“Till then.”
She came to me just after midnight. I was sitting at my desk with my copy of Aristotle’s Politics, when I heard the door open with a soft click. The glow from the single candle caught her shift and the copper-gilt of her cropped hair.
“Juliette.”
She had discarded her habit and wimple. Left them in the dorter, no doubt, to avoid arousing suspicion. With her hair cut short she looked like a beautiful boy. The next time we dance the classics I’ll cast her as Ganymede or Hyacinthus. She neither spoke nor smiled, and the cold draft from the open doorway swept between her ankles unnoticed.
“Come in.” I put down my book and drew up a chair, which she ignored.
“I would have thought it more appropriate for you to study some improving work,” she said. “Machiavelli, perhaps, or Rabelais. Isn’t Do what thou wilt your motto now?”
“It beats Thy will be done,” I said, grinning. “Besides, since when were you in any position to preach morality? You’re as much of an impostor as I am.”
“I don’t deny it,” she said. “But whatever else I may have done, I always stayed true to myself. And I’ve never betrayed a friend.”
With an effort, I bit back a retort. She had touched me on the raw. It was a knack she’d always had. “Please, Juliette,” I said. “Must we be enemies? Here.” I indicated a cut-crystal bottle on the bookcase beside the desk. “A glass of Madeira.”
She shook her head.
“Food, then. Fruit and honey cake.”
Silence. I knew she had spent the day in fasting, but she seemed unmoved. Her face was masklike, perfect. Only her eyes blazed. I put out my hand to touch her face. I never could resist playing with fire. Even as a child it was the dangerous games that appealed to me-walking the tightrope with a noose about my neck, firing wasps’ nests, juggling knives, swimming the rapids. Le Borgne called it chasing tigers, and scorned me for it. But if there’s no risk from the quarry, then where’s the joy of the chase?
“You haven’t changed,” I said, smiling. “One false move and you’d take out my eyes. Admit it.”
“Get on with it, LeMerle.”
Her skin was smooth beneath my palm. From her cropped hair I could smell the distant fragrance of lavender. I allowed my fingers to move down onto her bare shoulder.
“Is that it?” she said contemptuously. “Is that what you wanted?”
Angrily I withdrew my hand. “Still so suspicious, Juliette. Don’t you realize what I have at stake here? This is no ordinary game. It’s a scheme of such daring and ambition that even I-” She gave a sigh, stifling a yawn beneath her fingers. I paused, stung. “I see you find my explanation tedious.”
“Not at all.” Her inflection was a precise parody of my own. “But it’s late. And I want my daughter.”
“The old Juliette would have understood.”
“The old Juliette died in Épinal.”
That hurt, although I had expected it. “You know nothing about what happened in Épinal. For all you know I might be completely innocent.”
Indifferently: “As you say.”
“What, did you think I was a saint?” There was an edge to my voice that I could not subdue. “I knew you’d manage to get out of it; if you hadn’t, I’d have thought of something. Some kind of scheme.” She waited politely, eyes averted, one foot turned out in a dancer’s gesture. “They were too close, damn you. I’d tricked them once already, and now they were onto me. I could feel it: my luck was running out. I was afraid. And the dwarf knew it. It was Le Borgne who set the dogs on me, Juliette. It could only have been him. In any case he was ready enough to trade your necks for his own, the bastard, and to deal me a foul blow with a poisoned knife. What, did you think I’d deserted you? I would have come back for you if I’d been able. As it was I was lying sick and wounded in a ditch for days after your escape. You felt a little pique, perhaps. A little anger. But don’t say you needed me. You never did.”
I must have sounded convincing-in fact, I almost convinced myself. But her voice betrayed nothing as she repeated: “I want Fleur.”
Once more I bit down upon my anger. It tasted metallic, like a bad coin. “Please, Juliette. I’ve already told you. I can let you see Fleur tomorrow. Not to bring her back, not yet, in any case, but I can arrange it. All I ask in return is a truce. And a favor. A little favor.”
She stepped toward me then, and put her hands on my shoulders. Again I caught the scent of lavender from the folds of her shift.
“No, not that.”
“What, then?”
“A joke. A practical joke. You’ll enjoy it.”
She hesitated. “Why?” she said at last. “What are you doing here? What could we possibly have that would interest you?”
I laughed. “A moment ago you didn’t care.”
“I don’t. I want my daughter.”
“Well, then. Why ask?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
You can’t fool me, Juliette. You care about these poor toadstools, cowering in their darkness. They are your family now, as once we were in the Théâtre des Cieux. I have to say it’s a poor substitute, but each to his own. “Call it a game, if you like,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to play the priest. Now take these.” I handed her the tablets of dye. “Don’t get any of the color on your hands.”
She looked at me with suspicion. “What do you want me to do with it?”
I told her.
“And then I can see Fleur?”
“First thing in the morning.” Suddenly I wanted her to leave. I was tired and my head had begun to ache.
“You’re sure this is harmless? It won’t hurt anyone?”
“Of course not.” Well, not exactly.
She looked again at the tablets in her hand. “And it’s just this-little thing.”
I nodded.
“I want to hear you say it, LeMerle.”
I knew that she wanted to believe me. It’s in her nature to do so, as it is in mine to deceive. Blame God for making me this way. I made my voice gentle as I put my arm around her shoulders, and this time she did not flinch.
“Trust me, Juliette,” I murmured.
Till tomorrow.
20
I made my way back to the Abbey in haste. It was not truly dark; a sliver of moon lit the clear sky, and the stars were bright enough to cast shadows on the road beyond the gatehouse. In the distance, just above the dim line of the sea I could see a bank of clouds darker than the sky. Rain, perhaps. As I entered the dorter, I strained my ears for sounds of wakeful breathing, but heard nothing.
In five years I have become familiar with the sounds of my neighbors’ breathing; I know the casual sprawl of their limbs beneath the rough blankets, their nocturnal habits, the sighs and whimperings of their dreams. I passed Soeur Tomasine, first by the door, snoring in her high, whistling manner. Then Soeur Bénédicte, always on her face with her arms outstretched. Then Piété, prim in sleep as she is in waking; then Germaine, Clémente, and Marguerite. I needed all my dancer’s agility to pass without alerting her; even so she stirred as I passed, one hand outflung in grasping, blind entreaty. Then came Alfonsine’s empty cubicle, and opposite that, Antoine, hands folded demurely on her breast. Her breathing was light, effortless. Was she awake? She gave no sign of it. And yet she seemed too still, too quiet, her limbs arranged with more dignity and grace than sleep usually affords.
It could not be helped. If she was awake, I could only hope that she suspected nothing. I slid into my own bed, the hiss of my skin against the blanket very loud among the sounds of breathing. As I turned to the wall to sleep I heard Antoine give a sharp snore and felt some of my fear slip away, but even as it did so, it occurred to me that the sound rang false, too studied, too perfect in its timing. Resolutely I closed my eyes. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Fleur. Not Antoine, not Alfonsine-not even LeMerle, alone now in his tiny study surrounded by books. And yet it was LeMerle, and not my daughter, who followed me into my dreams. I cared nothing for his games, I told myself as sleep closed over me. All the same I dreamed of him, standing on the far bank of a flood-gorged river with his arms outstretched, calling out to me above the roar of the water in words I could never quite hear.