Carver’s head popped out from his bathroom in a cloud of steam. “That’s even more dangerous! I won’t do it, especially not after that wild goose-chase.”
“Surely there is no harm in a single phone call,” Caroline said from her place before the entryway mirror. She adjusted a blonde wig and fascinator to hide her bandages. “You could always explain it away as a wrong number.”
Carver grumbled, but he couldn’t refuse her. “Alright. One message, but that’s it.” And with that, he slammed the bathroom door again.
Satisfied, Caroline embraced her daughter. “Adieu, ma petite jolie. Good luck, and don’t spend all of your inheritance in one place.”
They left her alone in the apartment, and Amandine explored more of Carver’s record collection while she waited for the Inquestor to finish getting ready. He finally emerged, groomed to the level of perfection that inquestors were known for, and he looked especially sharp in his expertly tailored new suit. She felt underdressed standing beside him, but he still offered his arm like a gentleman and escorted her downstairs.
“Seatbelts,” he reminded her brightly. He pulled his new Interceptor out of the basement garage and into the busy downtown traffic.
She obeyed, gazing out of the window with wonder at the lit skyscrapers that surrounded them. “Do you know where we're going?”
“Of course I do.” Carver sounded his horn twice, and a delivery van slammed on its brakes to let the Inquestor in. “It's my business to know everything. If I don't know it yet, then I find it out.”
“Oh, really? Everything?” She thought she would test him. “What's René's real name?”
“Everything that matters,” he clarified. “I don't care what Renoir’s real name is.”
“What about Gia?”
“Her real name is Blythe Greenwood, she’s twenty, born in Bridge City, Pennsylvania to Chester and Myrtle Greenwood, both alive and presently occupied as field hands in Kukamonga, California.”
“Ha!” Amandine exclaimed.
Carver’s face fell. He had walked right into her trap.
“'Everything that matters,' my foot,” she giggled. “You don't care about who's running your equipment out west, but you already know enough about Gia to start your own official fan club.” She pointed to the large box in the backseat. “Is that for her?”
“Inquestor business,” he grinned. “Move along, citizen.”
He had to slow down when traffic thickened, and it became harder for everyone to move to let him pass. When he flicked on his lights, cars pulled up on sidewalks in a mad, desperate scramble just to get out of his way.
“Okay, Mr. Carver, if you don’t want to talk about Gia, then how about my mother?”
“This festival traffic is just the worst,” he whined, ignoring her.
“I suspected she had a boyfriend before she got arrested.” She saw Carver’s face screw up in an odd, strained expression of pain and extreme concentration. “When I saw dad again, I thought it was him all along. But after everything that was said last night, now I’m thinking that—”
With a violent jerk of his steering wheel, Carver veered down an alley and jostled his passenger quiet. When Amandine recovered, she saw that they had come to a stop right behind the bumper of Glorious's red pickup.
Carver came around the car to open Amandine's door for her. As soon as he helped her out, he crossed his arms and dropped his cheerful tone. “Alright, you. Time to get gone.”
Amandine retrieved her suitcase and spied a long, flat gun case that had slid out from beneath the backseat. “Thanks for the ride, Inquestor.”
He stared at her silently, waiting for her to leave.
“Take care of my parents,” she added softly.
His mouth twitched into a peculiar half-smile, then he nodded once and shooed her away like a fly.
Amandine darted down the alley, dodging trash bins and avoiding the gutters in her search for René. All of the familiar trucks and painted trailers were dark except for the red shepherd’s hut. Sangria was always the last one ready. Just as Amandine wondered whether or not she should go greet her friend, she spotted him.
René was standing in a close circle with Glorious, Coronado, and Nick in a final meeting. The illusionist, dressed in his magnificent white costume for the opening act, noticed Amandine first. He nudged René and pointed in her direction with a lacquered cane.
