smelled brimsto ne!”
said the taller muskete er.
“W
ho’s guardin g the sea monster ?”
The y
looked at each other.
Yve s made a sound of disgust, slamme d his door behind him, and strode down the hallway with the muskete ers in his wake.
“Ml le Marie —”
Marie-Jo sèphe waved Odelette to silence.
She hung back so Yves would not order her to stay behind.
When the men disappe ared, she followe d.
She hurried down the back stairs and through the mysteri ous and deserted and dark chateau.
Gentlem en of His Majesty’
s
househo ld had already claimed the
partially
burned
candles,
a
perquisi
te of
their
office.
Her
hands
outstretc
hed, she
made
her way
through
Louis
XIII’s
small
hunting
lodge,
the heart
of Louis
XIV’s
magnific
ent,
sprawli
ng
chateau.
Hu
gging
Lorraine
’s cloak
around
her, she
hurried
onto the
terrace.
The
moon
had set
but the
stars
shed a
little
light.
The
luminari
as
marking
the
King’s
pathway
had
burned
to
nothing.
The
fountain
s lay
quiet.
Marie-Jo
sèphe
ran
across
the cold
dew-da
mp
flagston
es, past
the
Orname
ntal
Pools,
and
down
the
stairs
above
the
Fountai
n of
Latona.
Beyond,
on the
Green
Carpet,
the
muskete
ers’
torch
spread a
pool of
smoky
light.
Mot
ion and
a
strange
shape in
the
corner
of her
eye
startled
her. She
stopped
short,
catching
her
breath.
The
white
blossom
s of an
orange
tree
tremble
d and
glowed
in the
darknes
s.
Gardene
rs,
draggin
g the
orange-t
ree cart,
slipped
from the
traces to
bow to
Marie-Jo
sèphe.
She
acknowl
edged
the
gardene
rs,
thinking
, of
course
they
must
work at
night;
His
Majesty
should
see his
gardens
only in a
state of
perfecti
on.
The
y took
up the
cart
again;
its
wheels
crunche
d on the
gravel.
When
His
Majesty
took his
afternoo
n walk,
fresh
trees,
their
blossom
s forced
in the
greenho
use,
would
greet
him. His
Majesty’
s gaze
would
touch
only
beauty.
Mar
ie-Josèp
he
hurried
to the
sea
monster’
s tent.
The
lantern
inside
had
gone
out; the
torch
outside
illumina
ted only
the
entry
curtain
and its
gold
sunburs
t.
“Sa
y a
prayer
before
you go
in!” said
the
muskete
er
corporal
.
“An
incantati
on!”
“He
means
an
exorcis
m.”
“Th
ere isn’t
any
demon,”
Yves
said.
“W
e heard
it.”
“Fla
pping
its
wings.”
“Wi
ngs like
leather.”
Yve
s
grabbed
the
torch,
flung
aside
the
curtain,
and
strode
into the
tent.
Out of
breath
from
running,
Marie-Jo
sèphe
slipped
past the
muskete
ers and
followe
d her
brother.
The
tent
looked
as they
had left
it, the
equipm
ent all in
place,
melted
ice
drippin
g softly
to the
plank
floor,
the cage
surroun
ding the
fountain
. The
odor of
dead
fish and
preservi
ng
spirits
hung in
the air.
Marie-Jo
sèphe
suppose
d the
guards
might
have
mistake
n the
unpleas
ant
smells
for
brimsto
ne.
She
believed
in
demons
— she
believed
in God,
and in
angels,
so how
could
she not
believe
in Satan
and
demons
? — but
she
thought,
in these
modern
days,
demons
did not
often
choose
to visit
the
earthly
world.
Even if
they
did,
why
should a
demon
visit a
sea
monster,
any
more
than it
would
visit His
Majesty’
s
elephant
or His
Majesty’
s
baboons
?
Mar
ie-Josèp
he
giggled,
thinking
of a
demon
on a
picnic in
His
Majesty’
s
Menage
rie.
Her
laughter
brought
her to
Yves’
attentio
n.
“W
hat are
you
laughin
g at?” he
said.
“You
should
be in
bed.”
“I
wish I
were,”
Marie-Jo
sèphe
said.
“Su
perstitio
us
fools,”
Yves
muttere
d.
“Demon
s,
indeed.”
The
torchlig
ht
reflected
from a
splash
of water
on the
polishe
d
planks.
“Yv
es —”
A
watery
trail led
from the
fountain
to the
cluster
of lab
equipm
ent. The
gate of
the cage
hung
open.
Yve
s cursed
and
hurried
to the
dissecti
on table.
Marie-Jo
sèphe
ran into