The Left Hand of Justice (21 page)

Corbeau blinked. “The fire-starter.”

“That’s right.” Jacques gestured to one of the men standing behind her. The man dragged one of the boxes from beside the wall and positioned it for Jacques to sit. “You tended to her, very kindly, according to witnesses. She woke the next morning as if nothing had happened. But sometime that day, she disappeared.”

Disappeared? Corbeau’s heart sank. If Vautrin had anything to do with it, Mademoiselle Fournier was already dead. Corbeau just hoped it wouldn’t fall to her to break the news to Ugly Jacques. “I’m sorry.”

“If you find her, I’d be willing to consider the business between us closed. She is…she is everything to me.”

Corbeau blinked again. Who could have guessed that beneath the flashy clothes and layers of cologne beat an actual human heart? A fallible heart whose weakness could be exploited to broker her freedom. Would wonders never cease? “You love her?” she asked.

He nodded. “Can you find her?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed, resting his massive, square chin in one hand, elbow on knee. “She works as a paid companion to that woman who disappeared. Boucher. I never liked those people. They gave me the shivers. But Claudine said it was good work, and she didn’t mind. Said Madame had even promised to help her with her little problem.” He smiled, fleeting and bitter. “Didn’t bother me, but she was so ashamed of it.”

“Was she taking any sort of preparation to suppress it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, come to think of it, she was.”

Corbeau nodded. Just like Lambert. The past was repeating itself, only this time it wasn’t her fault. Had anyone heard from Michel Bertrand? She regarded Ugly Jacques gravely. Part of her wanted to promise she’d find his Claudine—promise him anything he wanted, just to get out of there—and let the consequences catch up with her later. But the last twenty-four hours had been nothing if not a lesson in just what a mistake it was to borrow trouble from the future.

“I can’t promise to return her alive,” she said. “In fact, the odds are against it. There were three victims in the Montagne Ste. Geneviève, and one has turned up dead.”

“It’s those Divine Spark people, isn’t it? Always knew they were no good.”

Ironic, Corbeau thought, coming from a man who had just threatened to let his thug recover his debts from her flesh. “I can’t tell you the details. It would jeopardize the investigation. But I can assure you that I will personally see the guilty parties punished for their crimes. If someone has harmed Mademoiselle Fournier, they will hang for it, I promise.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, then, pressing his hands to his knees, he stood.

“Untie her. Go on,” he said when his men didn’t immediately jump to the task. They freed her arms first, then her feet. She stood gingerly, flexing her fingers and toes as the crawling sensation of pins and needles signaled that blood was returning to her extremities. “Tell me honestly. Do you think she’s still alive?”

“Possibly.”

He looked as happy with the answer as Corbeau felt delivering it. But he knew as well as she did that false hope would get them nowhere. He extended his hand. Corbeau hesitated then took it.

“I’m a businessman, Inspector. My methods can be harsh, but I’m a man of my word. Find my Claudine, alive or dead, and consider your debt repaid in full.” Corbeau’s eyes went, unbidden, to André’s hand jangling the coins in his pocket. André caught her eye and sneered. “In the meantime, if you need anything to aid you in your search, I, and my men, are at your disposal.”

Corbeau thought for a moment. “Do you know whether the Divine Spark did all of their work at the house? Or did Claudine mention another place, maybe where they might have done things they wouldn’t want the neighbors to find out about?”

Jacques scratched his head, frowning. “There was another place, come to think of it. Not too far from here, actually. Down by the water. Claudine had me fetch her there, now and then, when it was dark. Said the Gypsy woman had a lab there. Noisy business, apparently, but given the neighborhood, nobody ever noticed.”

Corbeau’s heart beat fast. If the Divine Spark—either Madame Boucher’s followers or Vautrin’s—were holding Dr. Kalderash for the purpose of bringing the Left Hand of Justice to life, they were holding her there. And chances were, Joseph would be there too. If only she had some way of getting word to Javert! But time was of the essence, and if Vautrin was still at Madame Boucher’s house, then Javert’s men would do the most good detaining him there. And perhaps, if Claudine Fournier was at the house, they could ensure her safety as well.

“Can you get someone to take me there?” Corbeau asked.

“Certainly.”

“Not him.” She looked daggers at André.

Jacques’s mouth twisted wryly. “No, no, that wouldn’t do at all. I’ll take you there myself.”

