The Conjurer's Riddle

  Charlotte bristled at Linnet’s condescending manner. “You don’t trust me with him. Is that it?”

  “I trust you. Coe, on the other hand . . . ,” Linnet replied. “It’s not that I think he would intentionally hurt you.”

  “What is it, then?” Charlotte asked, hoping her animosity wasn’t obvious, though she couldn’t understand Linnet’s hostility toward Coe.

  Flopping back onto Charlotte’s bed, Linnet sighed again, but this time the sound was one of frustration, not impatience.

  “To be honest, Charlotte, sometimes I wonder if it’s anything at all.”

  Charlotte lay down beside Linnet. “I don’t understand.”

  Linnet glanced at her. “When I’m at my worst I’m afraid it’s jealousy.”

  “Jealousy?” Charlotte turned on her side so she could look at her friend. “Of what?”

  “Both of my brothers want you,” Linnet replied. She stared at the ceiling. “I know they’ll fight over you, for you.”

  Charlotte didn’t know what to say, but Linnet laughed to herself bitterly. “I’m their sister and neither of them cared enough to compete for my affection.” She laughed again. “Don’t take that the wrong way. I don’t mean anything like what they’re fighting for when it comes to you.”

  “I don’t really know that they’re fighting over me,” Charlotte said. “Jack isn’t even here.”

  She pretended not to feel the sharp pinch in her chest when she spoke of Jack, further muddling her sensibilities toward Coe.

  Linnet smiled, but no joy infused her words. “You can tell yourself whatever you need to, kitten. But I’ll bet my next payment from Ott that we’ll be tearing the Winter brothers apart because of you before the year is out.”

  “I don’t want that,” Charlotte said softly.

  “I know you don’t.” Linnet took her hand. “And that’s why I keep getting in your way.”

  Whatever pettiness had dug its claws into Charlotte’s heart couldn’t withstand the strength of affection she held for Linnet.

  “I hope you always will,” Charlotte said to her. “Though I’ve never thought of it as getting in my way, so much as keeping me on the right path.”

  Linnet laughed. “Athene spare you that you should trust me so much.”

  Charlotte rested her head on Linnet’s shoulder. Linnet folded her arms around Charlotte.

  And fear could not touch them.

  WITH THE NIGHT of the party drifting further and further into the past, doubts began to pepper Charlotte’s recollection of what had transpired. Not only did her memories feel unreliable, but she also questioned how lingering the poison’s effect might have been. She told herself that the nagging uncertainty about her soundness of body and mind was an offshoot of her need to be as helpful as possible to the investigation Lord Ott had underway. Should she offer false leads or imagined clues, Charlotte might delay or misdirect all attempts to apprehend her assailant.

  But all the rational explanations with which Charlotte girded herself couldn’t fully obscure what she believed to be a shameful truth. All of her misgivings and hesitation about closely examining that night had to do with Coe. Linnet’s pointed words about the Winter brothers made it impossible for her to let herself be swept up in fanciful daydreams about a romance with Coe. There was no simple love story to be enjoyed.

  I told Jack I love him.

  Charlotte might still feel pangs over Jack’s deceit. She might be justified in questioning whether the attachment they had to one another was simply another fabrication, an artifice that aided Jack’s mission in the Catacombs. But Charlotte could not take back her words. And she could not pretend she hadn’t meant them.

  Under the influence of whatever toxins had been in her drink, Charlotte had sought Coe’s touch, his embrace. The response his body stirred deep within her might have been enhanced by the altering substance in her blood, but the sensations themselves were not a fiction. Charlotte had come to accept that her desire for Coe was real and weighty enough to give serious consideration, but she couldn’t disentangle her feelings for him from those she still had for Jack.

  Was her attraction to Coe only derivative of the original passion she felt for Jack?

  Or was her attachment to Jack simply a glimmer of what she might eventually have with Coe?

  Any which way Charlotte considered her predicament, she could find no resolution.

