Chapitre Vingt-Trois

La Déesse de la Lune

Leon

“Father, I must protest the use of these masks,” Leon whispered as he adjusted his own.

Lucien chuckled. “What? Are you so honorable that you would never hide your face? Even when most prudent to do so?”

The two of them stood in a back alleyway, just outside an old warehouse near the river docks. The darkness of the night covered them. Still, Leon glanced about uneasily, sure that they would be heard.

“I don’t object to using masks,” said Leon. “I object to using these masks.” Leon placed his fingers along the edge of the mask which only covered the area around his eyes. “Sure, these are all well and good at a masquerade, but these don’t really…” Leon brought his voice lower, “…conceal our identity. Anyone who knows either of us will recognize us in these…”

“Psh,” Lucien waved his hand dismissively. “These masks aren’t really meant for that. Think about it, with everything these people discuss do you really think it’s a secret to each other who we are? Even from one another?” Lucien opened the old, wooden door and started down the long staircase on the other side. Leon followed and closed the door behind them. “Every one of us can deduce who the others are.”

“Then why wear the masks?” Leon asked.

“Plausible deniability,” said Lucien. “If one of us is interrogated about our associates we can simply say, ‘I never saw their faces. They all wore masks.’ And we wouldn’t even be lying!”

Leon snorted. “Right. Because those who play le Jeu Fatal have such a hard time lying…”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “No need to be snide. For as good as noblemen like me are at lying there are players of the game who are far better at discerning those lies. We need every edge we can get considering the secret we’re guarding.”

The two of them came to another wooden door, though this one had no handle. Lucien knocked six times rapidly, paused, then knocked three more times.

A voice on the other side of the door called out. “Password?”

Lucien cleared his throat and said in a hushed tone, “Bread and honey.”

Leon did all he could to keep from laughing as the man on the other side of the door opened. “Bread and honey” was truly the password? Then again, that was certainly something no one would guess.

No sooner had Leon stepped through the doorway than the man who’d been standing behind it placed a hand on his chest and pushed him against the wall.

“Who is this?” the doorman asked. He was a man far taller than Leon, and even larger than Marc had been. He wore a mask with a long, pointed nose, and his breath smelled of pipe smoke.

“Nez, this is my son,” said Lucien.

“He’s not been sworn in yet,” said the doorman.

“I know!” said Lucien. “I intend to have him sworn in tonight. He wants to join the Pain Street Club.”

Nez looked to Lucien, then back to Leon. “I’ll be watching you.” He removed his hand from Leon’s chest, and Leon inhaled sharply without the pressure on his ribcage.

“Come along, my boy,” said Lucien.

Once they were out of earshot of the doorman Leon whispered, “Nez? I’m assuming that’s a…”

“Codename?” said Lucien. “Oh, yes. Everyone goes by a codename here.”

The two of them soon came to a big room where chairs were arranged in a circle, and a man or woman wearing a mask sat in nearly every chair. Some of them sipped brandy from tiny glasses. Others smoked cigars, and a cloud of smoke shrouded the room.

“Ombre,” said one of them, turning to Lucien, “You’ve arrived. And you brought a guest?”

Lucien nodded to him. “Cheval, very astute of you. Yes, this is my son, Souris.” Leon struggled not to snicker at the sound of the codenames. “He wishes to join our little club.”

Cheval stood and walked over to Leon and crossed his arms. “This is not something to take lightly, Souris. We make new initiates swear a solemn oath.”

Leon looked Cheval in the eye and said, “I’m ready to swear-”

“Hold!” said Cheval, raising his hands. “First I have a question for you. Why do you want to join the Pain Street Club?”

“Why?”

“Yes, Souris. Why?”

“You help witch-born,” said Leon, “I think that’s the right thing to do.” Cheval crossed his arms again and tilted his head to one side. Clearly this answer didn’t satisfy him. Leon sighed. “Recently… I lost someone. A dear friend of mine betrayed me, and shortly thereafter… he died. He was my best friend, the man I told everything on my heart. Without him I felt like I couldn’t share with anyone.”