“One more thing. Do you know the boy Joseph, who sometimes runs messages for me?”

“I’ve seen him.”

“It’s possible that they’re holding him, along with Dr. Kalderash and Mademoiselle Fournier. My debt to his family is greater than anything I will ever owe you. If anything happens to him, I would appreciate it if you would promise to watch out for his family.”

Jacques nodded, short and quick. “Anything else?”

“Can I have my purse back?”

Clapping her on the back, Ugly Jacques laughed out loud.

Jacques led her through back streets and hidden passages to a tight, dark alley that stank of refuse, stagnant water, and decay. At the mouth of the alley, she hesitated, wondering if she wasn’t walking into a trap. But then Jacques stopped, put a finger to his lips, and gestured toward a narrow door. “There it is,” he said, stepping back. “Good luck.”

Corbeau opened her mouth to thank him, but by the time she’d turned, he had melted back into the shadows. She leaned against the crumbling bricks and evaluated the building on the other side of the alley. It had been a tenement once, possibly a factory. Now it stood dark and abandoned. The windows that weren’t boarded up were jagged black holes. Nothing stirred in the alley, though not far away the strains of raucous music and breaking glass marked one of the low taverns that dotted the darker parts of the city. The air was tense with foreboding. Corbeau wasn’t surprised Claudine had been afraid to walk home from there. The place was, however, the perfect location for a noisy machine lab or for holding prisoners. Glancing toward the rooftops, then up and down the alley, she darted toward the door that Jacques had indicated. It was locked tight, as she’d expected it would be, but the locks gave way easily to her picks, and she was inside within seconds.

Beyond the door it was as dark as the grave. Her hand instinctively went to her tinderbox. Fortunately, training overruled instinct. Pressing herself up against the wall, she took her hand out of her pocket and waited for her vision to adjust. Ahead of her, at the end of a narrow corridor, she could make out the dim rectangle of a window from the cracks of muted light pushing between the boards that had been nailed unevenly over it. A staircase to her left led up, while another to her right led down. No footsteps creaked overhead, no conversations hummed. However, if she listened hard, she thought she could discern voices below, as well as the soft clank of metal and tools.

Jacques had told her the truth. Dr. Kalderash had once maintained a laboratory in the building. And Corbeau would have bet her own left arm the doctor was working down there at that moment, against her will. Did she have a second set of plans for the Left Hand of Justice? Had she committed the plans to memory? Or was she working blind, without plans or materials, trying to stay alive while she looked for an opportunity to escape?

The basement stairwell was crooked, the railing unsteady. She made her way down slowly, keeping to the wall and walking on the solid edges of the stairs. The stairs ended at a basement corridor, dimly illuminated by a shaft of light that proceeded from beneath a closed door.

“Elise!” a voice hissed.

Corbeau whirled. Sophie stood at the head of the stairs like an apparition. In the light of her candle, Corbeau could make out a loose, white gown, of the type Madame Boucher was said to favor, and soft-soled slippers. She wore her hair free, combed down over her shoulders in a reddish-gold cascade. She looked as if she’d just awakened, which, considering the time, was quite possible.

“Sophie, you scared the life out of me,” Corbeau whispered back.

“What are you doing here? Oh!” she exclaimed, as if she’d reached some long-desired conclusion. “This is perfect!” Sophie glided down the stairs, her face alight with pleasant surprise. No, it was stronger than that. She looked as if the impossible dream she’d prayed fervently over had come to life before her eyes. Corbeau began to caution her to be silent, but before she could form the words, Sophie was already beside her. What’s more, she’d made no more noise coming down than her candle. “How did you figure out to come here?”

An inner voice urged her to caution. Sophie had set her up, sent her to the Divine Spark as an alchemist. But she hadn’t sent her here; she’d sent her to where Vautrin was. She’d known that Madame Boucher was safe but had sent Corbeau to Vautrin.

“Is Madame Boucher here?” Corbeau asked.

Sophie nodded. “She’s downstairs. You figured it out, Elise! Oh, this is too good!”

