CHAPTER 7
The Montcuir family lives only a few blocks away, but after last night I have no desire to stray from the main roads even in broad daylight, so I take the longer route to their house via the Sanctum Square. While the section of scaffolding I inspected last night is a long way away and blocked from view by the transept arm and tower, I can hear it coming down. I’ll have to swing by later and sketch what’s been done so I can change it on the model.
Then I remember there’s no model to update, and it’s like a blow to my bruised stomach. Now that Remi has returned, however, I might actually have time to start piecing it back together.
A woman I recognize as Lady Juliane’s former governess answers the door. From the cloth over her hair and the smudge of flour on one round cheek, it’s a fair bet she stayed with the household, working in the kitchen, expecting someday to care for Juliane’s children. If so, she’s been waiting a long time. She barely speaks as she leads me to the third floor. In a room at the end of the passage, Juliane sits at a long table, writing. Behind her on the wall hangs a wooden carving of the sun, polished smooth and reflecting the light coming through the open window. The far corners of the room have a medium-size bed and an oak wardrobe, but otherwise it’s so bare I assume it must be unoccupied.
“Miss Catrin”—the woman pauses in her announcement as though to emphasize that I don’t have a surname—“says she’s here at Master Simon’s request.”
Juliane sets down her quill and stands, smiling in a way that says she’s glad I’m here, and not just because Simon asked me to come. “Thank you, Madame Denise,” she tells the woman, who curtsies and departs without another word.
Once we’re alone, Juliane gestures for me to come inside. “I hope being in Simon’s room doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but it guarantees some privacy.”
“The venatre lives here?” I look around again for signs of life but find none other than a worn chest with a bronze candlestick on top of it. Given the house is at least four times larger than the architect’s, it must have more than enough bedrooms on the second floor, and I wonder what that says about Simon’s place in the family. “It’s so… empty.”
She shrugs. “I think he’s used to a simpler life. Please, have a seat.”
I nod politely and sit on the bench across from her, waiting until she lowers herself down again.
“Simon isn’t here at the moment,” Juliane continues. “But he should return soon.” She pulls a clean piece of parchment—nopaper—from the messy pile between us. Not even the architect uses paper. It’s too expensive and can’t be reused like parchment. There’s more in front of me now than I’ve ever seen in my whole life. “If you like, I can begin recording your account now,” she offers.
My mouth goes completely dry. I’d come early in hopes of learning what Simon knew so far and hadn’t expected to answer questions from her. “All right.”
“Excellent.” She speaks like we’ll be discussing something pleasant and benign, like the weather, rather than murder. “Let’s begin with your employment. You said you work for the architect, yet you aren’t an apprentice?”
“Um, no, not really.” I twist my hands in my lap. At one time I’d thought to work alongside Remi in that position, but though I have a good eye for load-bearing structures, I could never master the mathematics required or produce designs with enough accuracy. That’s why my specialty is the scaffolds; they don’t require precise measurement like the Sanctum itself. “I’m his assistant,” I explain. “Mostly I inspect the building site.”
Dipping her quill, Juliane records my exact response in ink, including theUm, no, and also her own words before and after. “And that’s what you were doing last night?”
I clear my throat to see if she’ll write an approximation of the sound, which she does. “Yes, we were behind schedule so I went out once the moon was up.” I omit my fall as I tell her about hearing the scream, and how I went to the top of the Sanctum to look out over the city.
The pen scratches across the paper for several seconds, then stops as Juliane looks up. Her eyes are dilated so widely the deep brown of her iris is barely visible. “Then what?”
“I saw a man, running.” I describe him as much as I can and the directions he went.
“Was he Selenae?”
The question takes me by surprise. “Ah, not that I could tell.”
Scritch scritch. Pause. “Did you hear anything else?”
Besides a disembodied voice telling me to go home? I shake my head. “No.”
Juliane frowns in what might be disappointment. “Please continue.”
From there I relate the search that led me to Perrete’s body, running out of the alley screaming, the woman who yelled at me, and how I eventually raised the alarm. I include as many details as possible to make up for what I leave out, like the strange whispers and how the alley seemed alight with a thousand candles.
“Did you see a Selenae man in the crowd which gathered?” Juliane asks.
“Um, yes?” Though she’d asked about Selenae earlier, I’m so startled I answer without thinking. I’m not sure I want to get this man into trouble, though. “But he left right after I noticed him.”
“Do you think he was following you?” says a male voice.
We turn to see Simon’s lanky form leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed. Lambert stands behind him, flushed and sweating in contrast to the venatre’s pale composure.
“How long have you been there?” Juliane asks, frowning.
“Just a minute or so. You were doing fine.” Simon turns his gaze to me. “Do you think the Selenae man was following you?” he asks again.