priests. I had messengers waiting; they departed the moment mass adjourned. They can confirm for you that what you've just seen was no trickery.
“I also require them because my under-priests and I aren't sufficient to make up a formal quorum, but we'll discuss that later.”
The duchess, and her portable house made of dress, returned to her seat, beckoning the others to follow. “Perhaps you had better tell us your story and your theories again. I'm sure that Mademoiselle…?”
The cue was an obvious one. “Widdershins. My name is Widdershins.”
“Ah.”
Ah? What does she mean “Ah”? This is not a good “Ah.” I don't like it.
“Your, um, Your Grace, about before…”
“If what you said is true, you've been through a great deal. I'm willing to dismiss it as heat of the moment.”
Oh, are you? You're so kind…
“As I was saying,” Luchene continued, “I'm sure Mademoiselle Widdershins can add all manner of fascinating details to what the others have already told us.”
Oh, you have no idea…
Widdershins took a deep breath and launched into the nightmare that the past week had become.
To say the aristocrats appeared skeptical when her recitation wound to a close would have been rather an understatement. Narrowed glares, furtive whispers, and furrowed brows all suggested a rather distinct lack of credulity. At the same time, they hadn't dismissed her outright. Partly because she had the backing of the bishop and Evrard d'Arras, of course, and partly due to what they'd seen moments before. Still, Widdershins found herself more nervous than if they'd simply declared her crazy, a liar, or a crazy liar.
“I'm not liking this, Olgun…”
The duchess raised one imperious hand, and the muttered conversations ceased as though neatly beheaded. “You understand why we might have some difficulty with this tale?” she asked.
Shins nodded. “I only believe me because I was there to see me go through it.”
A faint quirk of the lips was the nearest thing to a smile Luchene appeared willing to part with. “I think,” she said—and though she hadn't turned, everyone present knew she was addressing the lot of them, not the thief alone—“that many of us have heard some of the whispers and rumors. Gossip among the servants and the guards, both, about the mysterious Widdershins and her unusual skills.”
And while several of the nobles looked nothing but puzzled, a good half of them nodded in agreement.
If she had stumbled out of bed and, two-thirds asleep, planted herself on a chamber pot sculpted entirely of snow, Widdershins might have been as shocked, as chilled, as she was now. She actually fought with her own body, her own nerves and instincts, to keep from fleeing the room. Olgun assisted as much as he could, but the bulk of his willpower was devoted toward keeping himself from the edge of panic.
It…made sense, though, as much as she hated the idea. People were bound to notice, especially once she'd gotten caught up in (or hurled herself into) city-wide incidents such as the Apostle's schemes or the Iruoch affair. It had just never so much as crossed her mind that said rumors would make their way any higher than the street.
Of course, it's not like I haven't robbed most of the people sitting here, at one time or another…
“Well,” she told Olgun, voice shaking until it almost crumbled, “that explains her earlier ‘Ah.’”
Her divine companion did not appear to take much solace in that.
“I'm…flattered?” she squeaked out, some ten or eleven years later.
“Don't be flattered. Show me.”
“I…what?!”
“Show us,” Luchene commanded. “Let us see that these vaunted abilities aren't just some trick. That you know what you speak of, where the supernatural is concerned.”
“You want me to put on a performance for you? Do I get to keep my clothes on?”
“Widdershins!” Sicard, Igraine, Evrard, and Renard barked in unison.
“Someday, Your Grace, I'm going to ask you to order them to tell me when they find the time to practice that.” Widdershins sighed melodramatically. “Fine. Sica—uh, Your Eminence?”
“Hmm?” Sicard asked in response.
Shins moved to stand beside him beneath the Eternal Eye, at the center of everyone's attention. “You have soldiers standing guard elsewhere in the Basilica than just this room, yes?”
“Indeed.”
“Would you please send someone to tell them that what they're about to hear is a demonstration, and there's no need to come running? And especially no need to come shooting or stabbing?”
The bishop's suspicious glower was not the only one to fall upon her, then, but he waved one of the guards to go deliver the message. The few minutes it