“It will run itself down,” Boursin said. “It will be lean and stringy — if the banquet isn’t perfect, I’ll kill myself!”
“Leap, sea monster!” Lorraine shouted.
Sherzad flicked her tails, splashing water over Lorraine’s polished boots. She dove and disappeared.
“It had better not bruise its flesh,” Boursin said.
“Go away,” Lorraine said to Boursin. “It may bruise itself all it wants, but it had better not climb out.”
“She has nowhere to go,” Marie-Josèphe said. “She cannot walk, she can only swim.”
Marie-Josèphe leaned over the canal, searching for Sherzad. M. Boursin searched with her, but an angry glare from Lorraine sent him backing away.
“Midnight,” he said. “At midnight you must be here to deliver the creature to me.”
“Not till after midnight.”
“At one minute past!”
Boursin clambered on board the wagon with the workmen and the slings and nets and staves. He drove away, leaving Marie-Josèphe alone with Lorraine.
“Does it comfort you?” Lorraine asked, smiling his charming smile. “Are you grateful for this one last taste of freedom for your pet?”
Marie-Josèphe snatched her hand furiously from his touch.
“You’re beneath contempt! My friend is in deadly peril, and you — you —”
He laughed, nonchalant in the face of her fury. “You shouldn’t provoke me, mademoiselle. Someday you might find me your only ally.”
He swung up on his horse and cantered away. The surface of the Grand Canal lay flat and still.
oOo
Sherzad luxuriated in the flow of clean cold water, in the space around her. She did not even mind the tastelessness of fresh water, after so many days of living in filth. She hummed and whistled, listening to the shape of her surroundings, all long sharp edges and regular curves, nothing growing but bits of algae and the broken stems of water plants struggling to reach the surface before being slashed away or uprooted. The keels of small boats projected through the surface into Sherzad’s domain.
She swam into the faint confused current, looking for the underwater river.
oOo
Zachi whickered softly.
Zelis galloped toward Marie-Josèphe. The mare stopped, hooves scattering gravel; Count Lucien slid from her back. When he hurried, as now, he was awkward. No wonder he preferred to ride, no wonder he did not dance, at the court of the Sun King, that prized grace so highly.
“Mlle de la Croix.” He showed her a tiny silver message capsule. “From the carrier pigeons.”
“They’ve found the treasure ship — ?”
“The location. The ship — not yet.”
“Don’t tell Sherzad,” Marie-Josèphe said.
“Very well.”
Sherzad whispered to her.
“Why is she out of her cage?”
“His Majesty — Lorraine said, His Majesty ordered her to the Grand Canal so she could leap for his guests.”
Count Lucien said nothing. Marie-Josèphe said nothing. Count Lucien walked away, no longer hurrying, leaning, Marie-Josèphe thought, more heavily than usual on his sword cane. She wanted to call him back, she wanted to reassure him: His Majesty had conceived a whim, and Lorraine happened to be nearby to carry it out.
Whatever she wished, it was not her place to claim such intimacy with Count Lucien. She had already declined his terms.
She knelt on the bank and adopted a cheerful demeanor. When Sherzad surfaced before her, Marie-Josèphe bent to kiss her forehead.
Sherzad’s skin felt strange, cooler and rougher than normal. One of her claws was broken, and an ugly ulcer disfigured the curve of her shoulder. Her hair was tangled and dull, but her eyes gleamed wild.
“Dear Sherzad, what happened, what’s wrong?”
In Sherzad’s song, the sea woman fought her way past the iron gratings and out of the canal, swam along an underwater stream, and gained her freedom in the sea.
“Oh, my sweet, did you believe the Grand Canal is a river? It isn’t, it only connects to the aqueduct. Don’t despair. The ship will find the treasure. His Majesty will keep his promise.” Marie-Josèphe touched the inflamed skin around the ulcer. “How did this happen?”
Sherzad flinched and snarled, complaining of the filth in the fountain.
“Count Lucien — !” She hoped to stop him before he rode away. But he had not mounted Zelis. The two horses, unbridled, cropped the manicured grass beside the Queen’s Boulevard. Count Lucien came away from the horses, carrying saddlebags and a rolled-up rug.
“May Sherzad beg the use of your salve?” Marie-Josèphe asked. “She’s hurt herself.”
Sherzad’s snarl refused Sieur de Baatz’ salve.
“It saved my life! No, now, don’t lick the wound, you’ll only make it worse.”
“I have none,” Lucien said. “I’ve sent to Brittany, to my father, for more.” He unrolled the red Persian rug onto the grass. “Sea woman, may I look at your injury?”
Sherzad slipped from Marie-Josèphe’s grasp and hovered just out of reach.