  So she made the choice to act in the only way she thought reasonable until she solved the puzzle of her heart: she would avoid being alone with Coe. Or with Jack—if and when she crossed paths with him again. Unpleasant as that choice would be, Charlotte much preferred it to a dance of ever-changing partners where she didn’t know in whose arms she wished to end up.

  Enacting her new strategy proved easy enough. After Charlotte’s run-in with a poisoner, her friends became increasingly vigilant. Lord Ott insisted that she stay abed another full day and never be without a companion. Charlotte enlisted Linnet’s aid so that whenever Coe arrived to serve as Charlotte’s companion, Linnet turned up as well. Though Linnet was polite enough not to mention it, Charlotte had no doubts that her friend more than approved of Charlotte’s arrangement. Coe, however, being denied time alone with Charlotte, chafed at Linnet’s presence and soon gave himself over to leveling stony glares at his sister. Linnet had no trouble ignoring his silent complaints.

  Lord Ott himself turned up to reintroduce Charlotte to the world outside her cabin and to present an entirely new vista for her admiration. Charlotte stood arm in arm with Ott at the Calypso’s bow, waiting for their destination to appear.

  Linnet strolled up to them. “Kitten’s finally out of her cage, I see.”

  “My cabin was hardly a cage,” Charlotte said, patting Lord Ott’s arm. “I do appreciate the beautiful room. Few patients enjoy such comforts while their bodies mend.”

  “So this is what it’s like to have a charming young lady around,” Ott said to Charlotte, but his grin was for Linnet.

  “If you like that sort of thing.” Linnet shrugged.

  Letting Linnet’s comment slide, Lord Ott said to Charlotte, “It pains me to say it after your gracious words, but I’m afraid I can’t afford you the same quality of accommodation in New Orleans you enjoyed on the Calypso. For appearance's sake I’ll be staying at the Belle Fleur, which is in the Salon district.”

  Charlotte had no idea what that meant.

  As if expecting an objection, Ott raised his hands in defense. “It’s not an issue of coin, I assure you. But the eyes of New Orleans are always upon the occupants of its finest inns. You need to escape notice.”

  “He means that you’re staying on the dodgy side of the city,” Linnet said.

  “Hardly,” Ott snorted. “Le Poisson Noir is modest. Not dodgy.”

  “Delude yourself if you will, old man.” Linnet grinned at him. “I’ve seen some questionable deals made in the Black Fish—I’ve made some of them myself.”

  “Perhaps you’re bringing in the criminal element,” Ott prodded.

  “Of course I am,” Linnet quipped. “That’s what you pay me to do.”

  Looking a bit injured, Ott said, “It’s not as though I’ve put them in the Quay.”

  “That’s like saying, ‘At least I didn’t give them mud pie’ when you’ve fed them moldy bread,” Linnet replied.

  “Careful, darling.” Ott’s thick mustache began to twitch. “I could just as easily banish you from the Belle Fleur.”

  With fluttering laughter, Linnet replied, “You know I’d just talk my way into one of their finest suites.”

  Exasperated, Lord Ott adopted a mournful tone. “Must you torment your benefactor so?”

  “You’d lose all respect for me if I didn’t, you old bandit.” Linnet rose to her tiptoes and kissed him on the nose. Then she turned to Charlotte. “All jibes aside, don??
?t go into the Quay without me or someone from the Resistance.”

  “What’s so terrible about the Quay?” Charlotte asked. She didn’t like the implication that she wouldn’t be able to defend herself against any brigand who dared attack her.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t describe it as terrible,” Linnet replied. “As far as appearances go, the Quay looks friendly enough. But once you’re inside you’ll find it very difficult to leave with your coin, or your life.”

  Charlotte suspected Linnet exaggerated the dangers of the Quay, at least in part. “What if I accidentally wander into the Quay?”

  “You can’t wander into the Quay,” Linnet told her. “You have to descend into it.”

  “I’m sorry?” Charlotte frowned at her.

  Lord Ott lifted his chin toward the steamboat’s prow. “You’ll find out what she means soon enough. There lies the Iron Wall.”

