Light Fantastique (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Louvre, 4 December 1870

Iris snatched her hand back from the manuscript, and her mind tripped over possible explanations for what she was doing. Monsieur Firmin's expression had never held warmth, but now he studied her with feral curiosity like she was an exotic object worthy of study.

“How long have you been there?” she asked and recognized how guilty the question made her sound.

“Long enough. I've only seen one other person approach objects like you do. I watched you yesterday with the potsherds. You have talent and a good understanding of how to categorize them. You approached the examination and sorting with excellent logic, but you were particularly fascinating when you got stuck.”

Iris clasped her hands in front of her and willed her expression to stay neutral. “I didn't see you watching me, Monsieur.” She kept her gaze on him but attended to the path to the door in her peripheral vision.

“There is a storeroom on the second floor with a window that opens on to the gallery you were in. I would be a poor professor if I did not keep an eye on my students, wouldn't I?”

He moved to block the door, and she knew she couldn't get out from behind the desk and make it to the door before he did.

“Tell me what the manuscript told you, Mademoiselle.”

“What are you going to do to me?”

Firmin held his hands in front of him, palms up. “I am unarmed, as you can see. I only require your assistance with some objects that have been giving me particular trouble.”

There was something in his demeanor she didn't trust, and she recalled their previous conversation about female archaeologists. Now his words took on a different meaning—had the desire to get away from Firmin driven the women into the arms of other men?

“You will merely be ensuring you obtain your degree. Credit will go to the school, as it should.”

“You mean it will go to you.”

“You are a student still, Mademoiselle. There will be time for you to get credit for your discoveries later, provided you can demonstrate you made them.” His smile held a sordid glee.

“And how would I do that?” Iris saw her future spooling out. She knew he would come up with some way to keep her under his influence so he could continue to use her unique talent for his own benefit.

“Well, you do need access to sites and materials. I have a wide network of colleagues who could help you.”

“Or hinder me.”

He shrugged and gestured to the manuscript. “The choice is yours, starting with now. What did the manuscript tell you? I have been poring over the numbers, and they simply do not make sense for what it supposedly is.”

“It was stolen from a burning temple. I didn't get much further other than to see how it was lost.”

“But what do the numbers mean?” He leaned over the desk and towered over her.

“I can't say.”

“Can't or won't?”

Iris pressed her lips together.

“If you do not cooperate, Mademoiselle, I cannot guarantee your being able to continue the program.”

Whereas Iris was sure he exaggerated his influence previously, now she knew he made a real threat. Plus she needed access to it to get the information to Edward.

“I will tell you if you will translate it for me,” she said.

“Very well.”

“It's apparently some sort of esoteric formula for a fire that will not burn out.”

“Apollo's flame,” he said. “Supposedly derived from a certain mythical element the Pythagoreans believed in. The manuscript was discovered in Alexandria, but we suspect it originated in the temple of Apollo Smintheus.”

Iris saw herself and Firmin engaged in an interesting dance and reminded herself that he didn't know they'd found the Eros Element or were experimenting with it.

“What is it?” she asked. “Or them.”

Now he snapped into lecture mode. “The Eros Element is a mythical power source, and Apollo's Flame is its expression. These numbers might hide the notations a scientist of old made when doing his or her experiments. They would have been illegal in that region at that time. But I cannot translate them for you, Mademoiselle, for I lack the key to whatever the code is.”

“Oh.” Iris couldn't hide her disappointment.

“I'm going to do something I rarely do. Since we are in a siege situation and the museum may be looted in spite of my best efforts, I am going to allow you to take the manuscript with you so you can practice the translation. Perhaps your young mind can decipher what mine is missing.”

“Oh!”

He stood behind the desk, gently picked up one end of the scroll, rolled it up and placed it in a leather satchel, which he handed to her along with a book he plucked from the shelf. She slung the strap over one shoulder and clutched the book to her chest.

“I don't have to tell you to be extremely careful with this.”

“I will,” she said, hardly daring to breathe as though any unnecessary motion would cause the manuscript to crumble.

“Now go and find somewhere safe. I will stay here at the museum and do my best to guard its treasures.”

A chill crawled along Iris's spine. “Is the fighting that bad, then?”

“Not yet, but the situation is volatile in the city. I'll send you home in the museum's carriage.”

“Thank you.” Iris moved toward the door.

“Oh, and Mademoiselle?”

“Yes?”

“If you're right about what the manuscript contains, it could be a great boon for science and for France, perhaps even lead to a weapon that will end this siege. Remember this is where you had the opportunity to hone your archaeological skills, not England.”

Iris nodded and forced her lips to lift in what she hoped was a convincing smile. She felt like a favored pet, not a respected scientist, and she knew whatever she discovered would help make Firmin's career, not hers. Still, she would play along to help Edward with his quest. He didn't have any such demand for divided loyalty.

No, sadly science is his first love, above Mother England or me. I will not be jealous of it. But what will this mean for England? I don't trust that the French government, whether it's the emperor or someone else, won't turn this against my own country and people.

She exited the museum with a heavy heart because she knew she'd never be able to return.

* * * * *

Marie followed Lucille to her office in the townhouse, which had once been the main housekeeper's before Lucille had decided all she needed was a maid and cook, and she could just as easily keep an eye on two people herself. Lucille sat behind the large desk and motioned for Marie to sit in one of the chairs in front of it. She looked around. As per usual, everything was in meticulous order.

If only life could be ordered like one's office. God knows I've tried.

“It has come to my attention that you've been using some sort of substance to smother your talent,” Lucille said and fixed Marie with her black gaze.

