Light Fantastique (3 page)

“You'll need more than goggles if it destabilizes,” Edward gasped. His lungs felt too big for his chest, and he could barely expand them to breathe in the tight space they inhabited. His heart thumped in time to the aether's undulations, and he again squeezed his hands between his legs to stop their shaking and tingling.

“Edward, what…?” Johann stood and searched for something. The room spun, and Edward barely stayed on his stool. Something covered his nose and mouth, and he breathed into the paper bag his friend held to his face until his lungs shrank back to a reasonable size and he could take more than mere sips of air.

“Do I need to call Radcliffe?” Johann asked.

“No,” Edward said. “I'm all right now. Just don't get close to it. How many times do I have to remind you it's dangerous?”

“And how many times do I have to tell you that it's not going to act like it did in Rome?”

“How do you know? You're not an aetherist. A stray frequency, a rumbling outside… It's not safe to move forward with it.”

Instead of arguing as he usually did, Johann paused and gave Edward a measuring look. “Is that why you're stuck? You're afraid it's going to do something unpredictable?”

“Everything is predictable.”
Like my inevitable descent into madness and Iris's disappointment in me.

“So what is it, then? Madame is getting impatient.”

“Science takes time.” Edward couldn't help a little grin, remembering an argument from another lifetime.

“And money doesn't grow on trees,” Johann replied with an answering smile. “But it has to come from somewhere. We're reaching the ends of our expedition fees from Cobb. I have to join the orchestra for the upcoming performance so Madame doesn't kick us out.”

“Don't worry, no one will recognize you. We haven't seen any clockworks since returning to Paris. The Prussians have scared them away.”

“They're more persistent than you give them credit for.” Now Johann's expression mirrored Edward's doubt.

A flapping noise outside startled them both. A raven sat on the roof between the townhouse attic and theatre and gazed at them with glowing red eyes.

Chapter Three

Rue de Gris, Paris, 1 December 1870

That evening, Marie paused outside Corinne's apartment building. Situated in an older part of Paris, it didn't match the bright, sparkling nature of the actress who lived there.

But how many of us match on the outside what we keep within?

Marie found Corinne in a flurry of packing. She raised her eyebrows at some of the dresses the woman had laid out—silk and satin, which she'd either had since before the siege began or had made from materials flown in by airship during the cover of night—but didn't say anything. She was here to cajole, not antagonize. In any case, they were much more expensive than an actress, even the
premiere femme
of the Théâtre Bohème, should have been able to afford.

Ah, right, she has been seen with the marquis…

“I am not coming back,” Corinne said and flung ribbons, gloves, and stockings into a trunk. “I don't care if the Prussians shoot us down. I am leaving Paris.”

“Is something else going on?” Marie asked. “I've never known you to turn down a part, especially not a lead role.”

Corinne sat on the chaise, and her face crumpled. It wasn't a pretty crying face, so Marie suspected the woman's tears were real this time.

“Today was not the first time I've seen the angel of death.”

“Oh? When else did it appear to you?”

Corinne shook her head so vigorously hairpins clattered to the floor around her. “He has never appeared to me before today. But I have seen him. Yesterday in my dressing room, he was in the mirror beside me, but when I turned, no one was there. And I didn't hear the door open.”

“In your dressing room.” Marie knew that room well. The door squeaked horribly no matter how many times they oiled it, and it opened on to a busy corridor. Even if someone had managed to go in or out quietly, they would have been seen, and a person in a death costume, even if there was one in the current production, would have been remarked upon. Plus there was the irritating issue of the fact the costume had been sold and not replaced for weeks.

“
Si
, and last week, he appeared in the hall where the musicians come and go from the stage.” She lowered her voice. “He came out of one wall and walked straight into another one.”

“Have you been drinking the marquis's brandy again?”

“
Non.
” Corinne stood and put her hands on her hips. “If you have just come to mock me, I will not speak to you. How do I know this wasn't a trick for you to get to play Henriette, and now you are here to gloat?”

“Because I am not interested in taking the stage again.”

“Why not?” Corinne leaned forward, her eyes wide and nostrils flared, a predator on the hunt for gossip. “You keep saying that, but I don't know whether to believe you. You were once Fantastique, the greatest actress in the city.”

Marie didn't care to explain, especially not to someone who wouldn't understand. “I'm just trying to figure out what happened so I can convince you to come back. You'd make a much better Henriette than I. I'm too tall. Poor Gerard will have to wear lifts in his shoes.”

