After Rousseau left, the children spent some time on Maelstrom’s boat, bobbing gently on the water as Souris and Erf learned how to tie sailors’ knots and Phenomena praised the invention of anti-nausea medication. Maelstrom was trying to secure the awning. Despite the cloudless sky, he insisted they were due a storm that evening.
Shenanigan sat on the prow of the boat, and thought. The pressure in her chest had not gone away. She watched the buttons on Maelstrom’s coat wink in the sun. She wondered, again, where Pomme was. She wondered why people wouldn’t just stay where she put them.
Felicity sat beside her. “You look like someone put real sand in your sandwich.”
“We should be trying to find out what happened to Bernard, or Pierrot,” Shenanigan grumbled. “And Uncle M should be helping, not”—she swallowed down the words “planning his escape” and said—“messing about on a rotten old boat.”
“Yes, it seems a little irresponsible, doesn’t it?” said Felicity. “But I’m not cross. I sort of…can’t blame him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…” Felicity chewed her lip. “Maelstrom spent his whole life traveling the world. You won’t remember, because you were too young, but he only came to Swift House when I was three. It was just after Mum and Dad left for that research trip in Cairo. I was inconsolable, because I didn’t understand where they’d gone.” She smiled. “And then this grand figure in a purple coat turns up, smelling of the sea and telling the best stories, and…well, I adored him. He had to take that earring out because I kept yanking on it whenever he picked me up. Obviously, I loved accessorizing, even then.”
They watched Maelstrom patiently untangle a piece of rope that had somehow got twisted in Phenomena’s hair.
“I think he only meant to visit,” Felicity murmured. “But because I was so attached to him he stayed. And when Mum and Dad came back, and announced Phenomena was on the way, he stayed longer. And then along you came, and by that time, the purple coat was packed away, and he was just Uncle M. Part of the furniture of Swift House. Like he’d always been there.”
Shenanigan didn’t know what to say, so she said, “Oh.”
“That’s why I don’t mind if he wants to be a bit irresponsible now. He deserves some freedom, after all this time.” She frowned. “And I’m worried about what Rousseau said. Uncle can’t be locked up, just when he’s gone out into the world again.”
They sat in silence, each in their own thoughts.
There is horrible moment that comes for every child, when you look at a grown-up and realize that they are also a person. Nothing can prepare you for it. It feels much like being picked up by the ankle and flipped upside down, the world as you know it turned on its head.
Shenanigan hadn’t really thought about what Maelstrom had given up to be with them. Travel, intrigue, adventure—all replaced by snotty noses and bedtime stories. She remembered what Cook had said about him seeming restless before they left. Only grown-ups really understood grown-ups. Maybe Cook had objected to the trip because she knew that as soon as Maelstrom stepped back outside he’d see how small and boring his life at Swift House was, and wonder why he’d wasted so many years there.
She shook off the thought. No, Uncle Maelstrom wasn’t like that. He was different.
Different from who? asked the little voice in her head.
Rather than answering that question, Shenanigan decided to feel hungry instead. The box of clandestines Gourmet had given them the other day had got a little squashed in her backpack, but were otherwise untouched. The little pink shells were delicious, and tasted of pistachio and white chocolate.
She glanced back towards the Hôtel, which looked rather fetching in the golden afternoon light. Idly, she began to count the windows. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven— No, that couldn’t be right. One, two, three, four, five, six. Yes. Except…one, two, three, four—
She bit down on something hard. Shenanigan stopped chewing and opened her mouth wide to root around in the half-chewed mess.
“Ugh, gross, Shenanigan!” said Felicity, scrunching up her nose.
Shenanigan ignored her and concentrated on pulling out the intruder.
It was a small sugar pearl, cracked down the middle by her incisors. Peeking out from inside was a tight roll of paper the size of her little fingernail, slightly soggy. She unrolled it.
I have information important
“Huh,” she said.
Wordlessly, she handed the soggy paper to Phenomena, since there was no way Felicity would touch something that had been in her mouth. She picked up another of the clandestines, and this one she pried apart. Nestled in the center of the sponge oyster was another pearl. She cracked it open. The message inside this one read:
Meet me at Room 415 tonight at twelve hours
And in the center of the last clandestine:
Tell none
Shenanigan felt a spark of excitement that was quickly doused when she remembered the clandestines were two days old. They were a bit late for their meeting.
“Gourmet was very insistent that we eat these quickly,” Felicity said uneasily. “I assume these messages are from him—Souris, has he said anything to you?”
“No,” Souris said, frowning. “But he and Bernard were friends. I know he’s been worried about him.”
“Do you think he has information about Bernard’s disappearance?” asked Phenomena.
“Maybe?”
Souris picked up the second message. “Four-fifteen is Pomme’s old room,” he said. “The one with the leak. But the door is locked tight—everyone’s so busy preparing for the exhibition there hasn’t been time to renovate.”
This is an important lesson in why you must always eat dessert, thought Shenanigan.