Leon licked his lips and clasped his hands together. “But then I remembered a certain witch-born man… boy, rather, that I knew. I went to see him, and I told him everything that was troubling me. Every time I spoke with him I could see the empathy in his eyes. He more than understood me, he -- he felt my pain with me, shared the burden.” Leon smiled to himself as he remembered everything Edmund had done for him. For a boy of only twelve he had proved himself wise.

Leon stiffened, and continued with conviction, “The Church wants to convince us that the witch-born have the souls of demons? Well, if that’s true then demons are a far cry better than people, frankly. And… if Lyr decides he won’t let me into Paradise because I helped the witch-born… well, his Paradise is not one I want to be a part of anyway!”

Cheval clapped, and soon the whole room joined him in applause. “That, dear Souris, is the right answer!” He threw an arm around Leon’s shoulder and guided him over to the circle of chairs. “Witches are wicked, there’s no doubt about that. They traffic with demons and dark gods, and bring calamity upon innocent people. But the witch-born? They’re just victims. They can’t help the way they were born or what they are. When the Church says that they are demons and that anyone who helps them will be damned… well, we pray every day that they don’t truly speak for Lyr as they claim.”

“Here here!” said one of the women in the circle.

“Now, as for your oath,” Cheval held his hands together like one about to pray. “Do you swear that you will always fight to protect those witch-born who have not followed in their parents’ footsteps?”

“I swear it,” said Leon.

“Do you swear to keep and protect the secrets of this collective, including where we meet, who we are, and any other details of our meetings?”

Leon nodded. “I swear it!”

“Do you swear that even under threat of pain and death you will never betray our cause?”

“I swear that no force exists which could make me betray this cause!”

What was that expression on Lucien’s face as Leon swore his oath? Was that pride? He couldn’t recall the last time his father looked that pleased with him.

“Swear by Salia!” said Cheval.

“I swear it!”

“Swear by your forefathers!”

“I swear it!”

“Swear by the Hymns!”

“I swear it!”

“Now, swear by one deceased whom you dearly miss.”

“I swear it!”

Cheval snorted and a few people around the room chuckled. “No, Souris, you have to tell us by whom you swear.”

Leon caught his breath, realizing what Cheval was implying. He looked to his father, but Lucien offered him no help with this one. A deceased loved one whom he dearly missed? Only one person came to mind who fit that role. But to swear by her? How could he be sure that he wouldn’t betray that some day? What if he was captured, tortured, and forced to betray the cause? How disappointed would she be?

But maybe that was the point. If he found himself about to betray the cause he could remember his oath and who he swore by, and that would give him the strength to endure whatever suffering he faced.

Leon cleared his throat. “I swear by the grave of my mother, the woman who brought me into this world and taught me right from wrong.”

There was a moment of silence after Leon finished swearing his oath, after which Cheval said, “Your mother. The very same person your father swore by when he joined us.”

Leon looked to his father, who smiled and nodded to him. It was a strange feeling, really. Around when Leon turned thirteen he began to think that he and his father had nothing in common, that they were totally different people. Now that he was nearly twenty years old he found himself connecting with his father in all sorts of strange ways. Ways in which there was no one else with whom he could connect. They held a special bond of which Leon had spent most of his life unaware, and part of that bond was that they were both so deeply affected by the same wonderful woman.

Cheval continued. “As of this moment you are inducted into the Pain Street Club. Take a seat, please.”

Leon sat in one of the few empty chairs, which just happened to be next to one of the young ladies in the club. She gave him a flirtatious smile as he sat. He awkwardly waved in return. His father took a seat across from him and took a cigar from a box sitting on the coffee table.

“Down to business, then,” said Cheval, groaning as he took his own seat. “Ombre, what have you learned about Duke Armand?”

