Page 69

“I know,” I anticipate him, “that you prepared one for yourself as well.”

His surprise is almost comical, he looks as if he’s been caught red-handed in an act of loyalty he didn’t think he was permitted.

I take Count Nádasdy’s letter from the tray and tuck it into my breast pocket. We cross the corridor of the Pavilion, the gas lamps flicker. At the front door, my carriage awaits. Benjamin is already seated up front, back straight, hands firm on the reins. As Étienne is about to climb up beside him, I brush his arm with two fingers.

“Let Benjamin drive the carriage. Put on the mask and join me inside.”

He opens the door for me, I climb in first, my coat falling over my legs. Inside the carriage it is cool, the air smells of leather and a hint of dust. Étienne enters after me and closes the door with a thud that echoes in the cramped space. I see him take the brown mask, holding it suspended before his face for a moment, then he puts it on.

Benjamin twitches the reins, and the carriage sets off with a slight jolt. I lean against the backrest, resting my forehead against the cold windowpane.

“Are you curious, Viscount?”

“I have heard much talk of this Cendre d’Enfer,” I respond, without turning. “They say his works trigger powerful reactions in anyone who observes with attention.”

“Are there many who observe with attention?”

I shift my gaze slightly from the glass, fixing it on the wet streets reflecting the flickering lights of the streetlamps.

“No,” I sigh, “but the more something is forbidden, the more sought after it becomes.”

“You seem tired, Viscount.”

“How can you see behind my mask, Étienne?”

We travel the streets in silence. Every jolt of the carriage vibrates along my back, along my thighs. I close my eyes for an instant, letting the rhythm of the horses mark my breathing.

The carriage stops, he moves to step down.

“Stay here, Étienne.”

“I only wanted to open the do—”

“It is not necessary.”

I step down without waiting for him.

I approach the secondary entrance as instructed and stop before the gate. I knock three times on the dark wooden door, feeling it vibrate beneath my knuckles.

“Verbum signum,” a low voice resonates from the crack just opened.

I pull out the Count’s letter and proffer it through the gap.

“Carnis Lux.”

The door opens fully. I enter.

The corridor is long and narrow, illuminated only by candelabras fixed to the walls. The light flickers, creating moving shadows on the polished wood floors. To the right and left, men in black cloaks and hoods stand motionless, in absolute silence. The white masks, with their pronounced crow beaks, make their faces unrecognizable. The man who opened the door gives a low nod, inviting me to proceed.

I advance slowly, the smell of incense and sage is so dense it stings the nostrils and tickles the throat. I inhale deeply, trying not to cough.

As I move forward, the smell of incense becomes more oppressive, whispers and the music of a piano reach me in muffled snatches. I continue slowly, and at the end of the corridor, a man appears from the shadows. He smiles at me, wearing a deep purple mask framed by stones that reflect the light.

“My dear guest, welcome!”

Count Nádasdy.

I give a sharp nod, he lifts his mask for a moment and takes my hands in his. They are incredibly cold, almost icy.