ourselves to death?”
“Working?” Cerise said with a snort. “Really? You work?”
“Yes,” Gabriel said. “Unlike some people, I earn what I eat.”
“I wouldn’t call what you do earning.”
“I’ll have you know it takes a lot of skill to do what I do.”
Cerise snorted. “Yes, I’m sure pickpocketing handkerchiefs from little old ladies is very challenging.”
“First of all, I don’t rob little old ladies. And secondly, I’m not just a pickpocket. I happen to be a criminal mastermind.”
“Mastermind? Really? You steal stuff.”
“The Second Estate steals. The Third Estate only steals back.”
Cerise rolled her eyes. “Oh please. You steal for yourself. Not because you’re trying to make some kind of grand political statement.”
“My whole life is a grand political statement! While yours is a joke.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Cerise shouted. “I’m on your side. I’m a sympathizeur.”
Gabriel launched out of his chair. “That’s. Not. A. Thing!”
“Yes. It. Is!”
“No,” Gabriel said, his voice turning dark and determined, “it’s not. Until you have one of these”—he roughly pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the darkened screen just above his left wrist—“implanted in your flesh against your will, you cannot sympathize with us. We’re told these are here for our own safety. But they’re nothing but chains. These are here to enslave us.”
“Just because you’re Third Estate, doesn’t mean you have a monopoly on pain,” Cerise muttered.
“What the fric does that mean?”
“You’re not the only one with problems.”
“Yeah, right,” Gabriel snorted. “Your biggest problem is what dress to wear to what fête. My biggest problem is where my next meal is coming from.”
“I think you already solved that when you raided the galley. I’m surprised there’s any food left.”
“Sucks to be hungry, doesn’t it?”
“I’m just saying”—Cerise tried for a deep breath—“not all chains are visible.”
“Whatever,” Gabriel mumbled collapsing back into his seat. “Let’s just play.”
Cerise nodded, restoring herself, and sat back down. “Actually, there’s a few more rules to explain first.”
“Of course there are.”
Alouette let out an uneasy sigh. The tension in this voyageur had been suffocating for days. They may have all been doing an effective job at pretending the world wasn’t falling apart, but clearly the anxiety was showing itself in other ways.
Returning her attention to the TéléCom in her lap, Alouette turned up the volume on the audio patch Cerise had lent her and continued to scroll through the search results on the screen.
“With those two onboard, who needs in-flight entertainment, right?”
Alouette glanced up to see Marcellus standing next to her with a wry smile. She knew he was trying for a joke, an attempt to diffuse the friction in the air. And she was grateful for the distraction. He set a second plate of food down on a nearby table before lowering himself onto the edge of the chaise and nodding toward the TéléCom. “Any luck?”
Alouette shook her head. “Not much. At least not anything new.”
Cerise had set up Marcellus’s TéléCom with her Ministère portal access, and Alouette had spent nearly the entire day watching broadcasts and reports and archived footage, searching for more information about her mother, but she was still at a dead end. With each file she watched and discarded, she could feel another one of her fragile hopes popping like a soap bubble.
She tipped her head back against the chaise. “I did find a profile for a Madeline Villette, daughter of Lisole Villette, who died in Montfer in Month 8, 490. That date matches up to what the madame at the bordel told me. So that must be me. Madeline Villette.” The name felt so foreign. Like borrowed clothes. Ill-fitting in all the wrong places.
“Villette,” Marcellus repeated pensively, tilting his head. “Where have I heard that name before?”
Alouette shrugged. “I can’t imagine where. There’s not much in here about Madeline or Lisole. After the death of her daughter, Lisole Villette just disappeared. The madame said she left town. She probably changed her name. And there’s absolutely nothing about Madeline Villette’s father.”
Marcellus proffered the plate of food toward her. “Here. Eat something. You need sustenance.”
Alouette took a piece of cheese and popped it into her mouth. It did make her feel a little better. She immediately grabbed for another.
“Anything more from the auditeur?” she asked.
Marcellus sighed. “A little. Fortunately, the general still has no idea where we are. He doesn’t even seem to know we left Laterre, but it won’t be long until he sniffs something out. He’s got his new hunting dog, Inspecteur Chacal, out scouring the planet looking for