Page 90 of The Mask Falling

I listened, committing his every word to memory.

“Nashira Sargas wants these anormaux very much. Sponsor their journey to her,” the voice went on, “and I assure you that your standing with the Rephaim will dramatically improve.”

I stole another glance at the Rag and Bone Man. This was the specter who had tried to have me killed when I got too close to the truth. The man who had done the dirty work. He had escaped justice for his crimes in England—I was damned if I was leaving Paris until he was dead.

Ménard placed his hands on the desk. He was looking down at something, but I was too low to see what. The candlelight hollowed out his eyes.

“I know this name. Ignace Fall,” he said. “Le Vieux Orphelin.”

“Yes.”

My ears pricked. The missing grand duc.

“If you truly have him, that price is worth paying.” Ménard breathed in through his nose. “We became . . . acquainted when I served the anchor in Lyon. He has been a thorn in my side ever since.”

“I make it my business to strip away thorns.”

“How did you find him?”

“He discovered my arrangement with the other two grands ducs and was planning to expose it. They offered him to the gray market.”

Arcturus had been right. Le Latronpuche and La Reine des Thunes had sold their fellow leader to silence him.

“Ignace Fall is mine. He has eluded me too many times, mocked me from the shadows,” Ménard said softly. “Twelve years I have waited to see his blood on the guillotine, and I will not have that pleasure stolen from me by a scum-sucking Rephaite. I want him for myself. Arrange it, Monsieur Rackham.”

“That is no longer possible, Grand Inquisitor. He has already been transported to Sheol II.”

“I will pay you what you gave the grands ducs for him,” Ménard said, “five times over.”

There was a long silence. An itch in my throat warned me of an impending cough.

“Since your offer is so generous,” the Rag and Bone Man concluded, “I will put it to the Grand Overseer. It may take a number of weeks to finalize the transaction.”

“I want the cockroaches he calls lieutenants, too. His so-called perdues,” Ménard almost spat. “Le Prince Creux. Renelde du Linceul. La Tarasque. All of them.”

“The hunt for them has already begun. If you wish, they can all be yours. For a price.”

At this point, the Rag and Bone Man stepped closer to Ménard, who stiffened. No doubt the stench off that coat was eye-watering.

“Grand Inquisitor,” he said, “will you accept my offer, and sponsor these unnaturals on their journey to redemption?”

Ménard looked back down at the desk.

“To reassure the Suzerain of my allegiance, you will tell her that I give these anormaux to her as tokens of my loyalty,” he finally said. “Once this transaction is complete, however, you will not extort another penny from me.”

“It is not extortion we trade in. It is opportunity.” The Rag and Bone Man extended a hand. “Sign beside the names, if you will. Your official signature.”

With a starched expression, Ménard took a pen from his desk. I pressed my eyes shut, willing my breath to stop scuffing my throat. The air in this hollow was smoky with dust.

“Minister Auclair will arrange your payment in the morning,” Ménard said. “Is there something else?”

“Paige Mahoney.”

The sound of my own name made me inhale, and the spark in my throat burned hotter. My whole torso bucked with the effort of holding it in.

“Not only is she in Paris, but she is aware of my presence here,” the Rag and Bone Man said. I clamped my sleeve to my lips. “For the sake of peace in the empire, she must be muzzled.”

The bastard grands ducs had ratted me out. It was no surprise.

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