Marie raised her eyebrows, neither confirming the accusation nor lying about it.
She's talking to me like a manager, not like a mother.

“I should have put the signs together sooner, but I was preoccupied with the different challenges inherent in this upcoming performance, particularly at this time.”

Marie allowed a snort to escape. “The city could be under attack and you're worried about how I'm managing my acting ability? Aren't there more important things to worry about, like the store of arms in the church next door that could blow us all to bits if the wrong people get hold of it?”

Lucille narrowed her eyes. “This is a matter of equal gravity. Do you know what will happen if you smother your talent, kill it completely?”

Is that possible?
She found herself simultaneously horrified and thrilled at the thought.

“I know what will happen if I don't.” The memory of Bledsoe's kiss pushed its way into her mind, distracting her. Had he kissed her or the idealized woman? She hadn't felt like she played a role, and she had had a dose of whatever was in the ghost's smoke that morning. Could he have kissed her, Marie, and not who he thought she was?

Her mother's words pulled her back to the matter at hand.

“You are afraid you lose part of yourself with every role. You fear you will never discover who you truly are.”

When faced with a direct question, Marie had to tell the truth. Plus this was no time for lies, not with the possibility that this could be their last conversation. “Yes, precisely.”

“Has it ever occurred to you,
cherie
, that this problem does not come from your talent, but from some other issue deep inside you?”

This time Marie didn't have an answer, either stated or thought. After a minute, she asked, “Are you saying there's something seriously wrong with me?”

“
Non
, I am saying that the answers you seek are not so far from you, and running away will only make it harder to find them, as will trying to deny something that is an integral part of you.”

Marie leaned forward. “Then tell me how to control it, how to keep the roles from taking over.”

Lucille took one of her hands. “It is something you can only find out for yourself, for it is different for everyone. But you must be careful of those who offer you easy answers. You will find that there is no such thing as easy, and the price is too great.”

“You speak in riddles.” Marie slumped back. “Answer me one question, then. Who is the man in the metal mask who lurks behind the mirror in my dressing room?”

Lucille's face went from olive to ashen. “I was afraid he had returned, but I hoped I was wrong.”

“That's not an answer.” But the expression on Lucille's face and her coloring made Marie think to when the last time she'd seen Doctor Radcliffe was and how quickly she could fetch him if her mother was to collapse.

“He once offered me an easy solution to a very difficult problem, and I was fool enough to take it. I don't know exactly who he is, but he is likely trying to harm you to get to me. You need to not have anything more to do with him, Marie.”

“Tell me how to get to the passage behind the dressing room, then. Let me discover where his lair is and flush him out.”

“I will take care of him.” Lucille stood. “I forbid you to have anything to do with him. Focus on Maestro Bledsoe—he is accustomed to being one thing and acting another. Ask how he manages it.”

A knock on the door forestalled anything else she was going to say. A little boy with wide eyes and curly dark hair handed her a note. He looked familiar.

“I told him never to contact me here,” Lucille murmured.

“He said it's important, Madame.”

Lucille dashed out of the office, leaving Marie sitting bewildered in her chair. So her suspicions were correct—Lucille did know the theatre spirit. But how? Was he helping Marie so he could get at Lucille?

Dammit, why are there always more questions than answers?
And what did she mean about Maestro Bledsoe?

The identity of the boy struck her—she'd seen him in Zokar's cave.
With the questions whirring around in her head like clockwork butterflies, Marie rushed into the corridor, but the child and Lucille had disappeared.

* * * * *

When Chadwick locked up his clinic to return to the townhouse for lunch, he noticed the streets were strangely quiet and looked up at the sky, where he saw the vapor trail of an airship overhead. It was of course too high up to see if it had any identifying colors or markings to say whether it was French or Prussian, but it did point his gaze to a plume of smoke on the horizon to the east.

That explains why no one has come in today.
He'd risen early and slipped away while it was still dark, preferring to worship at the altar of science than that of a god who had taken everything from him. Although it shocked a lot of his clientele, he was open on Sunday to accommodate those who had to work the other six days.

He arrived back at the townhouse in time to see Iris McTavish alight from a carriage. She had a satchel at her hip, its strap across her chest, and clutched a textbook to her chest. She, too, glanced up at the sky and squinted, then caught sight of him when she looked straight.

“Ah, Doctor Radcliffe, a word?”

He nodded but didn't say anything. Something about her reminded him of Claire, and it caught him off-guard in moments like these, rendering him speechless and breathless with grief until he could recover control over himself. He hadn't been able to put a finger on what, precisely, about her made him react like this. Perhaps it was her curiosity mixed with kindness and passion to make the world a better place. That was where the resemblance ended, and he thankfully wasn't attracted to Iris like he'd been to Claire. One shattered heart was enough for a lifetime.

He'd heard Claire was studying analysis in Austria after having been treated in Vienna, but he didn't know when or if she would be mentally whole enough to see him.

Iris didn't seem to notice his reticence. “I was wondering if I could borrow your knowledge of ancient languages,” she said. “Monsieur Firmin has perhaps given me the next piece to our puzzle as to how to harness the power of the E.E.”

She grinned like a proud student, but a shadow flickered through her dark blue eyes.

“And what kind of pressure did he put on you?” Chadwick forced himself to keep his demeanor relaxed in spite of the protective urge she prompted.

“You're a reasonable man, so I can say this to you.” She paused before ascending the front steps. “He hopes it will end up being a weapon to help the French against the Prussians, but I doubt they will stop there.”

Now the twist of panic in Chadwick's gut was for a different reason. “And they could pass it along to the Confederates, giving them the advantage in the war in the States.”