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“Would that not be rather cold — and slimy?” Monsieur shuddered theatrically. “I would prefer — but, my dear, you know what I prefer.”
“It was not about bestiality,” Count Lucien said. “It was about murder, rape — and betrayal.”
“To be sure, M. de Chrétien, it was.” To Marie-Josèphe, Lorraine said, “Your story gains in excitement — coming from your lips. Barbarians ravaging gargoyles —”
“Sir!” Mme de Maintenon’s flushed cheeks were the only color about her. “Consider in whose presence you are speaking!”
Curiosity vanished from His Holiness’ expression, replaced by offended virtue.
“Mlle de la Croix,” His Majesty said, “teach the sea monster tricks, if it amuses you, but govern this delusion about her nature. Your mother would never have invented such appalling stories.”
Silence fell. Monsieur stopped chuckling.PRIVATE
“Your Majesty —”
Lorraine interrupted her. “She thinks Your Royal Highness is a cannibal.”
“And govern your tongue as well.”
“I never believed any such thing, Sire,” Marie-Josèphe exclaimed, horrified. She had only wished to protect him from such an accusation. “Never!”
“Forgive my sister,” Yves said. “She has not yet recovered from her illness.”
With a persistence driven by fever, Marie-Josèphe continued. “Your Majesty, please spare her life. She’s a woman with a soul, like yours or mine. If you kill her, you’ll commit a mortal sin!”
“I would entertain His Holiness’ views on mortal sin,” the King said. “I might entertain even your brother’s. But I hardly think I need listen to yours.”
“Do you call His Majesty a murderer?” Lorraine said, his voice as soft as oiled silk.
“It is neither murder,” His Holiness said, “nor against any commandment, to kill a beast. God put beasts on Earth for the use of man. You must not task yourself with moral philosophy, Mlle de la Croix. It’s too demanding for the minds of women.” He made a gesture of dismissal. “Dabble in your natural philosophy, or better yet take up cooking.”
“Natural philosophy proves the sea woman is human!” Marie-Josèphe cried.
Louis shook his head. “Dr. Fagon assured me you were cured of your hysteria.”
Count Lucien placed his hand on Marie-Josèphe’s wrist, startling her, stopping her protest.
“Your Majesty,” Count Lucien said.
Both Mme de Maintenon and Innocent pointedly ignored him, but His Majesty responded with open curiosity.
“Your advice, M. de Chrétien?”
“Consider, Sire, if Mlle de la Croix is correct.”
“Ridiculous,” said Innocent.
“She’s proved the sea monster understands her.”
“That is true,” His Majesty admitted. “However, I am led to believe her cat understands her. Am I to give M. Hercules a place at court?”
His courtiers dared to titter at his joke.
“You are fortunate to live in the modern age.” Innocent gazed on Marie-Josèphe with concern, and suspicion. “In times past, a woman who spoke to animals — to demons — risked the stake.”
The courtiers stopped laughing. Yves paled. “Your Holiness, my sister has made a pet of the monster. She doesn’t realize —”
“Be easy in your mind, my son,” Innocent said to Yves. “I don’t accuse your sister of being possessed. I do suspect she may be mad, mistaking beasts for people.”
“As the Church mistook beasts for demons,” Count Lucien said.
Innocent glared. “There was no mistake about it — they were products of demonic possession. The Inquisition drove out the satanic influence.”
“Their status changed once — why not again? What remains to be proven,” Count Lucien said to His Majesty, “is whether the creature speaks a human language and therefore is not a creature. This is a scientific age. If I understand what Father de la Croix has said of science — he will correct my errors, I trust — science demands proof. Allow Mlle de la Croix to prove her contention.”
His Majesty’s gaze searched Count Lucien’s face. Finally, impassively, he said, “I will see.”
20
Marie-Josèphe entered the sea woman’s prison. She hesitated, swaying dizzily. Murk clouded the pool. Marie-Josèphe sat down before her equilibrium deserted her. Her arm throbbed.
She whispered the sea woman’s name. “His Majesty will hear me on your behalf. You must tell him a story I could never make up. A story to move him. A story to charm him to our cause.”
The sea woman growled her contempt for the King. She would fight the toothless one for her freedom. The land woman must throw him into the fountain, where the sea woman could sing at him until his heart stopped and his bowels turned to water.
“Don’t say such things! What if someone else learned to understand you?”
The sea woman swam to her. Her whispered song created loneliness and despair. Slow ripples spread outward along her path. Marie-Josèphe plunged her hand beneath the surface, hoping the cool water might soothe the ache. The ripples she created met the sea woman’s wake; their interaction entranced her for a moment.
The sea woman grasped Marie-Josèphe’s swollen hand. Her nostrils flared. Marie-Josèphe gasped; the pain of the touch broke through her feverish distraction.
“Let me go, please, you’re hurting me.”
The sea woman refused to release her. Her eyes gleamed dark gold. She sniffed and licked Marie-Josèphe’s swollen palm. Following the angry purple streaks, she pushed at the sleeve of Marie-Josèphe’s hunting habit and exposed the bandage. She hummed with worry, then changed the key to reassurance. She nibbled at the bandage; with her long pointed webbed fingers she untied the bloody linen. The water had soaked it loose. She exposed the angry wound.
Outside the tent, horses galloped near and pulled up. Men spoke; Count Lucien entered, his distinctive footsteps uneven, punctuated with the tap of his sword-cane.
The sea woman kissed Marie-Josèphe’s arm, tonguing the incision, drooling profusely on the wound. The scab cracked and bled. Marie-Josèphe felt sick.
“What is she doing?” Count Lucien spoke quietly, but the tension in his voice startled Marie-Josèphe. The sea woman released her and submerged in the pool.