“If Gourmet has ‘information important,’ he could have found another way to talk to us,” she said. “He’s had plenty of chances.”
“Not in private. Maybe he’s worried about eavesdroppers,” said Felicity.
“Understandable,” said Shenanigan, glaring sidelong at Souris. She still didn’t fully trust the bellboy.
She looked across at her uncle, oblivious to the clandestine conversation only a few meters away, and again felt her chest seize. He was always protecting them—now she had to protect him. As much as she wanted to tell him about Gourmet’s notes, Rousseau had warned Maelstrom that he would be arrested if he interfered again.
“I think we should look into this on our own,” she said, too low for Maelstrom to hear, and she saw Felicity nod in understanding. “Let’s go find Gourmet.”
The restaurant was empty as the children stepped across the threshold, but they could hear the low murmur of voices coming from the kitchen. One of them was Soufflé’s.
Souris paused, nose twitching. He dropped into a crouch, and seemed to shrink, darting beneath the nearest table. Shenanigan followed, then Erf and Phenomena and Felicity too, until they were an ungainly, multi-limbed crab that scuttled towards the little serving hatch between the kitchen and the restaurant. They pressed themselves against the wall and peered through.
The kitchen was a vast, Arctic space in steel and white enamel. Gourmet, still unconscious, had been laid on the prep table with a damp towel covering his neck and packets of frozen peas tucked under his arms. Next to him stood Soufflé and Beige, conversing quietly.
“Can he hear us?” asked Beige.
“I don’t know. Perhaps.”
“Continue in English, then,” Beige said. “Gourmet never had a head for languages, and I don’t want to distress him.”
It was the first time Shenanigan had heard Beige speak, and she had to strain to catch the words. Her voice was even fainter than her mother’s.
“What is wrong with him?” asked Soufflé. “Is it the heat? His head?”
“More likely the shock.”
There was a low groan from the table. Beige leaned over Gourmet, but he showed no further sign of waking.
Soufflé glared at Beige. “What do you mean, shock?”
“He and Bernard were friends.”
“Were they?” asked Soufflé, surprised.
“Gourmet catered Bernard’s wedding. They played backgammon every Thursday. These are things a manager should know,” said Beige, and though her voice had barely changed, it still managed to drip contempt.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean that you are handling this terribly. The exhibition, the thefts, Bernard, all of it. You don’t know what’s going on in our own Hôtel half the time.”
“That’s unfair—”
“Keep your voice down!” Beige hissed, drawing him away from Gourmet. “I am trying my best to keep Maman happy, but it is difficult with you showing your incompetence at every opportunity.”
“You try being manager!” Soufflé burst out. “Everyone wants something, all the time, and there are so many bills, and whenever anything goes wrong people think it’s your fault—”
“Assez!” Beige held up a hand. “Don’t complain to me about responsibility. You manage the Hôtel; I manage Maman. What about that inspector?”
“I have already made a complaint to the commissioner. I don’t believe he will bother us again.” Soufflé sighed. “And on top of everything else I still have to find a new handyman.”
He made it sound as if Bernard’s death was just a terrible inconvenience. Beside her, Shenanigan felt Souris tremble.
Beige shook her head, and her pale blonde bob stayed rigid as a helmet round her face. “Go,” she said. “I will stay and watch Gourmet.”
“But Maman—”
“Will wait,” Beige said. “Knowing how to prioritize is a good trait for a manager to have.”
That appeared to be the end of the conversation. Beige settled on a stool with her hands on her knees. Shenanigan grimaced. It didn’t look as if they’d have a chance to question Gourmet, even if he regained consciousness.
With a squeak of his polished leather shoes, Soufflé emerged through the swinging doors that led from the kitchen. The children dived for cover, but Erf slipped and banged their elbow on a table leg. The shoes stopped.
“Qui est là?”
Souris shot them all a panicked look, and then slipped out from under the tablecloth.
“Souris! Que faites-vous?” demanded Soufflé, pulling him aside. They conversed in a low murmur for a minute. Then Soufflé’s shoes squeaked away. The other children crawled out from under the table, and gesturing for silence, Souris led them back to the lobby.
“What were you whispering about?” Shenanigan demanded as soon as they were safely out of earshot of Beige.
“He asked what I was doing, and I told him I was looking for Felicity’s lost earring,” said Souris.
Shenanigan narrowed her eyes. He wasn’t lying to her, but the little prickle at the back of her neck told her there was something Souris wasn’t being completely honest about.
“You still don’t trust me?” Souris whistled through the gap in his teeth, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “He also told me to wipe down the tables, dig out the black napkins, take out the trash, fetch some wine from the cellar, and remind our last two non-Family guests that it’s time to check out. Because while I’ve been running around with you, I haven’t been doing my job. Oh, and he said to give you this.”
He flicked another gold-edged card to Shenanigan, who fumbled to catch it. It read:
La Famille Martinet cordially invites you to join us in the restaurant at five of the clock to celebrate the life of our beloved employee Bernard Plourdes (deceased).