  In the Catacombs, Charlotte hadn’t been inclined to imagine what New Orleans was like. Though the French city had long played an exceptional role in the survival of the Resistance, Charlotte’s life had been too filled with work and responsibilities to squander time wondering about far-off places she might never see. Even now she thought she could recall only one or two occasions where the grandeur and might of the city’s river gates had come up in conversation, but those memories were hazy at best, and most definitely unreliable.

  Therefore, when the immense structure that was the New Orleans Iron Wall came into sight as the Calypso rounded a bend in the Mississippi, Charlotte gasped.

  A great iron wall spanned the river, its black hulk stretching into the sky and completely hiding the city it protected. The only break in the wall was an immense portcullis. At this hour the portcullis was raised, sharp points at the bottom of the metal lattice giving the impression of a gaping maw.

  “Lest their Imperial rivals forget the French still wield power on this continent,” Lord Ott said, smiling at Charlotte’s awestruck expression.

  Embarrassed, Charlotte quickly shut her mouth and nodded. Nonetheless, she couldn’t take her eyes off the gates, which grew impossibly larger as the steamboat approached.

  Linnet scrunched up her face in disapproval of the gates. “Don’t worry. The city is much nicer on the inside.”

  “Since the American rebellion was quashed, the French have poured resources into the defense of this city,” Ott told Charlotte. “It’s been built to withstand a long siege and to repel any would-be conquerors. New Orleans can be accessed only by waterways. There are no airship docks here, not that the lack will prevent an airborne assault.”

  “Yes, yes,” Linnet gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “The show of brute force is well and good, but the rules once you’re in the city proper are quite brilliant.”

  “Rules?” Charlotte had hoped to avoid the social strictures that prevailed in New York.

  “It was an interesting choice the French made, to be sure.” Ott scratched his beard as he mused. “Utterly changes the dynamics of city life.”

  “You love it,” Linnet said with a snicker. “It’s the most interesting place to play the game.”

  “Mmmmm . . .” A smile played at the corners of Lord Ott’s mouth, his thoughts drifting to another time and place.

  “What are you talking about?” Charlotte had lost patience with this strange turn in the conversation.

  Ott snapped out of his wistful reverie, but his eyes were full of mischief when he answered her. “New Orleans has another name. The City of Masks.”

  Charlotte swallowed a groan. Her most recent association with masks was the man who’d handed her a poisoned drink. She wasn’t eager to have another encounter of that sort.

  Reading Charlotte’s pained expression, Linnet said, “Don’t fret. I know you’ll find it fascinating. A bit silly, but still fascinating.”

  “Since I’m going to be fascinated, you should tell me exactly what I’m to be fascinated by,” Charlotte said with a grimace.

  Linnet glanced at Lord Ott. “Your charming girl has gotten a bit peevish.”

  “No one’s perfect.” Lord Ott winked at Charlotte.

  “Except me,” Linnet sniffed. “I’m quite perfect.”

  “Careful, Linnet,” Ott said. “You know what happens to braggarts whose boasts reach the ears of the gods.”

  “It’s not bragging if it’s true.”

  Ott made a sound that was both sigh and laugh.

  “Masks.” Charlotte withdrew her arm from Lord Ott’s so she could poke Linnet. “Tell me about the masks.”

  “Poking someone isn’t just peevish, it’s rude.” Linnet rubbed the spot on her arm that Charlotte had jabbed with her index finger.

  When Charlotte offered her a bland smile, Linnet relented. “New Orleans belongs to France, but it’s hardly a French city. It’s an asset, one of the most valuable assets on this continent, and everyone wants to exploit that to their own advantage.”

  “You mean through trade?” Charlotte asked.

  “There are many kinds of trade,” Lord Ott replied. “Commerce, of course, plays a vital role in the city, as it stands between the interior and the southern coast, but many of the merchants who come to New Orleans are in search of something other than coin or wares.”

  The twinkle of anticipation in Ott’s eyes prompted Charlotte to say, “Information. They come to trade in intelligence. Like you.”