“And Vautrin?” Sophie’s lips pursed at the mention of his name. With guilt, Corbeau guessed. And in the tense moment that followed, Corbeau saw the train of events as clearly as if they had played out before her eyes. Sophie had been angry when Hermine Boucher had wanted Dr. Kalderash back. When Hermine had disappeared, Sophie had quietly thrown her support behind Vautrin, promising him an alchemist. But she couldn’t bring herself to squash the little flicker of hope that Hermine Boucher would see the error of her ways and return to her. She was playing both sides against the middle, confident that whichever faction came out on top, she would triumph with it. Her expression confirmed it was true. And it confirmed she knew Corbeau understood. “Still at the mansion, is he?” Subdued, Sophie nodded again. “You’re playing a very dangerous game.”

“Like you care.”

“How can you—Sophie, you know that’s not true.”

Shadows flickered across Sophie’s face, the candlelight sharpening her features, just as Sophie sharpened her tone. “You don’t, you know. You never have.”

“That’s not true,” Corbeau repeated, but guilt and uncertainty had crept into her tone. She had cared once, still did, in a way. But not in the way that Sophie wanted her to. “Anyway, this isn’t the time or the place. Innocent people are in danger, and if you have any decency, you’ll help me.”

“So you haven’t come to join us.”

“I’m here to do my job. Tell me where they are.”

They were there in the building. Sophie’s expression made it clear—as clear as her disappointment Corbeau wasn’t there to fulfill her fantasies, as clear as the fact Sophie might well thwart Corbeau’s efforts just because she could. But the spite left her expression, replaced by a cautious cunning.

“You mean Dr. Kalderash?”

“And three others. Claudine Fournier, the driver Bertrand, and a little boy.”

Sophie nodded, narrowing her eyes. Corbeau didn’t trust her as far as she could toss her. But Corbeau trusted herself and her knowledge of their past. She trusted her ability to read Sophie’s intentions and predict her actions. That, at least, was something.

“They’re here.”

“Alive?”

“Claudine is here, and Michel Bertrand. Hermine is protecting them. But Armand…”

“Is dead,” Corbeau said. “I know. What about—”

“Yes, yes, your precious Dr. Kalderash is here, along with her brat.”

“My precious—”

“I know you, Elise. You always need someone to rescue.” Sophie laughed cynically. “She’s perfect for you. You always did love ‘you and me against the world.’”

“You’re out of your mind.”

But even as she said it, Sophie’s words hit a nerve. She’d first felt that nerve when Javert had shown her Kalderash’s picture: the intelligent face, the arrogant posture, the simple, tasteful dress. The interview with the inventor had left her livid and convinced of Kalderash’s guilt. Still, she’d been forced to admire the woman’s brains, her determination in the face of persecution, and her indomitable spirit. And yes, if it came right down to it, Corbeau would have to admit that, despite the mechanical eye and the scars that marred her delicate features—or perhaps because of them—they were, after all, a physical representation of the inventor’s undeniable inner strength—she did find Dr. Kalderash attractive.

But this really was beside the point.

“I have a job to do. Either help me or get out of the way.”

“Don’t hurt Hermine,” Sophie said, vulnerability creeping into her voice. “She’s as much a victim as anyone else.”

“She’s kidnapped a woman, and a child, too.”

“You remember what it was like, don’t you? Those poor people who came to you to make the voices stop?”

Of course Corbeau remembered. People driven half-mad by bizarre phenomena that occurred all around them. Disembodied voices. Objects moving of their own accord. Fires. Corbeau hadn’t understood these phenomena any more than the people who were generating them—not until she’d worked with Vidocq. But she had known how to make them stop. For a price.

And for the additional, unintended price of their health and sanity when Corbeau learned to cut the ingredients in order to maximize her profits.

“Don’t you remember how desperate they were? How they’d have done anything to make the demons go away? That’s all Hermine wants. I tried, Elise, but I couldn’t mix the potions like you could. In the end, I couldn’t help, so she wanted Maria back. But Maria refused. So she had to bring her here. Don’t you see? You spoke of decency. If you have any at all, when you see her, you’ll want to help her as much as I do. You’ll be her alchemist. You’ll take care of her and help her to minister to all those poor, suffering souls.”

And Hermine would be so grateful she’d fly back into Sophie’s arms? Not likely. Or perhaps Corbeau would be inspired to pick up their relationship where they’d left off. How far into madness had Madame Hermine Boucher wandered? Would she be able to help her at all, were she so moved? What a mess. If innocent lives weren’t at stake, Corbeau would have turned around and left without a second thought. “What about Vautrin?” she asked.