notice, didn't care.
The sky above, the one time she glanced upwardâsearching, perhaps, for guidanceâheld no stars. Just gray on black, a night choking on clouds. The moon, presumably bright and crisp beyondthe overcast, was to her nothing more than a careless thumb-smear of lighter hue against the darkness.
It felt appropriate. The world tonight should be shrouded, shadowed, black as Widdershins's thoughts and intentions.
âI don't know!â she snapped at an almost tentative question from her partner. She knew, could hear it in his not-voice, that he forced himself to calm, shared her fury but held it at bay so he might balance out her own. To continue feeding her some measure of control.
Her reaction even to that, though understanding and even grateful, was tinged with irritation. She wanted to lose herself to her anger, or part of her did; felt that it might just be the only way, in the long run, to stay sane.
âI don't know,â she repeatedâmore calmly, if only by a sliver. âI don't know who would, or who could . How they knew about the bolthole, or my connection to Alexandre. And no, I don't have the first idea how we're going to figure it out. But purple, steaming pits, I am going to find them, no matter what itââ
âYou, there! Halt where you are!â
Had the racket she'd made up in the apartment carried? Had someone in the building actually gone for help? Or was their appearance here sheer happenstance? Didn't really matter, she decided. Whatever drew them, here they were: a half-dozen guards, tromping around a distant corner and down the street toward her.
And they were proper guards, this patrol, not private house soldiers as some of the prior squads had been. During most of Shins's life, that wouldn't have been a good thing, but at the moment, it made them a tad more predictable, if nothing else.
Actually, come to think of itâ¦
Shins held her hands to her sides, not a posture of submission or surrender, and not only made no effort to flee into the Davillon night, she actually began walking toward the oncoming guards!
âWe'll let them do some of the work for us,â she responded toOlgun's bewildered squawk. âI doubt they'll find anything, but if they're taking care of all the little details of an investigation, we can focus on more important stuff.â Much louder, she politely announced, âI'm so glad you're here, officers. I need to report a crime.â
âIn this neighborhood? Who doesn't?â They crashed to a halt a few arms-lengths away. Their leader, the absolute spitting image of what a guard âshouldâ beâhis black and silver tabard flawless, his medallion of Demas polished to a shine, his hair and thick mustache meticulously trimmedâadvanced an extra step and touched a finger to the wide brim of his hat in a polite but perfunctory greeting. âKindly identify yourself, mademoiselle?â
âClarice deMonde,â she responded immediately. Not one of her usual or preferred aliases, but it was the false name under which she'd rented this festering roach-trap of a flat. And her preferred alter ego, Madeleine Vallois, wouldn't have been caught dead thinking of a neighborhood like this one, let alone in it.
Granted, any false identity would have been more believable if she wasn't still wearing road-dusted leathers, butâ¦
âAnd what appears to be the trouble, Mademoiselle deMonde?â
âWell, uhâ¦Constableâ¦?â
âLieutenant,â he corrected.
When it became clear that he was not, in fact, going to append a name to that title, Shins continued. âRight. Lieutenant, someone broke into my rooms and leftâ¦â She choked off, very much not part of her act, overwhelmed again for an instant at the thought of Alexandre's desecrated rest.
In that window of opportunity, one of the younger guards called out. âExcuse me, Lieutenant Donais?â
The patrol's
The sky above, the one time she glanced upwardâsearching, perhaps, for guidanceâheld no stars. Just gray on black, a night choking on clouds. The moon, presumably bright and crisp beyondthe overcast, was to her nothing more than a careless thumb-smear of lighter hue against the darkness.
It felt appropriate. The world tonight should be shrouded, shadowed, black as Widdershins's thoughts and intentions.
âI don't know!â she snapped at an almost tentative question from her partner. She knew, could hear it in his not-voice, that he forced himself to calm, shared her fury but held it at bay so he might balance out her own. To continue feeding her some measure of control.
Her reaction even to that, though understanding and even grateful, was tinged with irritation. She wanted to lose herself to her anger, or part of her did; felt that it might just be the only way, in the long run, to stay sane.
âI don't know,â she repeatedâmore calmly, if only by a sliver. âI don't know who would, or who could . How they knew about the bolthole, or my connection to Alexandre. And no, I don't have the first idea how we're going to figure it out. But purple, steaming pits, I am going to find them, no matter what itââ
âYou, there! Halt where you are!â
Had the racket she'd made up in the apartment carried? Had someone in the building actually gone for help? Or was their appearance here sheer happenstance? Didn't really matter, she decided. Whatever drew them, here they were: a half-dozen guards, tromping around a distant corner and down the street toward her.
And they were proper guards, this patrol, not private house soldiers as some of the prior squads had been. During most of Shins's life, that wouldn't have been a good thing, but at the moment, it made them a tad more predictable, if nothing else.
Actually, come to think of itâ¦
Shins held her hands to her sides, not a posture of submission or surrender, and not only made no effort to flee into the Davillon night, she actually began walking toward the oncoming guards!
âWe'll let them do some of the work for us,â she responded toOlgun's bewildered squawk. âI doubt they'll find anything, but if they're taking care of all the little details of an investigation, we can focus on more important stuff.â Much louder, she politely announced, âI'm so glad you're here, officers. I need to report a crime.â
âIn this neighborhood? Who doesn't?â They crashed to a halt a few arms-lengths away. Their leader, the absolute spitting image of what a guard âshouldâ beâhis black and silver tabard flawless, his medallion of Demas polished to a shine, his hair and thick mustache meticulously trimmedâadvanced an extra step and touched a finger to the wide brim of his hat in a polite but perfunctory greeting. âKindly identify yourself, mademoiselle?â
âClarice deMonde,â she responded immediately. Not one of her usual or preferred aliases, but it was the false name under which she'd rented this festering roach-trap of a flat. And her preferred alter ego, Madeleine Vallois, wouldn't have been caught dead thinking of a neighborhood like this one, let alone in it.
Granted, any false identity would have been more believable if she wasn't still wearing road-dusted leathers, butâ¦
âAnd what appears to be the trouble, Mademoiselle deMonde?â
âWell, uhâ¦Constableâ¦?â
âLieutenant,â he corrected.
When it became clear that he was not, in fact, going to append a name to that title, Shins continued. âRight. Lieutenant, someone broke into my rooms and leftâ¦â She choked off, very much not part of her act, overwhelmed again for an instant at the thought of Alexandre's desecrated rest.
In that window of opportunity, one of the younger guards called out. âExcuse me, Lieutenant Donais?â
The patrol's