Page 18 of The Mask Falling

“He took my spouse, Paul Caron,” she said. “I saw the mask he wore—made of metal, with bars over the eyes. Others have seen the same figure. I have heard whispers of his name.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. A few weeks.”

“And he took Paul?”

“He and his followers. I ran after them, but they hit me with something, and when I woke, they had disappeared. No one believes me.” Katell stepped forward then and clasped my hand. “Madelle, do you work for Le Chevalier des Deniers? Have you come to help me find Paul?”

“No. I’m sorry.” I gently broke her grip. “Is Le Chevalier des Deniers your . . . boss?”

Disappointment stiffened her face.

“Yes. The patron of this district,” she said, her voice flat. “Le Chevalier des Deniers rules the Court of Miracles. We give him our earnings. In return, he keeps us fed and safe. Or so he claims.”

Katell was describing a mime-lord, or something akin to one. She was our first link in the chain.

“I suppose he reports to someone else,” I said.

“The grands ducs.” Katell stepped back. “You must be new to the district. To the citadel, perhaps.”

“I’d like to introduce myself to the grands ducs. Any idea where I might find them?”

A frown pinched her brow. “No one sees our leaders without invitation. If I wished to see them, I would ask Le Chevalier des Deniers, and he would—he might—petition for me.”

“They’ll want to see me.”

“Madelle, they will never receive you unless you petition. Save yourself a wasted journey.”

“A name or a place. That’s all I need.”

Fresh hope jumped into her eyes. I had dredged my words with false impatience. Impatience pointed to desperation, and desperation pointed to need. This woman knew those refrains.

“Our leaders hold court in les carrières,” she said under her breath. “For a price, I can give you a name. An old friend who knows the way inside.” She held out a hand. “Two hundred.”

I almost let her fleece me, just to throw her a bone. “No name in Paris is worth that much coin, as you well know,” I said. Her cracked lips pressed together. “Since I’m feeling generous today, I’ll forgive you for trying to rip me off. Fifty.”

“I cannot risk my life for fifty. If anyone finds out I have shared information about the carrières with a stranger, I will leave my child an orphan.” Her hand trembled. “Ninety.”

“Seventy, Katell, or I walk. I’m sure someone else around here could use the money.”

I kept my nerve until hers failed. When she gave a stiff nod, Arcturus took the right amount from his coat. Katell snatched the notes from him and stuffed them into her skirt pocket. She beckoned me close and whispered into my ear: “Montparnasse. Find Mélusine.”

“Where in Montparnasse?”

“She could be anywhere in that district.”

“Do you have unregistered cabs in Paris, the sort that will take voyants without questions?”

“Anormales, or anormaux,” Katell corrected. “That is what we call ourselves here.” She took a step back. “The cabs have blue paint over the wheels. Look for them beside any triumphal monument. The nearest is the Porte Nord.” Another step. “Please, ask no more of me.”

I nodded and turned to leave. A few paces later, I realized Arcturus wasn’t with me and looked back just in time to see him give Katell an extra few notes. She took them as if they would bite her.

“She cannot have given birth more than a week ago,” Arcturus said to me, once he caught up.

Tenderness surged in me. “I know. I wanted to give her more, too,” I said, “but we have to be careful how much of that cash we spend. With Alsafi gone, I presume we’re going to have a lean period.”

“Most likely. Unless Burnish can help us, Terebell fears the line of communication with our financiers could be lost.” Arcturus fastened the top of his coat. “You are right to recommend frugality.”

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