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“I thought it prudent to be seen walking here,” she explains, politely acknowledging a few merchants as we pass. “Since this is where we said we’d be.”
“Of course.” The morning sun is blinding until we turn west and put it at our backs. We emerge from the avenue of shops and displays of goods to the open circle around the city’s Temple of the Sun, ancient but for the statue of a Gallian solosopher on its lawn, posed to gaze at the Sun as it sets. The circular stone building was settled here so the bell tower created a sundial which could be seen from the hilltop above. Though maintained by only a chosen handful of brethren today, it’s still a holy place, connected to the Sanctum by the Pathway of Prayer. The irony of what the street has become—a row ofskonialodges and houses of prostitution—is never lost on me. To my discomfort, Pleasure Road is where Juliane heads.
“I figure Madame Emeline is the best place to start,” she says. “She’ll probably know most if not all the names on my list.”
I should have thought of that, or at least realized it.
Just before we move into the shadow of the first houses, I glimpse a pair of kohl-lined eyes watching me. Even without the plain black clothes among the colorful awnings and booths, the scarred face would have stood out in any crowd.
Gregor.
Selenae aren’t uncommon in daytime, especially in the marketplace, but seeing him sends a chill up my spine. He told Magister Thomas I should be allowed to follow my instincts with regardto Perrete’s murder. What about my instincts are so important? Am I following them now?
Like the previous times I’ve spotted him since that night, he disappears the instant I try to focus on him. My hesitation causes Juliane to get several steps ahead of me, and I run to catch up.
Rather than knock on Madame Emeline’s front door, Juliane goes down the alley at the end of the block and raps four times on a side door. An old woman lets us into a kitchen with a large table and tells us to wait. As soon as she’s gone, I consider asking Juliane how she knew about this entrance, but I remember Simon was here to look over Perrete’s body. This must have been another matter he discussed with her but not with me. I have to swallow a surge of jealousy and remind myself he trusts me with more important matters.
Emeline comes in and shoos her hands at us to sit down. Both of us select chairs and accept her offer of tea. If it weren’t for her garish red-orange hair, I might not have recognized the madam with her face unpainted and her plain dressing gown. Ironically, she appears younger, though I have no idea how old she is.
“I—we are here on behalf of Simon,” begins Juliane. “He asked us to search for evidence that Perrete wasn’t the killer’s first victim.”
Emeline raises thin, unenhanced eyebrows. “I see.”
“I have a list of women from the last five years,” Juliane continues. “Their causes of death are vague, but we thought you might know more.”
“You’ll have to read the list to me,” says Emeline, lifting her cup to pale lips. “I can’t.”
“It’s in my head,” says Juliane. “Are you ready?” At the madam’s nod, she closes her eyes and recites them one at a time, including the date they were found and where. Emeline considers eachcarefully. Many she recalls had died in accidents or childbirth—bleedingseems to be the choice phrase for recording the latter—and several were known to be suffering from some kind of ailment. Three were suicides.
What I can’t get over is how many Emeline describes as murders.
Some perpetrators were caught and punished, but an astounding number were left unsolved. I begin to wonder if Perrete and Ysabel really matter. Even if we can connect more women to this killer, they’re two small apples in a barrel full of others no one cared enough to investigate. Perrete’s death would almost certainly have been as forgotten if it weren’t for Oudin being under suspicion.
It’s three hours and as many cups of tea before Juliane comes to the end of the list. I’ve lost track of which names were potential victims of this killer, but I know Juliane has them. I can also see how weary she’s become.
“Thank you,” she tells Emeline, rising to her feet. “We may have more questions for you later.”
The madam also stands. “Simon’s been the only official who’s truly cared. Any help I can give, I will.” She lets us out of the side door and back into the alley, and as soon as the door is shut, Juliane’s eyelids droop, and she puts a thin hand to her temple.
“Are you well?” I ask, poised to steady her at the first sign of need.
“Shadows,” Juliane mumbles. “So many shadows.”
I glance around. It’s just past noon, making this alley about as bright as it can be. The change from the dim kitchen makes my eyes water. “Do you need my help getting to the street?”
“Yes, thank you.” She holds out an arm. “Keep them away, please. They want to talk to me but I can’t. Not now.”
There’s no one in sight. I’m not sure who or what she wants me to ward off, but I guide Juliane to the mouth of the alley.Before we step out into the street, I check for anyone we’d rather not notice where we’re coming from, but this is the least busy hour for Madame Emeline’s establishment and others. “Is that better?” I ask as we move into full sunlight.
“For now,” she says. “But they follow, they’re hollow.” Juliane drops her hand from her face and looks at me with frightened eyes. “Cat, I must go home. Can’t roam.”
Remembering how Simon responded to her rhyming last time, I take her arm more firmly. “It’s going to be fine,” I tell her. “We’ll go together.”
“Weather,” she says like she can’t help it, then shakes her head. “Need something better.”
We move up the street, toward the Sanctum. Though Juliane readily accepts my lead, I’ve never felt more inept. Something is terribly wrong, but I don’t understand how to help. “What can I do?” I ask.
“Who? You?” Juliane takes a deep breath, her upper body swaying. “Walk with me. Talk with me.”