  Ott’s face fell. “I suppose—”

  “He doesn’t like to think anyone else is like him,” Linnet broke in. “Just humor him.”

  “Since you’re so fond of offering comment—” Lord Ott drew out a pocket watch and checked the time. “I’ll leave Charlotte’s introduction to the city with you. We’ll be docking soon and I should speak with the pilot.”

  When Lord Ott had gone, Charlotte asked Linnet, “I didn’t really offend him, did I?”

  “Of course not.” Linnet took a pistol from its holster and a kerchief from her pocket. “He loves attention, is all. Should’ve been an actor.”

  She began to polish the gun’s mother-of-pearl grip. “All fun aside, it is important that you understand the way New Orleans operates.”

  “I’m listening,” Charlotte said.

  “The French don’t openly support the American rebellion,” Linnet said. “But it’s no secret that the Resistance’s base of operations is New Orleans. The only reason the Empire hasn’t laid siege to the city is that they aren’t yet ready to declare all-out war on France. But it won’t be that way forever.”

  “And that has something to do with masks?” Charlotte leaned out over the deck railing, watching as the Iron Wall grew impossibly taller. In a few moments the Calypso would pass into its long shadow.

  Linnet holstered her gun and drew another, to set about polishing its ebony grip. “It has more to do with irking the British than with brilliant political strategizing.”

  Charlotte nodded, listening but keeping her eyes on the wall. They were close enough that she had to tip her head up to see the battlements running along the top of it.

  “The British knew their victory was due in large part to France’s refusal to enter the fray,” Linnet continued. “Not wanting to antagonize their oldest enemy, the Empire decided against pursuing rebels who were granted sanctuary by the French. But that didn’t mean they lost interest in what happened to the revolution’s ringleaders. When France fell into the storm of its own revolution, the American rebels there went into even deeper hiding and lost contact with their peers across the Atlantic. The Resistance formed and began its steady, if rather ineffectual, attacks on the Empire. After Napoleon took New Orleans from the Spanish, the connection between France and the Resistance was reestablished, which raised a fair amount of alarm in Britannia. They couldn’t send troops to capture Resistance leaders without sparking a war in America, and they were already embroiled in one in Europe. N
ew Orleans, then, became the heart of British covert operations, and within a year it was overwhelmed by the chaos of intrigue, assassinations, and subterfuge.”

  Managing to tear her attention from the fortifications, Charlotte said, “I thought it still was.”

  “It is,” Linnet said. “But not in the bedlam manner it once was. The masks reined in chaos by making New Orleans a center of bizarre spectacle, drawing visitors who had no interest in Imperial conflict, just entertainment.”

  “You’re not making sense,” Charlotte said.

  “That’s because it’s such an unlikely solution.” Linnet smiled at her. “And it was completely happenstance. Only the French could have decided to make it a fixture of the city.”

  Charlotte turned her back to the wall, its mass finally too intimidating to stare down.

  “Le droit des masques took effect in 1803,” Linnet said. “When control of New Orleans transferred from Spain back to France. The crown-appointed French governor, an eccentric fellow by the name of Guy de Rohan-Rohan, despite the gift of noble blood bore a birthmark that by rumor gave him the appearance of an octopus latched onto his face.”

  Charlotte scoffed in disbelief, but Linnet only grinned at her.

  “Unwilling to show his face, Rohan-Rohan never appeared in public without an elaborate mask. When he assumed rule of New Orleans, his first decree was to establish a law that requires every man, woman, and child in the city to hide their face while in public. The masks, of course, brought widespread attention to New Orleans, and visitors began to descend on the city in unprecedented numbers; when the tourists brought their wealth, merchants followed in droves. New Orleans was transformed into an oasis of rare entertainment and unmatched spectacle. All of these changes tempered the level of political machinations that had overshadowed all other enterprises of the city.”

  “That’s just . . . strange.” Charlotte still didn’t like the wall, but Linnet’s description had piqued her interest.

  “It’s very strange,” Linnet said. “And that’s why you should go explain it all to your friends before they get off the ship.”