Page 32 of The Mask Falling

“I don’t just think it. I know it.”

“He wrung money from Nashira for years, forcing her to pay exorbitantly for clairvoyants of interest, all while concealing himself in the underworld. She would never support its return.”

“Oh, I don’t think for a moment that she knows about this Parisian branch. In fact,” I said, “I’ll wager that as soon as Jaxon found out Sheol II would be in France, he planted seeds here, so he’d have a new base of operations if anything happened to the first market. He might even have met Le Latronpuche in London years ago and identified him as a potential marketeer.”

Arcturus seemed to digest this.

“He had to shut the first one down. Not just because we exposed it, but because he couldn’t be too closely involved when he lived right under Nashira’s nose,” I went on. “But when I last saw him, he told me he was being sent to France—away from her—to oversee Sheol II. It must be ready to receive prisoners. And Jaxon must be ready to profit from their misery again.”

“It would still be a grave risk now he works for Scion. Jaxon does not strike me as a brave man.”

“That’s because what he did to you wasn’t brave. He stabbed you in the back and ran,” I said, “but trust me, he can find his spine when he wants something. And he always wants coin.”

“On the subject of coin,” Arcturus said, “there is a missing link in your theory.”

“Go on.”

“The Rag and Bone Man is paying for voyants, possibly with money from Jaxon. This time, however, they cannot sell their victims onto Nashira. How, then, do they profit from this enterprise?”

He had a point.

“Either I’m wrong,” I said, “or someone else is involved. And I don’t think I’m wrong.” A headache was building. “I’d say Benoît Ménard, but I don’t see why he’d cough up any amount of money for voyants. He captures enough of us without help from the gray market.”

The wind threw a flurry of snow in our direction. I crammed my icy hands into my pockets.

“This missing duc. Le Vieux Orphelin,” I forced out. Even my jaw shook with cold. “I’d bet my last penny he found out about their deal and threatened to expose it.”

“So they sold him to the Rag and Bone Man,” Arcturus finished. “To silence him.”

“Exactly.”

He glanced toward the hidden entrance to the carrières.

“This knowledge puts us in considerable danger,” he said. “I imagine Le Latronpuche and La Reine des Thunes considered killing us, but some of their voyants had seen us arrive. And needed to see us leave. I suspect you are too popular to murder in plain sight.”

He nodded to the opposite wall, which was smothered in graffiti. In the morass of tags and caricatures, spray-painted messages shone out in yellow, each with a black moth behind it.

LONG LIVE THE BLACK MOTH

AVENGE THE UNDERQUEEN

il est temps de voler ce qui nous appartient

Le Latronpuche had said that some of the Parisian voyants considered me a hero. Here was evidence.

“We need to find out who wrote those,” I said.

“Another time.” Arcturus stood. “Night Vigiles will be on duty soon.”

The sky was the deep blue of a bruise. When he offered a hand, I grasped it and let him pull me up. “Better find a cab, then,” I said. “Do you know where the nearest arch is?”

“Yes.”

Sloping walls flanked the railway. Our boots ate into deep snow. Now we were out of the darkness, I was conscious of my bruises, old and new.

Under the fatigue, my sixth sense trembled, and I looked up to see a silhouette at the top of the wall to our right. When a second figure appeared, my stomach turned. Arcturus had clocked them, too.

“Shit,” I muttered. “The grands ducs have either told these clowns to kill us, or to knock us out so they can sell us on the market.”

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