Page 97 of The Mask Falling

“The oracle from the colony. David. His real name is Cade, and he works for Ménard.”

Without answering, Arcturus moved to the chair, where he clasped his hands and waited for me to begin.

It took me a long time to fill him in. Between thick coughs, I told him about Cade—about his affair with Frère, why he had been in Sheol I, and his firm belief in the Grand Inquisitor of France. I told him why Benoît Ménard had avoided Frank Weaver for months. I told him about the coup Ménard was planning, and his vision for a pure Scion.

“He sees all of us as branches of the same evil,” I said. “And he won’t rest until all of us are gone.” My throat burned. “I’ll be honest: he scared me in a way Weaver never has.”

Arcturus seemed to mull this over.

“Though I dislike how you obtained this information, it has extraordinary value. Ducos will be pleased,” he said, “though you might not have lived to relate it to her. Cade was your only guarantee of an escape. He could have lied to you about the affair to lure you inside.”

“Cade is clearly a . . . complicated person,” I conceded, “but he had a few opportunities to sell us out in the colony. He didn’t.”

“Is that reason enough for you to have trusted him with your life?”

I looked away.

We sat without speaking for a while. In that silence, I imagined how I might feel if our situations were reversed—if he had given himself up to Scion, barely escaped, and then risked his life again, all on the word of a near stranger. Even the thought of it tightened my stomach.

“You must have been beside yourself,” I said quietly.

He might as well have turned to stone. Not even a reassuringhm.

“When you give your report to Ducos,” he said at length, “I strongly advise you not to tell her that you entered that building of your own volition.”

“Even I’m not that reckless,” I said dryly. “Ducos can deal with Ménard. We have something else to do.”

I shifted so I was a little more upright and tried to reach for the mug. Arcturus got up and passed it to me.

“This can wait,” he said. “If you are in pain.”

“I’m fine.” I took a sip of saloop. “I found out how the gray market is earning money. The missing link.”

Seeing that I was determined, Arcturus returned to the chair.

“I think the grands ducs have been selling fugitives. Voyant fugitives, wanted by Scion, who would naturally look for sanctuary in the carrières,” I continued. “The Rag and Bone Man sells those fugitives on to Scion officials, like a bounty hunter. Those officials can then choose to send the fugitives to Sheol II, and for a fee, Jaxon will let them take credit for their capture.” I touched the ledger. “Ménard paid to take credit for Michael. His name is in here.”

His expression flickered. Michael was the first human he had taken under his wing.

“There are other names of interest,” I said. “Nadine and Zeke, and Ignace Fall—otherwise known as Le Vieux Orphelin. We were right. The grands ducs did sell him. Le Latronpuche did, anyway.”

“How did you obtain the ledger?”

“The Rag and Bone Man—Rackham, that’s his real name—had a meeting with Ménard.” The mug warmed my fingers. “The ledger belongs to him. I stole it.”

I told him about the secret way into the walls and everything I had overheard. About the Rephaite chained at the bottom of the Hôtel Garuche, willing to trade with me for his freedom.

“His name is Kornephoros Sheratan,” I said. Arcturus looked sharply at me. “He . . . told me you were close.”

“Describe him to me,” he said, eyes burning.

“Dark hair down to here.” I tapped my waist. “Big scar across his chest. He looked a lot like Terebell.”

For some time, Arcturus was silent. When he did speak, his voice was low and cold.

“Rephaite hair is not like yours. It does not grow. To cut it, therefore, is an irrevocable act.” His own brown hair was cropped to his nape. “If you ever come across a Rephaite whose hair is long, they were never Ranthen. Not openly.”

“Then why did he say you were close?”

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