Lucien lit the cigar and set the end between his teeth. “As you know,” he exhaled the smoke, which smelled of vanilla, “Duke Jehan Armand is close friends with Bishop Obert. They’re almost like brothers, those two. Well, my spy network reports that Obert has been keeping secret the continued survival of a certain famous witch.”

“You don’t mean…” Cheval’s jaw fell open. Almost everyone in the room seemed to turn white just thinking about what Lucien was hinting at.

Lucien exhaled another puff of smoke. “I do. Margot is still alive.”

The whole room was a murmur after that. Leon caught very few words, but among them he was certain he heard someone say, “Merde!”

Lucien raised his hands to quiet them. “One problem at a time, my friends. One problem at a time. Obert and Jehan have never been silent about their hate for the witch-born. They are the hardest advocates for the formation of an order to hunt down and slaughter all witch-born in Salia. And with this information we have them by the bollocks.” Lucien casually flicked ashes into the ashtray. “I’ve already started blackmailing them both. In time I’ll ask for more than money, and then, when the time is right, I’ll use this secret to bring them to their knees. They’ll advocate for any cause I want to keep Margot’s survival a secret.”

The woman next to Leon gave an uncomfortable laugh. “That’s our Ombre, using such terrifying secrets to better our cause…”

“Forgive my ignorance,” said Leon, “But who is this Margot?”

Everyone stared at Leon, flabbergasted at the question.

“Have I not told you this story, my boy?” Lucien asked, nearly dropping his cigar.

Leon shrugged. “You know me. I never listen.”

“You’d remember.” Lucien pointed the cigar at Leon, accentuating every word with it. “You’d remember if you heard this story.”

“Will you please tell me?” Leon asked.

Lucien breathed deeply with the cigar in his mouth and shook his head. “Just over twenty years ago there was… an incident in Senon. A foreign dignitary from the land of Osci was found murdered in his room at the inn.” Lucien bit his lip and winced. “Not just murdered. Eviscerated. And in his blood, upon the walls, was painted the symbol of the moon goddess, Ili.” Lucien rubbed to fingers on his temple. “I’ll assume you don’t know the significance of Ili either. Ili, the moon goddess, is believed by witches to be the only deity capable of subduing Lyr. It is said that she is so beautiful that even Lyr cannot resist her charms. Whether it’s true or not, what happened next… well, it made the whole Church tremble. The tides rose up all around Salia, and coastal towns were swallowed up by the sea.”

“Le Jugement,” said Leon. “I know of this! The Church teaches-”

Lucien interrupted him. “That Lyr punished the coastal towns for their whorish trade with foreigners and barbarians, I know. That wasn’t what most people thought at the time, and it’s certainly not what I believe now. Ili acted, in part because of the sacrifice Margot and her coven made to her. There’s little doubt in my mind… in any of our minds that what happened was not Lyr acting on his own, but rather Ili’s influence over him. Or, at least, Margot and her coven had something to do with it.” Lucien took another puff of smoke. “The proof is in the fact that after Margot was caught and her coven massacred the tides returned to normal.”

Leon shrugged. “It could be coincidence.”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “Come now, you’re smarter than that! If word were to get out that Margot were still alive it would cause a mass panic. But, more importantly, if word were to get out that Obert and Jehan were hiding Margot, keeping her survival a secret, then it would be treason most foul! The Empress would see them beheaded before they could even plead their case!” Lucien put out his cigar butt in the ashtray. “Which means that, for the time being, we can use this information to our advantage.”

Cheval raised his index finger. “Shouldn’t we be worrying about how to deal with Charlot?”

Lucien shrugged. “As I said, one problem at a time. This little society wasn’t founded so that we could fight witches, the Church has people for that. We’re here to help the witches’ most overlooked victims, remember?”

“And Margot’s existence gives us a unique opportunity,” said Leon. “I agree with my father. We should focus our resources on turning this to our advantage. Let the Church deal with Margot once we’ve gotten them to leave the witch-born alone.”