Their eyes locked and Amandine made an involuntary sound, something between a laugh and a sob. Overjoyed, they started towards each other, but Coronado caught René by the arm and pulled him into a hard embrace first. She watched as the illusionist took the stagehand by the shoulders, and they spoke privately for some time, standing almost head to head. Amandine was bouncing with impatience by the time René earnestly shook hands with everyone and said his goodbyes.
One he was finally free, he rushed for her. He swept her up into his arms, and he kissed her hard. She tried to gently push away, but he held her as desperately as a life preserver.
“Erm, René?” she mumbled.
“Yes?” He kissed her repeatedly from her collarbone to her hair.
“Ouch!” She groaned when he touched her brow. “My eye...”
“Sorry. I forgot.” René relented a little, pressing her small waist against him. “I am just so happy, I could kiss you forever.”
Once he had set her back down, he waved one last time to his friends. Glorious and Nick gave him a thumbs up before they turned to follow the caped illusionist towards the stage.
“There will be plenty of time for kissing later.” Amandine giggled and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “And then some!”
René’s eyes went wide. He tried to stammer through a reply when a trailer door burst open, and Sangria appeared in her shimmering white costume. She eyed the couple warily.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing,” Amandine replied. “Though it’s good to see you one last time, Gia.”
Sangria descended the short steps like a queen. Amandine noticed that she had changed her show makeup, and it bore a striking resemblance to her mother’s Egyptian style. “You didn’t knock just now?”
The dressmaker shook her head. “No, but I imagine whoever left those probably did.” She pointed to the ostentatious bouquet of roses set near the bottom step of her trailer.
Sangria glanced up and down the alley before she stooped to pick up the gift. Attached to the vase on a black velvet ribbon was a delicate string of pearls. Amandine marveled at the presentation. It was a beautiful, dark, and expensive gift that suited Sangria perfectly.
“What does the card say?” René plucked out the note before the contortionist even noticed it. He scanned it, holding it just out of her reach while she jumped at him. “Oh là là, Gia’s got a suitor.”
“Give it to me!” Sangria snatched it out of his hand. She scanned the ivory card, mumbling the inscription to herself. “‘Good luck on your first big performance in the Big Apple. I would say ‘break a leg,’ but you’ll need them both for dancing and dinner with me at the Office this Friday night at 7:00. I’ll wear a tie, you tie a bow! Sincerely yours, Inquestor Marcus E. Carver.’”
With a scoff, she tucked the card into the front of her costume. “If he thinks he can buy me with a few dozen roses and a shiny bauble, he can keep trawling the replacement homes.” She tried to put her bouquet on the vanity, but it was too wide for the tiny surface, so she left it the only place it would fit: on the floor near her bunk.
René checked his wristwatch. “Chérie, you've got fifteen minutes until curtain.”
Sangria trotted down the stairs again and turned her back to Amandine. “Fasten me?”
“You bet.” She zipped up her friend and gave her a hug from behind. Sangria pretended to tolerate it, but René could see that she was smiling. “You look stunning. Break a leg out there.”
“Thanks.” Sangria shrugged her off. “You should get going. Try to find a decent spot before the show
starts.”
“À la prochaine, Sangria.” René offered a handshake.
Sangria pressed his fingers lightly, but then she hesitated. “You were always so kind to me.” To his surprise, she yanked him down to her level and planted a light kiss on his cheek. “Sorry for always being such a pill.” And with that, she pranced off to the stage in a flutter of feathers and rhinestones.
The couple headed back down the alley and René tossed Amandine's suitcase into the cab of Glorious' truck. He pounded the red rusted hood proudly. “A parting gift. Do you like it?”
“I do.” Amandine saw that the stolen police horse was tethered to the truck bed. “How ever did Glorious get you to accept it?”
“I had this rather romantic notion of us riding off into the sunset,” he admitted. “But Glorious said, 'Y'all ain't gonna make that poor horse carry the two of you and a sewing machine, are you? Lord, have mercy.'”
She laughed when the horse sniffed her dress in search of treats. She stroked his velvet nose and asked, “Didn't have the heart to turn him loose?”
