Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,27

through his cabinet, Marcellus caught brief glimpses of a grand assortment of contraband: TéléComs, a pair of Policier cuffs, even a glinting rayonette. All the things the Ministère didn’t want the Third Estate to have. And every single one of them stolen, Marcellus had no doubt. If he were really here on a Ministère-sanctioned search, as he’d claimed to be, this place would be the mother lode.

“Here we are.” The Capitaine closed the cabinet, walked back to his chair, sat down, and held out his hand. In his leathered palm sat a tiny wafer-thin device, no bigger than a pea. A web of glimmering filaments threaded across its smooth surface.

Marcellus frowned down at it. “That doesn’t look like a microcam.”

“That’s because I don’t have a microcam.”

“What?”

“Fresh out, I’m afraid. This is the next best thing. An auditeur.”

An auditeur? Marcellus felt his hopes sink once again. He didn’t want a listening device. He wanted a cam. He wanted visual. He wanted no mistakes. Nothing left unseen.

“It’s a very advanced device,” the Capitaine said encouragingly. “Invisible to scans. It will connect directly to your TéléCom via regular communication channels. The signal will be encrypted to look like an AirLink. No one will ever discover it. Including your … suspect.” He flashed Marcellus another wry grin.

“But I want a microcam,” Marcellus said.

“Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Marcellus let out a huff and dropped his gaze back down to the Capitaine’s open palm.

“You’re welcome to take your business elsewhere,” the Capitaine said. “But anyone will tell you—as I’m sure the person who sent you here already did—that I’m the most trustworthy shop in town. As well as the most”—he winked again at Marcellus—“discreet.”

Marcellus pondered his options. He could leave and try to find someone else who could sell him an illegal microcam, or he could attempt to plant this auditeur instead. It was, as the Capitaine said, the next best thing. If his grandfather conducted any business in his office, either in person or by AirLink, Marcellus would be able to hear it.

Plus, he was running out of time.

It had been a full day since his grandfather had stolen Mabelle’s microcam from Marcellus’s rooms. He’d, undoubtably, watched the footage by now.

And tonight was their weekly game of Regiments in the general’s study. It was the perfect moment for Marcellus to find a place to hide the device. Possibly the only moment. Because who knew when Marcellus would be invited back into his grandfather’s office … if ever?

“Fine,” Marcellus said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the ten titan buttons he’d removed from one of his officer uniforms earlier. He spread them out on the console. But for the longest time, the Capitaine simply stared at them, his one sagging eye twitching as though he were computing something.

“I was told that would be enough,” Marcellus said nervously, remembering the convict’s instructions.

The Capitaine leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Seems you get told a lot of things, mon ami.” His gaze roved over Marcellus from head to toe. “Anyone ever tell you not to believe everything you’re told?”

“How much?” Marcellus asked briskly.

The Capitaine scanned the ten titan buttons. “Triple.”

Marcellus’s stomach lurched. “I don’t have triple.”

The Capitaine’s hand that was holding the device shifted out of reach. “Then it seems you don’t have an auditeur.”

Marcellus felt that familiar rush of anger. This criminal was trying to take advantage of him. Take advantage of the fact that he knew Marcellus not only needed this device, but needed it to be kept a secret.

But Marcellus was done being taken advantage of.

He stood up straighter. “How about I resist the urge to shut down this whole establishment right here and now, and we call it even?”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll do that.”

“You’re right,” Marcellus said hotly. “I won’t. Because you’re going to take the ten titan buttons and you’re going to keep your Sol-damn mouth shut. Because you’re not a mouchard who does deals with the Ministère, remember?”

Marcellus stepped forward and grabbed the auditeur, swiftly and decisively, from the Capitaine’s hand. Then, without another word, he turned and headed for the door, stomping noisily down the corridor and the stairs to the ground floor.

* * *

By the time Marcellus exited out of Fret 17, the Marsh was more crowded than ever. People shoved and jostled amongst the market stalls, and the walkways thrummed with energy and noise. The protest over the Patriarche’s wage cuts seemed to be reaching a pinnacle, and