With an effort, she shook off the past, and focused on the present.
The crowd was colorful and variegated: delegations from other Houses; gang lords in leather, swaggering through the market with their entourages; and a host of grimier, poorer people who congregated in the food sections, haggling for basic necessities. There was not much danger in the crowd, as long as they remained together: the Great Market was a place of truce (which, of course, didn’t mean their purses were safe from opportunistic thieves). Children chased one another, laughing, under the wary eyes of their parents or their minders.
As they stood before one of the stalls, waiting for Oris to complete a purchase of a small mother-of-pearl container, Philippe spoke up.
“It was bigger during the war,” he said.
“Wasn’t everything?” Madeleine said. She hadn’t been born when the city was devastated; those days, you pretty much had to be Fallen to have survived. Sixty years was long in human lifetimes, and most of those who had breathed in the air of Paris in the aftermath had not recovered well. But he wasn’t Fallen, and still he remembered. Odd.
“They had entire stalls like these,” Philippe said, fingering a lacquered box with a pattern of flowers. “Exotic woods from the Orient, and incense, and all the rubber you could ever want, for manufacturing car tires for the front.” His voice was lightly ironic.
“We still have those. But they’re mostly from our existing stock. More expensive,” Madeleine said, unsure of what to answer. He was a native, of course; he would disapprove of the empire, if there was still such a thing after the war — with communications and travel so difficult, the colonies had all but become independent kingdoms by now, with the French colonists still in charge. She… she didn’t like the idea of invading countries, but she was no fooclass="underline" the empire had made them rich and powerful, and even its bare, pathetic remnants after the war brought them riches and standards of living far above those of the street gangs or other Houseless. Sometimes, you did what you had to, in order to survive.
He gave no sign of noticing her hesitation: he nodded, gravely. “It was another age.”
“And yet you’re still here,” Madeleine said.
His face closed, as if a cloud had darkened it. “Through no fault of my own,” he said, bitterly, and wouldn’t speak up again.
“Madeleine!” A voice made her look up as they approached the eastern area of the parvis.
It was Claire, the head of House Lazarus; surrounded, as usual, by a gaggle of unruly children. Lazarus, among all the Houses, was the only one ruled by a human; Claire had been its head for thirty years, and Madeleine had known her for about half of that. She was small and plump, the image of a gray-haired, kindly grandmother; though of course one did not get to be the head of a House through kindness alone. Claire was ruthless, and many of her tactics would have put a Fallen to shame.
“I see you’ve grown an entourage of your own,” Claire said, wryly. Her gaze took in Isabelle and Oris, and stopped at Philippe.
“They belong to the House,” Madeleine said, acutely embarrassed.
“You surprise me.” Claire smiled. “I never thought you would get Philippe to join a House of his own free will.”
She knew him? Madeleine waited for him to protest; or to acknowledge the fact that he was bound to the House by far less than his free will, but he merely scowled at Claire. “There is a time to try everything, I guess,” he said, darkly. “How have you been, Lady Claire?”
“Well enough,” Claire said. Without missing a beat, she caught a boy’s hand and held it away from the bracelet he was trying to grasp. “No touching, I said.”
Madeleine made a mental note to talk to Claire away from Philippe, or to tell Selene to do so. There was even more to the young man they didn’t know, it seemed. “We had Philippe for a while,” Claire said. “A long time ago, though, and we couldn’t hold him.”
Philippe wasn’t meeting her gaze; though now that Madeleine thought of it, he seldom met anyone’s gaze but Isabelle’s. “None of your fault,” he said at last, inclining his head in a practiced gesture. “You know that.”
“Of course.” Claire shook her head, as if to clear away a persistent thought; and her gaze focused on Isabelle. “You haven’t been here long,” she said.
Isabelle hesitated, clearly reluctant to say much of anything. Madeleine stepped in. “She’s too young for the advanced inquisition, Claire. Or for your power plays with Silverspires.”
“Power plays?” Claire smiled again. “I don’t play them much, as you well know.”
No, Madeleine thought. But when you do play them, you leave us all in the dust. She did not relish the idea that Silverspires was bound to find itself on the opposite camp of House Lazarus one day. Claire might be human, but that merely meant she was ten times the strategist that most Fallen were; and ten times as ruthless when it came to downing her enemies. “If I were playing such games, though…” Claire’s face was thoughtful. “If I were playing, I would congratulate you on sheltering so young a Fallen, who will do honor to her House.”
“A weapon, you mean.” Philippe’s hiss of anger was all too audible, even in the din of merchants offering their wares.
“I see you haven’t changed,” Claire said. “Ideals will betray you in the end. You should know this.”
Philippe said nothing — perhaps he’d finally understood that all Claire did was to goad him, in the hopes of getting information. “You didn’t stop me simply to exchange pleasantries,” Madeleine said, going for the blunt approach.
Claire’s pale blue eyes focused on her. “Did I?” But in the end, as Madeleine had known all along, she couldn’t resist. “If you see Selene, you might want to suggest she show an interest in doings outside the House.”
“What things do you think she would not have seen?” Madeleine said, keeping her voice low and pleasant.
Claire’s face darkened, and she hesitated for a while. “As I said, I don’t play your little power games. I’m not Harrier or Hawthorn, or Silverspires, indeed. But there is word, in the city, of something abroad.”
“Something?” Madeleine couldn’t help the bark of laughter. “There’s always something abroad in Paris. It’s not like it’s a safe place.” She couldn’t help remembering the shadow; the touch on her thoughts, the fist tightening in her innards as the wings unfolded, always just out of sight, always just out of reach — until they weren’t.
“Something that kills,” Claire said darkly. “Something that leaves multiple bite marks on its victims and takes their blood.”
“Fallen blood is power,” Philippe said. He kept his gaze away from Isabelle, but Madeleine saw the way the young Fallen flinched. “But not much power.”
“Did I say the victims were Fallen?” Claire shook her head.
Oh, of course. Word would have spread much faster, if there had been Fallen dead. “What are you suggesting?” Madeleine asked.
“I don’t know. I never said I had the answer. But I would suggest you tread even more carefully than usual at night.” Claire’s face was utterly serious; and there was a hint of something in her eyes — fear?