“No, and our new friends didn't want him either.” René put on his hat and offered his arm. “Well? Shall we?”
Arms linked, they walked out of the dark alley and towards the crowded main street. The road was a river of people, and the current carried them out to the square where searchlights whirled amongst the clouds. Vendors and buskers lined the sidewalks beneath flags and strings of colorful lights that criss-crossed above them like a web. The sight made Amandine giddy, but her delight waned when her vision started swaying and made her lightheaded. Frowning, she squeezed René's arm for balance.
René didn't notice anything wrong with Amandine because he was preoccupied with the uneasy feeling that someone was watching him. He kept glancing over his shoulder until he spotted an inquestor, dogging them about twenty steps behind.
“It's just Mr. Carver.” Amandine mustered up a lazy smile. “I said he could watch the show with us.”
“You sure he's alright?” René pulled her closer protectively. “I am not so sure I like the thought of him going after Sangria. He gives me the creeps.”
Amandine reassured him with a pat on the arm. “He's the one who is sending us someplace safe. Also, he said he'd keep an eye on Marmi for me.”
“As a friend or as an inquestor?” René pulled up the collar of his jacket and drew his hat brim low as if it could make him invisible.
“Oh, you need to look on the bright side, René!” She found a little bit of energy and moved abruptly in front of him. Amandine slapped his collar back down and readjusted his hat, chiming the thimble ornament on the brim for good measure. “I mean it! Count your blessings! Say something good about what's happening right now.”
René thought for a moment, looking into her bruised and beautiful face while she walked backwards. “I have my very own horse and truck.”
“Yes!” She clapped. “Go on.”
“I am heading out west. It's where I've always wanted to go.”
“You've got it,” she encouraged him. “One more!”
“And... against all odds, I am with the girl I love.”
In that instant, René felt all of the fear and anxiety that had been weighing on him vanish. He no longer worried about the suspicious Inquestor, Will’s disapproval, Amandine’s safety, or the family he was leaving behind. They were not forgotten, but completely overshadowed by the beauty of the moment. René wondered if this was how Amandine felt all of the time. Vitalized, he exclaimed, “I am going on my first date to a big party in the city! I've never done that before.”
“That's the spirit!” She skipped to his side again, lacing her fingers in his. “Good luck on that date, though. My dad reminded me a dozen times that I was raised with very high standards, and while I might be an aimless wanderer now, I should never forget my upbringing. I’m supposed to be a very tough nut to crack.”
“What does it take to crack an heiress?” René grinned. “A velvet box of bonbons? A sapphire lavalier?
Amandine craned her neck when she detected a warm and sweet smell. She pointed excitedly once she'd located the source coming from a nearby vendor stall. “How about a caramel apple?”
René was happy to oblige. He had just picked an apple wrapped in shiny, blue cellophane when he felt someone press closely against his side in the crowd. It was the Inquestor. Carver didn't look at him or say anything at first, rubbing his jaw as he scanned the rows of treats on display.
“Can I get you something, Inquestor?” the vendor asked. He was just as surprised as René by his sudden appearance.
Carver pointed to the apple in the vendor’s hand, the same one René had just chosen. “I'll take that one, please.”
The man surrendered it. “On the house.”
“Thank you,” Carver said smugly. “Have a happy Freedom Festival. Hail to the Republic.” He stared René down while he pocketed the treat, daring him to object.
“Is there anything you need from me, Inquestor?” René asked through clenched teeth. “Besides my apple?”
Carver leaned in so close that René had to tilt backwards to avoid touching him. “Mind the girl. Pretty sure she's concussed.”
“Concussed?” He looked at Amandine. She was leaning against the back of a nearby food truck with a vacant look in her eyes, entranced by the canopy of lights above her.
“She was listing a bit at breakfast,” Carver said shortly. “I set her upright, and I honestly don't think she noticed.”
Just then, there came a shout from across the crowd. “Marksman!”
