The doorway of the ruin stood black and empty, but when Spear reached it, the tip of a sword appeared from one side of the darkness, just touching his chest. He paused and held out his hand, palm open, showing a single red-tipped feather. The sword lowered, and the face of Ministre Bonnard appeared in the opening, a frightened boy peeking out just behind him.
The Bonnard family was herded quickly into the landover, the door shut, the window curtains closed, and Cartier cracked his whip over the heads of the horses. Rooks cawed from the treetops, protesting the noise. Spear watched the wheels of the landover rattle fast down the lane, toward the turning to the Caledonian Road, where the buildings and fields of the Rathbone farm sprawled out along the banks of a wide river. He shook his head, promising himself again that this would be the last time. He knew he wouldn’t keep that promise. Sophia would only have to ask him again. When the road was empty, he walked away past the bungalow, taking long, fast strides down the A5.
Sophia Bellamy took leisurely strides down the A5, away from the Caledonian Road and the Rathbone farm, picking her way around the massive ruts that were the result of dozens of landovers parading to her Banns the night before. Before the printing presses were taken, most of their friends would have been able to walk to Bellamy House. Now the road was lined with deteriorating bungalows.
Brown leaves blew past as she peered up, gazing at the steel sky beyond the oak trees, one hand holding a straw and ribbon hat on her head. The wind was sharp. She wondered if she could smell a storm, or if the rooks could. They were making an unholy noise. She adjusted the basket on her other arm, and then she paused, seeing what was disturbing the peace of the rookery. There was someone else on the lane. Her hat came off, dangling by the ribbons as she waited for the man’s approach, one hand held near the filigree belt she wore around her waist. The rooks screamed.
“Monsieur LeBlanc,” she said when he stood before her. She made her face look pleasant. “I thought you were sailing back to your city last night.” She’d thought it because Cartier had followed him all the way to the ferry in Canterbury.
LeBlanc bent over her hand, allowing Sophia to study the odd streak of white hair in the natural light. He wore a large signet ring on his smallest finger. “Good day, Miss Bellamy. I had meant it to be so, but while on the boat I inquired of Fate and the Goddess most unexpectedly directed me to stay in the Commonwealth.” Sophia felt one of her eyebrows rise. “Do you walk alone? Is that wise? Where is René?”
Sophia forced a laugh. “Your cousin is likely flat on his back with an aching head, Monsieur. And I often walk here alone. This is my land.”
“Your father’s land. Is that not so?” When she did not answer, LeBlanc said, “I believe I saw Monsieur Bellamy’s landover drive by a few moments ago. You do not take the landover?”
“No.” She kept her smile neutral while her pulse picked up its pace. “It was going to the smith for repairs, I believe. And I like to walk.”
“And where do you walk to, Mademoiselle, when the weather threatens?”
“I’m bringing a basket to one of our neighbors.” She lifted the arm with the basket slightly.
“And which neighbor is this?”
“Mr. Lostchild,” she lied without hesitation. “He’s very old, and one of the few we have left. We like to take care of him.”
“And what do you bring him?”
“Cake. Left over from the Banns.” Sophia tilted her head. “Would you also like to know exactly when I left the house?”
LeBlanc laughed very softly. Sophia hid an involuntary shiver. “You will forgive me for being so inquisitive, Miss Bellamy. It is my nature to ask questions. Would you allow me to walk with you to see this Mr. Lostchild? It would ease my mind if you were not alone.”
Sophia inclined her head, trying to hold an agreeable expression while every muscle in her body rippled with tension. They began walking down the A5 together, Sophia keeping one hand unobtrusively behind her basket, near the filigree belt.
“I am surprised to hear that you bring food to your elderly. Does that not go against your Commonwealth doctrines of self-reliance, Mademoiselle?”
“Only if Mr. Lostchild is liable to become dependent on cake, Monsieur.”
LeBlanc gave her a sidelong glance, as if trying to decide whether she’d meant to be impertinent. She had. “May I say you look very well today, Miss Bellamy. I think I prefer it to your more formal attire.”
He was approving of the ringlets in her hair and the neckline of her shirt, which was significantly higher than her Banns dress. Sophia said, “I take it the fashions of the Commonwealth offend your Allemande tastes? If so, then your cousin must be a puzzle to you.”
“It is true that in the Cité de Lumière we do not prefer the new ways.”
“You mean the old ways that have become new again?”
He nodded, acknowledging the reference to his words the night before. “In the city, we do not see the need for excess. We prefer sensible dress and the honest work of the human.”
“And yet machines are the work of humans, aren’t they, Monsieur?”
LeBlanc’s smile was once again indulgent. “Machines take away the means for the poor to earn their bread. And eventually, as it did with the Ancients, dependence on technology takes away even the most basic of skills, like the ability to find one’s own food. That is not something Premier Allemande can condone.”
No, he just condones cutting off the heads of those with the money to fund such technology, Sophia thought. Whether they had ever thought of funding it or not. She wondered just how often Premier Allemande found his own food.
LeBlanc was frowning. “You speak like a technologist, Miss Bellamy, as if you would see the world go back to the weaknesses of the past. Has your father or your brother been teaching you this?”
Sophia gave him a pretty, false smile. “Oh, no, Monsieur. Technologists are not popular here at all. I think the Commonwealth dislikes proponents of machines even more than the Sunken City does.” She watched LeBlanc’s expression smooth back to tranquility.
“I am glad to hear you say so. René has gone rather wild of late, as young men often do, and his mother hopes for a marriage that will tame him. Are you … how do you say it here? Are you ‘up for the job’?”
She laughed again, but did not answer.
“It is a gamble, is it not?” LeBlanc continued. “We hope that you will teach René his responsibilities and bring strong blood to the family, while you hope the Hasard fortune will save the Bellamys from ruin.”
Sophia stopped their stroll and turned to face LeBlanc. Behind him, across an overgrown yard, stood a ruined bungalow with half a roof and an empty front door. “Exactly what do you want to say to me, Monsieur?”
LeBlanc’s smile spread slow across his face. “I would like your help, Miss Bellamy.”
She waited, the hand that was behind her basket on the filigree belt buckle.
“I want information on the man known in my city as the Red Rook.”
Sophia smiled, and then she said, “Are you also looking for landovers that drive by themselves? The Rook is only a story.”
“The Red Rook is not a myth, Mademoiselle. He is a man, and …” He lowered his oily voice. “… I know he is near.”
Sophia blinked. “You interest me. Go on.”
“I know that he has landed two boats within three miles of this estate, boats I believe to have been filled with traitors to Allemande. I know he speaks two languages, for how else can he blend so well into the people of our different cultures? I believe that he is a man of some wealth, or that he is supported by one, so that he can come and go as he pleases. I believe he has a group of men around him that will obey without question. And your father’s estate, Miss Bellamy, must be near where such a man might live on this isolated stretch of coast.”