Corinne wrinkled her nose. “Yes, all the tall ones have gone to war. You would think Death would be busy enough at the front without having to bother a poor actress like me.”

Or even a good one.
Marie didn't voice the thought. “So about you returning…”

Corinne stood, all trace of warmth gone from her face. Marie wondered if she'd been taking lessons on expression severity from Lucille.

“You can ask all you want,” Corinne said and placed a slender hand on her not-so-slender throat. “I will never return to the Théâtre Bohème lest Death claim me once and for all.”

“But how do you know it's truly Death?” Marie asked. “It could be someone playing a prank on you.”

“That is a good prank, Mademoiselle St. Jean, if a man can walk through walls.”

Marie bit her lip. She and Lucille knew of the myriad secret passages that riddled the theatre, but they'd agreed to keep them secret. Who else could know? “There are many tricks that can be done with mirrors,” she said.

Corinne's look would have skewered a lesser man or woman. “Mirrors. You are not serious.”

“Yes, I am. Perhaps you only saw the reflection of someone in the hallway.”

“And yet I did not see my own reflection? I do not understand how this could be done. No, it was the specter of Death come to haunt the theatre. Mark my words, Mademoiselle. You will all be doomed, even the delightful Maestro Bledsoe.”

“What does he have to do with—?” Marie stopped when she saw Corinne's lips spread into a smug smirk. “Oh. I didn't know you had a relationship.”

“Some connections do not require the empty promises and doomed commitments of a relationship.” Corinne tossed her yellow curls. “We have an understanding. That is all.”

“What sort of understanding?” Marie hoped jealousy didn't bleed through in her tone.

“One based on mutual interest. Now, this interview is over.” Corinne stood. “Begone with you. The marquis said he would help me leave on tonight's airship, and I have to choose what is most important to pack.”

* * * * *

“What in the blazes is that?” Johann asked. He peeked around the curtain at the raven, which turned its head, its beak slightly open.

“I told you to keep the curtains closed,” Edward grumbled. He'd taunted Johann about his appearance, but the scientist's hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes told Johann he was slipping into a worrisome state. Johann had never seen him this far gone, not even when he was finishing his degree or during the incident that drove him to a life of predictability at the cost of grave limitations.

Johann slid the curtain along the rod, and the demonic bird seemed to fix on the sound. It opened its beak wider, and smoke emerged.

“It breathes fire?” Johann asked.

“No, it is obviously some sort of steam-driven automaton,” Edward said with a look that expressed his low opinion of those who might believe in fire-breathing birds.

“Obviously. Why are we hiding from it?”

Another exasperated glance. “Because you don't know what its makers have instructed it to do in response to certain stimuli.”

The furnace of anxiety that always had active coals flared to life in Johann's gut. “Is it the Clockwork Guild?”

Is this it? My death at the hands, er, beak of a red-eyed fake raven?

“Doubtful. They don't use steam in their works, at least not from what I've been able to ascertain.”

“Then who?”

“If I knew that, I'd know what to do beyond hide from it.”

The bird opened its mouth wider, and Edward squinted at it. Then he pushed his side of the curtain to the center.

“Close yours as well! How could we be so stupid?”

“What do you mean?” Johann complied.

“The light reflected off a lens in the back of the bird's throat. I think it had some sort of camera in it, and it was trying to get a picture of what I've been working on. I hope we shut the curtains before it got a good image.”

“Of your devices or of us,” Johann muttered. “If the Guild gets a good look at my photograph, someone will recognize me.”

Now the only light in the room came from the aether device. With its illumination, Edward's features were softened, and his physical flaws smoothed, and Johann couldn't help but imagine how it would affect theatre productions.

“If you can get the theatre lighting working with this, you will be doing all the actors and especially the actresses a favor.” He recalled seeing Corinne in the light of day come morning. Without her cosmetics, she was not the beauty she appeared on stage, and he wondered just how much she had to put on her face before treading the boards.

“Perhaps, but one never knows.”

“What do you mean?”

Edward shook his head. “Nothing. Go now. I need to continue working on other things. When O'Connell gets back, would you send him up?”

“Right.” Johann found himself in the hallway. He scratched at his beard—damn itchy thing—and tried not to feel piqued. He'd never shown much interest in his friend's experiments before, but he was honestly curious beyond the pressure for the aether lighting system to be working soon. Edward's behavior had been stranger than usual too.