Carver spun away from René so fast, he knocked him back a step. “That sounds like Felix Pierce,” he cried, greeting two more inquestors with his arms spread wide. “And look! You managed to drag Agent Victorin out of a bottle.”
Victorin was so tall and muscular, he completely dwarfed the other officers. “It’s where I’d still be if the Chief hadn't called everyone out in force tonight,” he replied, shaking hands.
“I could think of worse places to do overtime.” Carver let his shoulders bounce along to the music until Victorin cuffed him on the back of the neck to keep him still.
“When did you get back?” asked Pierce, the slender, drowsy-looking officer. “And who's the cowboy?”
“Beats me. Let’s get out of here.” Carver led his colleagues away. “That wall-eyed moron was trying to buy my caramel apple.”
The Freedom Festival went on as planned, and nobody mentioned or even seemed to remember that there was supposed to be a mass execution to kick off the festivities. The official media wasn't talking about the jailbreak, and DJMA was maintaining an unusual radio silence. The scaffold was removed as soon as word of the attack on the convoy reached Nieuwestad and the space was filled with another stage. High above the packed city square in a dark, vacant apartment, Tall-Me and Cleo sat alone on the dusty linoleum floor with a radio between them.
“If a fellow's feelin' blue, his lovely wife knows what to do! She fixes Harper's in a cup! A pipin' hot mug of pick-me-up! That's right, the best housewives in the country only serve their husbands Harper's coffee. It smells great and tastes great too! Enjoy the rich, fresh taste of Harper's Coffee... if your husband has left you any!”
“We're back tonight, ladies and gentlemen, with ‘How We Are in the NAR!’ This is Danny Darren and Daisy Diller coming to you live from the Freedom Festival here in downtown Nieuwestad! Coming up, we have a dazzling international act just in time for the fireworks display! Stay tuned right here for details as they happen! Oh, we've seen some delightful performances here tonight already, haven't we, Daisy?”
“That's right, Danny! I really liked the—”
“My favorite was the marching band outta Massachusetts when they played the NAR favorite, 'My Home So Good To Me!' That one never gets old, does it, Daisy?”
“It certainly doesn't, Danny! I thought the—”
“How about those lovely local ladies, the Miss-Elles, doing that ex
citing kicking number in a line? Oh, you folks listening at home should have come out for that one! Legs for miles! Do you suppose you could kick that high, Daisy?”
“I've never tried, Danny! I could probably—”
Caroline tuned the radio to a different frequency and picked up her rifle. “I can’t stand to listen to those two. Pirate radio is the only decent thing on the air anymore.” She peered into her scope, scanning the crowd through her reticle. “Speak of the pirate. I see Marcus.”
“What about Amandine?” Will asked. He still held onto the hope that his daughter would change her mind about leaving. “Do you see her? She was wearing that white scarf.”
Caroline couldn't focus. She reflexively rubbed her right eye, only to remember it was gone. Muttering a filthy curse in French, she ripped off her wig and dug through her purse for the wrap Amandine had made. “I hope Marcus took his time on the warden. Why did he have to cut up the eye I shoot with?”
“Leave it alone or it'll hurt more. Here, give me the gun.” Will gently took the rifle from her. “This is my score to settle, anyway.”
Caroline scowled at him as she knotted the material around her head and tugged it down to her cheek. It didn’t do much to help her appearance, but wearing it made her feel a bit more secure.
“You look beautiful, my dear. Just like a pirate submarine captain’s wife.”
She wasn’t in the mood for teasing, so Will sang a little tune to try to cheer her up.
“Now let ev’ry man drink off his full bumper, and let ev’ry man drink off his full glass. We’ll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy, and here’s to the health of each true-hearted lass.”
He brushed her cheek lightly with his thumb, finally coaxing a smile from her. Caroline appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood, and she moved aside so that he could take her place at the window. He propped her gun on the sill, using the spotted curtains to camouflage the long barrel.
“See them?” she asked.
Will made a sound in the negative. “Marcus seems to have found a couple of his friends, though. God, there are inquestors everywhere.”
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