On the morning after the inspection, Josse woke with a sense of relief. No doubt the day would bring fresh challenges, but it had yet to start – and meanwhile, the impasse was blissfully quiet. It was a perfect chance to take the dogs for a peaceful morning walk through Parc Royal and watch the sun rise over the fountains and the venerable trees.
To his surprise, he ran into Oakleaf on his way out.
“Why are you up so early?”
“Actually I’m up late. Just back from a party.”
In the dim light, Josse hadn’t noticed the elf’s dishevelled hair and bleary eyes.
“Looks like you had fun.”
“I did, thanks! Anyway, how did the leak detection thing go?”
“Oh, it was fine,” Josse replied. “I hadn’t expected it to take so long, so I was worried that Eric’s sedatives would wear off before the guy was done. But he slept right through until sunset. Maybe moonstuck werewolves do actually sleep during the day. Go figure.”
“What about the neighbours’ damp patch?”
“Nothing to do with us. The expert found no leaks, no drips, no spills, no nothing. Whatever’s going on is going on on their side.”
“So that’s the end of that?”
“Let’s hope so!” Josse waved goodbye and headed towards the gate, trailing eager dogs in his wake.
***
Stretching as he unfurled from the basket of his charging station, Minuit began searching the internet for leads on whatever might be ailing Eric. Not that he cared; it was just part of his job. Be like a cat, support Adelphine, don’t get us thrown out – but that’s a different story, for another day.
He had just started to access the scans of a first obscure grimoire when a sudden vision disrupted the process, replacing the handwritten paragraphs in his mind’s eye with a vista of Grand-Place under a bright summer sun.
There were people milling about, but for some reason he saw mostly ankles. Whoever had taken these images seemed to have opted for a frog’s-eye view; the flower stall and artists’ easels appeared to be towering above.
As for the St Michael statue on the spire of the town hall, from this perspective it floated as high as the sun. And it shone nearly as bright. Maybe it had just been regilded.
Footage nearer the ground featured mostly footwear, cobblestones and the odd trampled frite.
There was audio, as well. Clicking heels and clinking glasses, snippets of quiet conversations and loud explanations in seven languages at least. On the other side of the square, a boisterous group of hens in matching T-shirts was taking snaps of a bride.
***
Later that morning, Mr Obnoxious headed into the tavern hoping to corner Josse in his favourite spot, but the man with the tangled topknot was nowhere to be seen. In his stead, a woman with a blonde up-do was sitting comfortably in the prized window booth reading a book.
He had nearly reached her table before he realised his prey wasn’t actually there. The woman considered him with a blue-eyed gaze before returning to her novel as he backed away to stand at the bar.
She seemed happy, in her sun-drenched seat near the window, in her pretty, colourful top, a frothy cappuccino cooling within easy reach. Two large bunches of flowers – one pink, one white – were lying on the bench beside her.
He was just about to approach her with a suitable chat-up line when another woman walked into the tavern, leading an ecstatic russet dog. The woman in the window rose with a smile and hugged her as she approached. A friend, a relative? The silver-haired new arrival seemed older, but he did notice a family resemblance as she slipped onto the facing bench, gesturing for her mutt to lie down underneath.
He’d give it five more minutes to see if the boss man made an appearance. While he downed his espresso and shouted at his assistant over the phone, the younger woman handed the white bouquet to her grey-clad companion, who accepted it with obvious delight.
***
Cara found the plate empty, her assorted offerings nowhere to be seen.
That giggle she had pretended not to hear the other day… well. With hindsight a few hours later, she had wondered if she had imagined it, or if they had just caught a sound from an adjacent room that was rarely used.
And those lashes couldn’t have come tumbling from the ceiling light; there was just no way. Maybe they had been stuck to her wig or whatever and some gesture had dislodged them, or maybe she and Zelda had experienced some kind of collective hallucination.
But there had been this niggling doubt, even as she had attempted to explain the whole thing away. She was as familiar with the cabaret’s backstage area as she was with the contents of her make-up case; if the voice had come from another room she would have known. And while a pair of lashes sticking to a massive beehive was by no means inconceivable, it seemed hardly likely.
Mice, Zelda had ventured.
Biscuits, Cara’s mind had replied. What’s to stop you from attempting something ludicrous in the privacy of your own dressing room, her inner voice had insisted, particularly while Zelda is away? And talk to unseen entities in an empty room? Just go for it, girl. If it’s mice, it’s not like they’d mind, and if it’s something else, you were right all along.
Well, it wasn’t mice, Cara concluded, as she examined the clean piece of crockery. She wasn’t sure if rodents would have left crumbs, but presumably they wouldn’t have been interested in the mascara.
***
The sun had set when Jade woke after a prolonged afternoon nap. Adelphine had welcomed her back at the tavern, and she had even been able to offer her a recently vacated room on the floor above Mirko’s.
No demands had been placed on her, no payment had been requested, no gratitude appeared to be expected.
It was weird. And, so far as Jade was concerned, it was way too good to be true. Sooner or later, some hammer would drop, and she didn’t intend to be around when it did.
She was feeling much better; it was time to prepare for her getaway. She had spotted a few useful items in the tavern below, such as the free tampons in the ladies’ loo. And would anyone notice a few coins missing from the tip jar?
Jade held her breath as she tiptoed down the stairs, a thin plastic bag stuffed into her pocket. The door to the tavern was locked, but the key was hanging from a hook on the wall. Clearly, no one expected intruders from this side of the building. She saw no signs of a burglar alarm.
She unlocked the door and stepped into the bar. After the bright light of the stairwell, the tavern seemed impenetrably dark, but she didn’t dare switch on the lights. Her eyes soon adjusted, outlines appearing in the dim light from the street.
She reached for the tip jar, and all hell broke loose.