What is going on with everyone, and who is behind the raven? Surely it didn't have enough time for a clear picture of me.

He shook his head, but his anxiety lodged in his brain. Now he would have to pick up his violin or find some other distraction before he'd be able to sleep that night.

The violin it is, then. I've had enough of neurotic people—male and female—for one day.

But part of him hoped Marie would poke her head in on his practicing.

* * * * *

The next day, Marie sat on her bed in her old room at the townhouse and gazed out the window rather than at the script on her lap. Rain fell from the sky, glazed the windows, and slicked the surfaces of the trees and street below. A strange large shadow swooped overhead, but when she craned her neck to see it, it had already gone.

“You're supposed to memorize all that by when?” Iris asked. She sat at the only desk, which she had taken over once starting school. With the addition of a cot for Iris to the room, there wasn't space for another. Marie didn't mind—she learned best when sitting in nontraditional positions, or at least whichever ones her skirts would allow. She much preferred the clothing she'd worn when she trained to be a female guard, but she didn't like the circumstances of her employment, so she supposed this was a fair trade-off.

“The show starts in a week, so I need to have all of it memorized by the end of the weekend.”

“Music and everything?”

“It's no different from you learning all the different sizes and shapes of Greek vases because of what you want to be. I can't imagine learning all that, but your brain soaks it up. Mine does that with lines. Maybe I just want to be someone else.”

Or someone else wants to be me.

She'd never been able to explain it, only that when she was preparing for a role and on stage, she felt possessed by whatever character she played. And when the production ended, she felt like she left part of herself behind.

Iris rubbed her eyes. “I'm exhausted from studying, but I don't know what else to do. Exams are over, but I feel I need to do
something.
” She glanced up, and Marie guessed she thought about Edward, whom they all worried about. He hadn't been down for a meal in days.

“Me too.” The edgy feeling had started earlier that morning, but Marie didn't know how to explain it or where it came from, only that it had been off and on the past few weeks. “I'm going to find a corner in the theatre to look over these.”

Or not look over them without witnesses to scold me for avoiding my work.

Iris stood. “I can leave if you need me to.”

“No, stay here, I'll go. Perhaps you should organize your notes so they'll be ready for you to pick up next term.”

Iris grinned like Marie had just proposed the most brilliant of ideas. “Yes! That's exactly what I'll do. You're a genius.”

Marie left Iris to her organizing, which already looked like an explosion of papers over every surface of the bedroom. She crept down the stairs so no one would accost her. Or maybe she moved slowly so someone would interrupt her on her fool's errand, for she didn't want the part of Henriette.

She emerged into view of the front door just in time to see it close behind Bledsoe, and her errant mind wondered if he was going to see Corinne. Not that he'd find her if she'd managed to make it on to the airship the night before. Marie shook her head. The privateers would have their hands full with that one.

When Marie emerged into the halfhearted light of the cloudy morning, she reflexively stilled to listen for the bass sound of cannon or engines. Of course the airship had long since sailed, but she and other Parisians always paused to see and hear if there was smoke on the horizon or other signs the Prussians had engaged the French troops, if they would invade or finally be turned back to slink heads-down to their homeland. Everyone knew something would have to happen one way or the other soon with winter coming on and supplies in the city running low. Meanwhile, they pretended life went on as usual, just with fewer imported luxuries to be had.

In fact, the city had an air of forced gaiety—look, the people seemed to say, we're not letting your silly invasion dampen our spirit. It made for irrational behavior, but it also helped fill theatre seats, even if tickets were half the prices they used to be with the economy of the city half shut-down. Still, with most of the theatres having been converted to hospitals, the Bohème drew good crowds since they were one of the few still running.

A fine mist clung to Marie's hair and clothing, and a chill breeze made her quicken her steps. She went in a side door just beyond the portico leading to where noble theatre goers left their drivers and carriages. Or if they were nice, just their carriages. Marie tried not to think about how she sneaked out that door and was bundled into a carriage by her former patron. Those memories carried too much regret, both for her and her mother.

See,
Maman
? This is why I cannot take the stage again.

She knew no one would be in Corinne's former dressing room and turned in that direction, but then she stopped. That was the star's dressing room, the one her mother wanted her to take. Was she doing it again, responding without intention to a role that had been thrust upon her? She closed her eyes, and the litany she had come up with long ago materialized in her brain and whirled around like a little aether cloud. She clung to its light, which pierced the haze of her anxious thoughts.