With a yawn, Rebecca forced her eyes closed. All she needed was to permit her body to relax. Keep her mind completely blank, let her limbs—
Crash.
Rebecca pushed herself upright in bed, now completely awake. Sliding her spectacles over her nose out of habit, she stared into the dim light, as another series of bangs and thuds vibrated from below—from the workroom where they kept all their supplies. Rebecca’s throat grew tight at the thought of an already-upsetting burglary joining forces with a number of chemical compounds that could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Especially combined. She shuddered. She kept the most unstable combinations far apart, but…
Not even bothering to throw a dressing gown over her chemise, she grabbed a poker from the hearth. In her bare feet, Rebecca crept down the stairs as her mind searched for a plan to confront a thief who could be endangering his own life. The noise continued as she approached the door, which was still ajar.
Peering in, Rebecca had to rub her eyes twice to convince herself the scene before her was real and not a dream. Rather than an adult thief befouling her space, it was a young girl and her cat. The creature, a thin tabby, danced along the upper shelves, coming precariously close to several jars of dried condoms, its hair raining down on the newest additions, waiting to be stretched on molds.
Dressed in a bright red pelisse with fur trim and no hat, the girl’s half-pinned golden-brown hair bounced messily around hershoulders as she poked about in Rebecca’s cabinet, removing and sniffing bottles, before lining the worktable with everything she touched.
Withouttheir lids.
There was something oddly familiar about the pair, but Rebecca didn’t have time to force her bleary mind to think. No, the dratted cat spotted her. With a hiss, the animal leapt into the air and down onto the table full of open jars.
It was at that precise moment that Rebecca noticed the instruments she’d used on her last outing still soaking in the eau oxygénée she’d re-created using Mr. Thénard’s methods. A marvelously effective disinfectant but highly unstable. She glanced back at the girl, whose activity had ceased.
The human trespasser returned her gaze, her light brown eyes wide in surprise. A pretty child, with an expression and posture younger seeming than her height suggested. Familiar. Very familiar. The eyes, yes, but also the nose and the set of the chin.
But before she pondered more, Rebecca caught sight of a stream of liquid from a felled jar making its way down the table toward the uncovered bucket.
The now glaring girl had opened her mouth and was probably speaking, but Rebecca could hear nothing but the pounding of panic in her own head.
Well, that and a few phrases of warning in the pamphlet she’d read prior to learning to synthesize her own solutions.
It was as if her muscles reacted of their own accord even as her overtired mind remained deeply sluggish.
Releasing the poker to the floor with a clank, she grabbed the girl with both arms and bolted down the stairs toward the front of the house. Rebecca held on, even as the child struggled against her,kicking and biting and scratching and yelling a variety of foul words that would make a street urchin blush.
“Get out now,” she screamed as she ran. “Everyone, out, now!” Nearly colliding with their cook, who’d been making use of their front parlor with the rest of their small staff, she called to them, “Leave. We need to leave immediately.”
Fortunately, their staff was competent enough to listen, and the group ran toward the door, alongside Rebecca and the girl who was screeching threats at the top of her lungs—something about her father and how they’d all be sorry for their treatment of her when they found out who he was. It was too fast and too high-pitched for her to comprehend, especially with her heart pounding so intensely and the blood pumping in her ears.
As the crowd filed out, there was a loud boom from behind them, followed by a rush of heat. Something hard and hot pressed against Rebecca’s back as she was thrust forward. Turning to her side to protect the girl from her weight, she hurtled to the ground, colliding painfully with the cobblestone.
For a moment, she believed she saw a flash of light in the darkening sky.
Then she saw nothing at all.
Once, Roger Berab believed himself a prince.
But as he grew older, he learned that instead, he was a showman at best. A master of funambulism, constantly upon his wire, crossing a very narrow bridge, the possibility of death with one wrong step. His voice, manner, apparel, coiffure, and most importantly, his words, all carefully chosen to conform to the image that best protected himself, his family, and his community from doom.
His skills as an ambassador to the gentile ton and its intellectual favorites, the ones who could expel even Jews as wealthy and useful as he, like their old king had done years before—like his counterpart had to his family in Portugal even more recently—were unparalleled.
However, despite his efforts and phenomenal successes, no one was ever satisfied with him. At least no one who mattered.
Just know, I have high expectations for my life. I intend to rule the community and be admired beyond.
His late wife Lucy’s words to him on their wedding night echoed in his ears. As did his own.
Is that a challenge? Because I’ll have you know, madam, I can rise above any, beyond your wildest dreams.
And he had.
Well, he’d believed he had.
After all, he’d repaired and refurnished her family’s crumbling home until it was among the stateliest in the community. He’d givenher all the gowns, jewels, and connections money could buy in addition to the ones he’d already forged from careful calculation.
