“Is anyone here?” she asked René.

He looked up and smiled, the white hair and gold jacket looking far less exotic in this setting than at Bellamy House. But he looked different as well. At his ease, more relaxed. “The staff do not live in anymore …” His voice was again a surprise, after the ride in the lift. “… and I wrote for them not to come until middlesun. They will have a long day tomorrow.”

Sophia threw her hat onto a backless couch and kicked off her slippers. They went flying in two different directions, making Spear glance around from where he was gazing dourly at the view. She sighed in relief, done with being hemmed in by a boat and a landover all day. She turned her back to both of them, hiked up her navy skirt, and quickly pulled the tie of the heavy white underskirt. She stepped out of it, careful not to let the sewn-in firelighter hit the floor.

“Really, Sophia,” Spear said. “Can’t you wait?”

“You haven’t been wearing that weight since nethermoon, and I am perfectly decent, thank you.” But she couldn’t help smiling as she carefully folded the fluffy white material around the precious firelighter. That was three censures in one day from Spear. Somebody should write a song about it.

“Monsieur Hammond,” said René. “Do you prefer that we speak in Commonwealth?”

“Parisian is fine. The luggage is coming up?”

“Benoit is on his …”

“Then I’d like to see the flat,” Spear said. “All of it. Is there a way down other than the lift?”

Sophia saw a frown brush across René’s forehead, but he only nodded and picked up the light. “Come, and I will show you.”

They followed him through the echoing main room to a door that led into a long, bending corridor, carpeted in cream and midnight blue, continuing the curved shape of the window wall. There were doors on both sides, opening onto grand, windowed rooms on their left, utilitarian, interior rooms on their right. The entire flat was almost a complete circle, spiraling on two different levels around the central lift shaft.

“Attic space?” Spear asked.

“Yes,” René said, “but it is small and unused. There is a trapdoor in the ceiling of the linen room. You can get onto the roof from there, but it is steep. Very dangerous, and of no use unless you wish to fly or elude your tutor. But at the end of this hall is the kitchen, and a back stair that leads to the ground. That door will lock from the outside, and there is a drop bar on the inside. So you may leave that way, if you wish, but if for some reason you wish to return by climbing all twelve floors, you will have to make much noise until someone lets you in. And here is the water room.”

René opened the door of a small, closet-like space that had a rectangular wooden panel built into one wall. He slid this up and there was the water lift, a bricked shaft, two ropes inside, a water bucket dangling from one of them. Sophia stuck her head in the opening and touched the rope. The walls were slimed from constant splashing, and it smelled a bit musty, but the rope seemed to be in decent condition. She couldn’t see the bottom.

“Did you hear a door?” Spear asked from the hallway. The little room wasn’t really big enough for him and anyone else.

“That will be Benoit with the luggage. He has a key.”

“And where are you putting us to sleep?” he said. “I need to see to my things.”

René looked at Spear closely, but again he only said, “This way.” They left the water room and followed René back down the hallway to a set of stairs, also following the curve of the inner wall. At the top of the stairwell was another corridor, straight this time, the wall space that was not interrupted by doorways gleaming dully with hanging weapons.

“The rooms we use most often are here,” he said. “This is my room.” Sophia looked with interest at the closed door. “Benoit is the next door down, and you are the next from that, Hammond. Mademoiselle, across the hall. Take the last door, that is the better room.”

Spear started asking about the roof again while she examined a sword hung near her head on the wall, a bit shorter and lighter than the others, with a hilt of twisted silver. The hilt had been worn smooth by hands.

“Sophia,” said Spear. “I assume you’re tired and going to bed. I’ll have Benoit bring up your bags and something for you to eat.” He started down the hall, then looked back. “Are you going?”

Sophia raised a brow. “No, I don’t plan on locking myself in my room just this moment. Am I confined to quarters?” Spear hesitated. “Really, Spear, what is wrong with you? I’ll go in a bit, when the bags come up.”

He stood still, torn by some decision that Sophia could not fathom. “I need to see to my things,” he said. And before she could close her mouth or even say a word, Spear was away down the hall and through the door at the end, the door she assumed led to the gallery and stairway she’d seen in the flat’s main room. Never had she seen Spear behaving this way. She was surprised he hadn’t ordered her to brush her teeth.

René watched Spear go, then put his gaze on Sophia. “Do you like that one?” he asked. She turned to the sword she’d been examining, with the twisted silver hilt. “You can try it, if you like. These are not decorations.”

His eyes stood out bright in the dim. She smiled and lifted the sword from its hooks. She held it out, feeling the weight, swung it once, twice, and turned to find René where she had left him, only now the gold jacket was on the floor and he had a sword as well, loose and ready in his hand.

“Come. I do not think you wish to sleep. I think you would much rather hit something. Tell me I am wrong.”

“You want to fight me? Right now. In the hallway?”

“Unless you are frightened, Mademoiselle.”

“I’m wearing a dress. And you are much taller than me.”

He tsked as he approached in his vest and shirtsleeves, looking every inch a gentleman thief. Or assassin. “Your disadvantages are many. I can understand your fear.”

She smiled at him from beneath her lashes and raised the sword. So did he, fiery blue on either side of his blade. She moved forward, bare feet silent on the carpet, as if trying to ascertain his reach, and then she darted ahead quickly, getting her sword over his on the inside, but he was back and away before she could get it out of his hand. She cursed once beneath her breath. She’d wanted to take it on the first try. René’s smile was devilish, and it was distracting.

“Oh, no,” he said, as if sad and sorry for her. “That will not work on me, Mademoiselle. I have seen you do that before.” He came at her and she blocked.

“What do you mean you’ve seen me do that before?” She blocked again.

“To your brother. On the beach, at Bellamy House. The night of our Banns.”

He blocked her this time. So René Hasard had been watching her on the beach that night? That was cheating. She parried him once and then twice, but only just. She was in trouble. She knew it, and so did he. He was quick, had reach, and she was hampered by cloth even without the voluminous underskirt. His grin was even bigger.

He came at her fast again, and instead of meeting him head-on she ducked and turned, switching their positions. She stepped back, knocking his sword aside and then crossing with him again, letting him push her up against a door. His expression was a little disappointed from the other side of their blades. “You ran? I did not think …” She gave him a beatific smile, reached behind with her free hand, and pushed down on the door latch.

She’d been ready for the loss of resistance but he had not. She dropped to her knees and he went down to the floor through the doorway, though he managed to knock her sword from her hand on the way. There was a scramble in the dark as they fought over the loose blade, Sophia crawling right over his back to get it, her struggle becoming ineffectual from laughter. René was cursing up a storm in Parisian, a flurry of words that would have made any man on Blackpot Street proud.