My knowledge of King Guénard was from afar and secondhand. At the moment, I wished myself very far away indeed.
Behind the rotund figure of the ruler of Sarnesse was the tall, trim one of the Duke de Archambeau. He was wearing a clean coat and a pristine white shirt with an elegant necktie, his left arm held stiffly against his side. Beside him stood General ‘Axe’ Somerville, who barked at us.
“You two, step aside.”
We rapidly complied, moving to the long green drapes, hoping to be forgotten. The king sat down heavily in the chair the duchesse had used earlier and it may have creaked a little under his weight. The king’s face held a florid color that might indicate a bad heart, making me wonder what Dr. LaRue would think of him.
“Is that her?” he pointed one short, pudgy finger my way.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied Archambeau.
“She talked with Giles?”
Archambeau quickly looked behind him, giving a nod to the footman to close the door. It was the same young man from earlier. Did he never leave?
“Yes, your majesty. She provided information that helped us to locate where Monet was lodging at the time of his death.”
“She can speak for herself, I imagine.”
Yes, the woman could speak. Given permission.
King Guénard waved me forward with a limp, tired gesture. “Tell me.”
“Yes, your majesty, I did Ghost Talk with a man that identified himself as Giles Monet. Mysir de Archambeau was present, and the gendarme representatives Inspector Marcellus Barbier and Sergeant Quincy Dupont. Dr. Charlotte LaRue was the attending physician.”
When I paused, weighing what details to relay, the king demanded. “Go on. Don’t mind the sensibilities of this fat fool. Giles was my cousin, a son of my mother’s half-sister. He was a hanger-on, a sponger, with too many friends from low places. Nothing much would surprise me.”
“The images I translated gave Inspector Barbier enough to find out Mysir Monet was seeing a dancer at a nightclub called the Nightingale. Other than that, I learned little. I regret to inform your majesty, while the Ghost Talk session revealed his last few hours, it did not show us his killer.”
“Ha. Ghost Talking is a neat parlor trick, but does it do anything but make ladies scream, claiming a ghostly hand was up their skirt?”
With surprise, I heard Archambeau defend me.
“The session gave us his lodgings, a hole in the Hells, where he lived under an assumed name. From there, we have tracked his lover, who might possess what we seek. Without Madame Chalamet, none of this would have been possible.”
“Fine, fine,” grumbled the king. “But what I want to know is, what you are going to do about my dead relative, Giles Monet?”
“I have made plans for us to visit the Nightingale.”
“Haven’t heard of the place.”
Eager to redeem himself, Jacques interjected, “It’s a skirt-and-tails show, your majesty. Dance hall girls, magicians, jugglers, and clowns. Very popular with nobles who want to slum it in the Hells.”
The king gave a grunt, clearly not interested in a place he wouldn’t be seen dead or alive in. Archambeau asked, “You’ve been there?”
Jacques gave a deprecating chuckle. “Well, that was some time ago.” Seeing the general’s face grow grimmer, he quickly added, “When I was much younger and far more foolish. Pretty rough customers and the management serves drinks that could strip paint. But the girls are all right.”
Archambeau turned to the general. “Can I have the use of this man for the next day or so?”
“Gladly,” growled the general. “Find something unpleasant for him to do. Like digging a trench for a latrine.”
“What I want to know,” demanded the king, pounding his fist into his meaty thigh encased in white dress breeches that were skin tight. “Is what did Giles do with my tiara?”
At the mention of jewelry, my ears perked up. “Which, of the twenty-four tiaras Your Majesty owns, do you mean?”
He groaned, his hands coming up to pull on the hair on either side of his ears.
“The most inconvenient one in my collection! That damn thing I need in five days time or the Perino dignitaries will walk away without signing. They insist on its return, claiming it as a treasured relic we stole from them over a century ago. No tiara, no trade agreement.” The king smashed his fist against the chair arm. “Giles would pick that one to steal! Why couldn’t he take some other bauble to pay off racing debts or his skirts?”
My father had worked on several pieces for King Guénard, right up to his murder. It meant I had memorized the list of the king’s treasures long ago.
“Do you mean the one with the three rubies? That is the only one with Perino heritage that I know of.”
“Yes, the one with the three rubies,” his majesty repeated, mimicking my voice. “We had the damn thing out to be cleaned about four months ago, and Giles expressed an interest in seeing it. When he left abruptly, so did the tiara. I should have known it would cause trouble again.”
“What do you mean?” Archambeau asked sharply.
“Two women who have worn it have died,” I said.
“Three,” corrected the king. “The third death was hushed up. First, was the death of a princess, murdered by her husband. Second, was a lady-in-waiting who drowned herself. In my childhood, a servant put it on as a joke and that evening she jumped from the west tower. I was looking forward to dumping the cursed thing on the Perino’s.”
“But how do you know Mysir Monet took it?” I asked.
The king wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand, rubbing his lips hard.
“Giles’ mother showed up about six weeks later, demanding to know where her boy was. I told her he was probably drunk in a gutter somewhere and now it seems my guess was pretty accurate. That’s when we discovered the tiara was missing as well.”
