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CHAPTER 26
It’s not until I return home that I remember the errands I was supposed to do for Mistress la Fontaine. My mind is too muddled to recall everything she wanted, and I have to ask her to list what she needs for me again. She not only adds a significant number of new items, she insists I write it all down, which gives me no excuse to “forget” turnips. All the best vegetables have been picked over by afternoon, forcing me to visit twice as many produce sellers to find everything.
Everyone is in a foul temper at dinner. Remi and the magister quarreled on the site again, and neither is happy that I did no work today. The housekeeper grouses that the turnips I brought back were unsuitable for putting in the stew. I pretend that hurts my feelings, though I went to eight different stands to find ones that rotten. We all go to bed right after eating.
I want to check on Juliane first thing in the morning, but I don’t dare turn my back on my work at the Sanctum. It also occurs to me if—like Four-Block Jacques—Juliane’s confusions happen when she’s tired, then she needs rest more than anything else. The previous times she’d begun to speak oddly, Simon called for the inquiry to halt for a day.
Simon. It’s been only two days since he left for Mesanus. Has he even arrived yet? Does he think of me as often as I think of him?
Before I can start my lengthy inspection of the scaffolds inside, Magister Thomas tasks me with rechecking the braces under the next series of outer buttresses he wants done before starting the ceiling. Apparently, that’s what Remi and the architect are arguing over—as the arch stones are ready to assemble, Remi wants to set the cross-ribs, but the magister worries the inner parts will advance before there’s sufficient support from the sides.
“The arches can handle the load!” Remi shouts, drawing the attention of half the workers. “You want it to look like you’re the only one making progress!”
Magister Thomas’s answer is much quieter. “There are a dozen reasons the buttresses could be delayed, especially in the spring when cold and wet makes the mortar set more slowly,” he says calmly. “I’ve promised you a free hand in vaulting the ceiling,when the time comes. Not before. This isn’t a race.”
I’m willing to bet Remi will make it one as soon as he’s allowed to start, and that’s precisely why the magister is holding him back.
“But—”
“Journeyman la Fontaine,” the architect cuts him off. “My decision is final. If you disagree, you are free to leave my employment.”
Remi’s cheeks go crimson as stained glass roses, and he stomps away. Magister Thomas rounds on me. “Why are you just standing there?” he barks. “You’re behind in your work. Remi would be right to direct some of his anger at you.” Whirling away so quickly his master’s robes spiral around him, he adds over his shoulder, “And wear your safety rope, Catrin.”
Ugh. I wish I hadn’t paused to watch the argument, but I’dbeen unable to look away. Slinging the loops over my head so they angle from my shoulder to my hip, I go back to my inspection. The bruises from two weeks ago have spread from their original pattern into purple fading to yellow across my whole stomach, but they’re still sore, and I don’t like to put pressure on them.
I also don’t like thinking about how they looked exactly like Perrete’s wounds.
For the next two days, I’m the go-between for Remi and Magister Thomas, who are barely speaking. People who think girls my age are petty should consider how stubborn and brooding two adult men can be when they’re fighting over a project they both consider their own. The architect’s possessiveness is understandable, given how long he’s been in charge at the Sanctum, but he’ll damage his beloved if he doesn’t give his successor the tools to carry on his work.
And Remi. I grit my teeth every time he comes looking for me. He needs to recognize all the issues which demand the magister’s attention and that he’s ultimately accountable for everything. That and how I’m going to stop believing him when he describes what he needs from me as “critical.”
Fortunately, the third day is the Sun’s, and work is halted for Sanctum holy services. I spend the entire ceremony squinting at the gallery arches on the second level where the Montcuir family sits. The sunlight streaming through the colored windows dazzles me so much I’m unable to focus at this distance, but by the end, I’m certain Juliane isn’t with them.
Construction will resume after the noon litany prayers, as many farmers offer a half day’s labor for a blessing from the high altum at sunset. I have less than two hours before my presence will also be required, so when the Montcuirs leave, I followthem. Remembering what Juliane said about Lambert admiring me, I aim to cross his path as he descends the front steps.
Oudin sees me first. “Hello, Kitten.”
I make a noise of disgust. “Remi is the only one who calls me that.”
“Then I’m honored to be in such exclusive company.” He chuckles. “You look lost. Your home is that way.” Oudin points at the street angling southwest from the square.
Lambert is within earshot, but the comte has vanished, probably to the Palace of Justice to review the guard, so I sigh. “I wanted to inquire about Juliane. Is she feeling better?”
Oudin snorts. “She’s sulking over Simon’s absence and won’t come out of her room.”
That seems odd. I turn to Lambert, clasping my hands beneath my chin and looking up at him. “That sounds dreadful. May I pay her a visit?”
Lambert blushes. “I suppose it might do her some good.” Oudin rolls his eyes, but I keep my smile on the older brother. Before I can take the arm he offers, however, Oudin elbows between us.
“Now, now, Brother,” he scolds as he leads me away. “What would Lady Genevieve say if she saw you playing with kittens?”
I want to retch, but I focus on what’s important: seeing Juliane. Lambert follows, the tendons in his neck as strained as pulley ropes. When we reach their home, Oudin puts his hand in the small of my back and guides me all the way to the stairs and up them. Their house is large enough for three rooms on either side of a passage running down the middle rather than just a pair of rooms like we have. Oudin ushers me to the second door on the left and knocks three times.
“Juliane!” he calls. “You have a visitor.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Lambert enters the first room and shuts the door behind him. A few seconds later, Juliane opens hers.
Light of Day.
