them, both because of the theatre and because of her network.”

  “I’m not talking to Lucille.” Marie turned and illuminated the passage ahead of them. “She hid the fact that we have family right here in Paris from me. I can’t trust anything she says.”

  “But if we can draw this connection, we can shift the blame for the murder elsewhere,” Radcliffe pointed out. “And Davidson won’t look as closely at the theatre anymore, at least not for that killing. Frederic LeClerc is another matter.”

  Johann followed Marie. “Obviously it wasn’t me. I was with the marquis all afternoon, and he and his servants saw me. They can vouch I was at his townhouse at the time of the killing.”

  “Right.”

  Now that they had reached the more crowded part of the underground, they fell silent, each wrapped up in his or her thoughts. They remained that way until they reached the theatre.

  Marie looked up the stairs. That way her mother and the theatre spirit waited for her, but if she were to remain underground, there was no telling when Cobb’s men would try again and bring enough others with them that she would have no choice but to go with them or risk her friends harm.

  “Are you all right?” Iris asked.

  “I suppose. I’m going to put this out and go to the top of the stairs and open the door for us.” She extinguished the lantern and placed it where she had found it then did as she said.

  She looked lingeringly at the place where she knew the ghost’s tunnel might be and promised herself she would return later when she knew he wasn’t there. How she’d know that she wasn’t sure yet, but she guessed he didn’t stay in the secret passages all the time. He had to eat like normal people.

  Not that he’s exactly normal.

  They found Lucille, Fouré, Edward and Patrick in the auditorium. Marie thought it was just the dim lighting at first, but no, Edward’s and Patrick’s skin was smudged, and a chemical smoky odor made her wrinkle her nose.

  Edward stood, and Iris ran into his arms.

  “What happened to you?”

  They explained about the airship crash and the fate of its noble passengers and the marquis’s servants.

  “Merde,” Marie said. “There goes the maestro’s alibi.”

  “And our ticket out of Paris,” Johann said.

  “He said to tell you the captain of the sister airship knew of his promise to you,” Edward said. “And there was a woman, a prostitute, that saw one of the guardsmen shoot LeClerc.”

  Marie recalled the woman in the blue dress. “I think I saw her. Where is she now?”

  “I gave her all my money, and she said she would go to a different part of Paris.”

  Marie slumped into a chair. “We’ll never find her.”

  “And as for the airship,” Patrick said, “until they know why this one blew up, they’re not going to fly any more in or out, I’m certain of it. If the Prussians have found a way…”

  “And they’ve been trying,” Fouré said. “They know that what comes in, even if it’s not enough to feed the millions here, is keeping the city from surrendering, as is the mail and news from elsewhere.”

  “Then why are you here?” Marie asked and stood to face him. “Our small production isn’t anything more than a diversion. It’s not going to make a difference for anyone, not in any meaningful way. Our theatre would be better used as a hospital like the others.”

  “What are you really angry about, Cherie?” Lucille asked.

  “Don’t call me that. Don’t call me your dear one. I know that Zokar is my uncle, that you told him to keep me away and lie to me so I wouldn’t know. Why? Why did you want to keep me all to yourself?”

  Lucille paled under her olive complexion. “You have been communicating with him.”

  “Yes, he rescued me one day when I got lost in the underground. He’s how I know my way down there. Why didn’t you want me to talk to him?”

  “It is something that you wouldn’t understand,” Lucille said. “I do not bring up your disgrace, and I hope you will give me the courtesy of allowing me to not reveal mine.”

  Marie forced herself to ignore the stricken expression on her mother’s face. “What disgrace? You haven’t done anything shameful.”

  “You need to tell her,” Fouré said. “You need to not have any more secrets.”

  Lucille turned to him. “I did not ask your opinion.”

  “You never have, my dear, and it has caused me regret as well. And that is why I am here,” he said. “I had to make sure that the love of my life and my daughter were safe in this siege.”

  A hardness under her derriere made Marie realize that her knees had given out, and she’d plopped gracelessly on the floor. Although she’d suspected, hearing the truth shocked her, and it joined the rest of the tension of the day in knocking her down.

  “You’re my father?” she asked. Johann offered her a hand up, but she batted it away. She grabbed the chair next to her and hauled herself up.

  The room spun, but she refused the support of anyone near her. She careened down the aisle and through the door beside the stage, heedless of obstacles. She ran to her dressing room, slamming the door.

  She had an aunt and uncle.

  She had a father, a man she already respected and who seemed to make her mother happy. But her mother hadn’t said anything to her, only left her to suspect and wonder where she had come from. Well, now she knew.

  “Well, well, what a lovely little family reunion you were having,” the ghost said. “Why’d you leave, darlin’? Too much emotion even for you? Or whoever you are at the moment?”

  His words startled her but also made her stop and see what role had overtaken her.

  “For me, I suppose. I’m not being anyone right now, just Marie St. Jean… Fouré.”

  “He hasn’t claimed you, though, has he?”

  “No, but my mother wanted his relationship to me kept a secret, so he couldn’t.”

  Childhood taunts came back to her, the cruelty of children to a girl without a father or even the memory of one. Now that she thought about it, that had been the first time she’d allowed a role to overtake her, that of not caring when faced with cruelty.

  Emotions battled back and forth like the French and Prussians outside the city walls. Joy at finding her family, connecting with others related to her and who could understand her on a blood level warred with anger at her mother for keeping those connections from her for so long. And then there was concern for Johann—the French rumor mill loved nothing better than the drama of a love triangle that came to a violent end. With the city being on the edge of a riot or worse, a violent takeover by a radical group that felt the emperor wasn’t doing a good enough job, the police might bow to public opinion to keep things quiet.

  And underneath it all, fear and shame that her mistake with Cobb still wouldn’t leave her be, that he wanted to see her for some reason. She kne
w he would want her under his control again, possibly to spy for him on whatever Edward was doing, but also because she knew so many of his secrets. His letting her go to Paris had been part of his game all along.

  “What are you thinking, Mademoiselle?” The ghost sang behind the mirror. “Why does a frown mar that beauty?”

  “You’re not funny,” Marie told him. “And you have secrets too. I don’t believe you care so much for the welfare of this theatre.”

  “Ah, but you have met me in the past. Do you not remember?”

  “You know I don’t.”

  “I know you don’t.” A wheezing giggle. “Of course you don’t. Most people do not, for I am the invisible hand of death.”

  “Now who’s being dramatic?” She teased him but swallowed around the flame of anxiety that he was becoming unhinged. Plus, the memory of a knife at the back of her neck flashed through her brain.

  Could it be the man in the carriage? But I never saw his face clearly.

  “Ah, but you need my cooperation. Whose raven do you think it was that kept you and the maestro from sharing a kiss in the alley with some well-timed snowfall? And who captured a photo of him trying that could doom him in the eyes of the police?”

  The memory-feel of the icy snow spread from Marie’s face to her extremities, and her heart thudded through it. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, but I would, for I need you to be tough and disciplined, Mademoiselle Premiere Femme. It is what Maman wants, after all, regardless of who Pere happens to be.”

  Disgusted, Marie fled from his demented laughter.

  I have made a deal with the devil.

  She encountered Iris in the hall.

  “Oh good, there you are. Is that where you’ve been hiding? Who were you talking to?”

  “The spirit of the theatre.”

  “The one who trapped you and who smokes Parnaby Cobb’s tobacco brand?”