Chapter Nineteen #2
Nathalie gave me a look as though the answer to my question were obvious. “I’m Bad Sister,” she said, at the same time as Anais broke in drolly, “She’s Bad Sister.”
“Ah.” I blinked, my gaze moving between the maiden and the mouse. “Of course. Why didn’t I consider that?” Then, to Anais: “Take her.”
The fair-haired silkwitch didn’t falter.
Before Nathalie could react, Anais snatched Good Sister from her shoulder, hissing when the plump mouse dug her pointed teeth into her wrist. Grasping the creature by her tail, Anais backed toward the center of the room.
The mouse’s body squirmed futilely in midair in front of her, her satin bow smacking desperately against Anais’s hand.
“Give her—” Nathalie started forward, only to pause when Anais aimed her knife threateningly at the mouse’s belly. Turning her attention on me, the dark-eyed maiden spat out, “She is not a bartering chip.”
Her gaze was shining with angry tears; she was panicked, I realized, truly frightened for the creature’s life.
The display of emotion briefly softened me until I remembered the garotte currently tucked in Anais’s pocket—otherwise which, I was sure of it, would have been wrapped round my throat by now.
“Nor am I an obstacle to be removed, and yet had Miss Tremblay not apprehended you, you would have treated me as one,” I replied coldly.
When Nathalie flinched, I continued.
“You and I did not have the opportunity to become acquainted during the Vainglory, Miss Moreau. I asked you here today because I wish to remedy that. My friend and I have some questions for you. Answer them honestly, and you and Good Sister may go free.” I smiled winsomely at her.
“I will even allow you the honor of remaining one of my bridesmaids, despite your rather poor attempt on my life.”
Nathalie scowled. For a moment, the pair of us assessed one another. I knew I had won when the other silkwitch heaved an exhale and slunk toward one of the armchairs bordering the sitting room, curling up in it with the unrepentant manner of a swatted cat gone to lick its wounds.
She picked at her thumbnail, scanning me up and down. “That is a hideous dress.”
I smirked. “Be glad you didn’t kill me, or you would have to wear it.”
Her mouth lifted at that. Checking back on Anais, who was maintaining her grip on Good Sister’s tail, her arm extended as far from her body as possible to prevent the mouse’s tiny claws from reaching her, I went on.
“I’m hoping to reconnect with an acquaintance of mine, whom I met the evening of the Vainglory’s Midway Ball,” I said, averting my eyes when Anais’s head lifted with interest at my statement.
“Unfortunately, in the rush of our encounter I forgot to ask their name, but I’ve since heard whispers that you maintain a network of mice here in Fortblanche.
” I paused. “Might they be able to help me ascertain the identity of my friend?”
Nathalie shrugged. “Most of the mice in Fortblanche are loyal to me, it’s true,” she replied. “Though they pay its residents little mind unless I instruct them to. Your friend would have to be highly unusual for my spies to take note of their presence.”
I smiled. “They are often described as such,” I replied.
“The person I’m looking for likely arrived to the party late, or via an alternative route—the servants’ entrance, perhaps, rather than the front doors.
They are quite shy and dislike drawing attention to themself.
” I cocked my head. “Is that of any help?”
As I spoke, Good Sister made a sudden chittering noise—different from the stream of irate peeps she’d been emitting as she dangled from Anais’s hand. At the sound, Nathalie lifted an ear, listening.
“I suppose it could be so, my dear,” she answered to the mouse. Blinking, she translated. “Good Sister says the person you are searching for may be the veiled lady.”
Over her head, Anais and I exchanged glances. “What veiled lady?” I inquired.
“The mice sighted her on the night you’re speaking of,” Nathalie replied.
“I’d been dismissed from the competition at that point, of course”—here, her nose wrinkled as though in distaste—“but they were keeping tabs on the action for me. Sweet, loyal things.” She cast Good Sister a fond look.
“They noted your woman because she entered Fortblanche through the old structure beneath it—the passages which were sealed over in its last renovation. Those tunnels are the rodents’ territory; they do not like strangers passing through them. ”
As if in agreement, Good Sister issued another string of peeps.
Nathalie fell silent for a moment, taking in the message, then picked up again.
“Your friend seemed in a hurry,” she said.
“She was wearing something over her face, so they could not make out her identity—a scarlet veil, if their descriptions to me are correct. Good Sister attempted to get close to her, but the woman kicked at her when she drew near.”
She frowned, as if blaming me for my so-called acquaintance’s misbehavior. I barely noticed, my mind fixated on her words. Those tunnels. The site of Sybil’s death.
My pulse sped faster. Whoever this veiled lady was, I was suddenly determined to meet her.