“You didn’t suspect the staff?” asked the duke.
“The staff wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten-foot pole; they know its reputation. Besides, if they wanted to steal something valuable, the palace has enough trinkets. They could pocket plenty of them without me ever knowing.”
“How long ago was this, your majesty?” I asked.
“About four months ago.”
Archambeau asked me, “What are you thinking, madame? I see the wheels spinning in that nefarious brain of yours.”
“When I met with Dr. LaRue this afternoon, she said Giles Monet had become a recent zhimo addict. Did you suspect that, your majesty?”
“No. Giles was a waster, but drink was his weapon of destruction. Last year, he stayed a month and drained an entire rack of my best wine. Some of it was vintage Chambaux, which I wouldn’t mind you replacing, Archambeau.”
Thinking out loud, I said, “Perhaps the drug made him desperate enough to steal the tiara?”
“To pay his debts, you mean?” asked Jacques.
“Or his dealer got him hooked and then influenced him to steal it. When he passed it off, they killed him,” I said thoughtfully. “But why did they want the tiara? Being rubies, it isn’t especially valuable without its history. Was it stolen to sell to a private collector?”
“Or stolen to cause unrest,” said Archambeau. “We need it or the entire trade treaty falls apart. The Perino delegates will be angry when they discover their national treasure is missing.”
Reminded of his troubles, King Guénard groaned, putting the heel of his hands over his eyes, and said, “Leave me. I have a headache.”
We shuffled together in a line to the exit. Before the door fully closed, I heard him give one last order to Archambeau.
“Bring me a bottle of Chambaux. And cake. A lot of cake.”
In the hallway, General Somerville was talking with the duke.
“I’m proceeding ahead with our plans on the security. I’ll leave recovering the tiara to you, Archambeau. That,” he pointed at Jacques, who was standing at attention, “you can have. He’s my representative in this. Moreau, consider the duke to be my voice.”
After the general left, the duke gave directions to Jacques to return with his gear. “You seem to be familiar with this Nightingale place, and I would like to know more of what you can tell us.”
Behind Archambeau’s back, Jacques gave me a wink as he left. Alone in the hall for the first time, I asked mysir de duke how he was doing.
“Fine, madame,” he said rigidly.
“Can we talk about what happened?”
“No.”
“I really think it’s best. Being possessed is uncomfortable at best, and at worse, dangerous. We need to encourage your ghost to leave as soon as possible.”
“I will deal with it in my own way.”
This must be how parents feel about children who refuse to eat their vegetables.
“Can I go with you to the Nightingale?”
“The Nightingale is not a place I would take my sister or any lady of my acquaintance,” he qualified.
“Yes, but I’m not a lady, as your mother has pointed out to me, and so should be able to manage well at the low type of establishment the Nightingale seems to be.” A bit of that mulish look was returning, so I hastily added, “This girl of Monet’s? If we find her, she is more likely to talk to another woman than a man. I can also go where men cannot, such as the dancer’s dressing room.”
“I am sure plenty of men gain the back rooms if they pay for the privilege,” he said cynically. “However, I will concede your point. Having a woman with us could be useful, not only in disguising our real purpose, but perhaps as an appeal to the suspect if we find her. And if the tiara is found, your expertise may be needed.”
“If we find the tiara, I think it is best that I’m the one who handles it. This curse is of the Uncanny, and it would be best to treat it cautiously.”
“You think there is some substance to this curse?”
I frowned.
“My father thought the rubies were more likely to be drops of dragon blood, then true rubies.”
“Dragons?” Archambeau laughed. “I’ll give you credit for ghosts, Chalamet, but now dragons? Do you take me for a gullible fool?”
“Don’t scoff. Our naturalists have fossils and accounts that dragons existed hundreds of years ago. Historical documents fearing their Uncanny powers before they died out.”
“But how do you jump from the idea that these rubies are drops of dragon blood?”
“While I have never seen dragon stones, I have read about them.” I didn’t want to tell him about that snatch of a dream I had experienced in the gendarme office. “My point is the tiara has a curse on it, something ordinary jewelry does not have. It comes from Perino (a place that once was a breeding ground for dragons), and I know what it looks like. All good reasons for me to come to the Nightingale.”
The mule became thoughtful. I pushed my point. “Don’t you think Monet’s behavior is puzzling? He has access to wealth, doesn’t run up large amounts of debt, and is well-liked. But out of the blue, he steals a tiara that has a curse upon it. One that is needed for an important trade agreement between Sarnesse and Perino. What a timely theft.”
He grimaced at my words.
“I agree. It’s all a little too convenient. What I fear is at the root isn't some imaginary dragon, but anarchy. Giving this thing back to Perino was a gesture of goodwill and to go back on his word would be a public humiliation that would be hard for the monarchy to recover from. It would give fuel to the anti-monarchists who want more power given to parliament.”
He gave me a searching look before agreeing.
“Fine, Madame Chalamet, you may come, but you will do exactly as I tell you and if there is any danger at all—”
"I'll dive under the table at the first sign of trouble. I promise."