Hotel Magnifique(13)

Whatever expression I made must have been amusing because the other maids stifled giggles. Wonderful.

“Bel informed me that he brought you on to work under me.” Béatrice looked me over. “I suppose no one told you that staff aren’t allowed past the lobby unsupervised until after orientation.”

Another rule I’d already broken.

My hands shot up. “I didn’t know. I swear it.”

The other maids whispered to each other, stealing glances at me. I fought an urge to run.

“Get to the laundry room, all of you.” Béatrice shooed them off, then gripped my elbow. “Not you. I’ll show you the way back to the service hall myself.”

“Wait,” I said. “Do you know where I might find Bel? Yesterday, he told me he wanted to speak with me before orientation.”

“About what?”

“I’m . . . not sure exactly,” I said quickly, not sure if I was supposed to mention my contract.

She gave me a lengthy look. “Well, Bel might be in the salon. I’ll show you the way. Follow me.” She led me down a staircase. Before I knew it, the stairs deposited us in the center of a lobby bursting with guests.

I’d never seen such a variety of people. Zosa and I had dark brown hair and olive skin like many southern Verdanniere folk, but the guests of Hotel Magnifique were every body shape and skin color imaginable. They were all draped in flamboyant fabrics and jewels, as if trying to win a costume competition before lunch.

I turned to follow Béatrice and ran straight into a guest with russet skin and large green eyes. “So sorry,” I muttered.

With a harrumph, he unfolded a large pink fan made of dyed peacock feathers. He slung an arm over a fair-skinned man with tightly rolled curls that spilled past his shirt’s tasseled shoulders. They both sipped champagne through silver straws.

“Watch where you’re walking.” Béatrice grabbed my arm. “If you upset a guest and the ma?tre discovers it . . .” Her mouth tightened and I tensed.

“What a splendiferous morning,” said a stunning older guest with skin a shade darker than Bel’s copper complexion. She wore a hat piled with elaborate flowers and a tunic for the beach.

Everyone in Durc knew the invitations were good for a two-week stay, which meant fourteen different climates.

“If the hotel moves each night, how do they know what to wear?” I wouldn’t know what to pack.

“Weather closets are scattered throughout the hotel, but the itineraries are the tool most guests prefer. They fill in when the ma?tre decides on the next destination. Sometimes it’s a day before we arrive, sometimes it’s minutes.” Béatrice’s lips quirked up. “It’s fun to watch guests scramble.”

She pulled out a nearly blank slip of paper with Itinéraire de l’H?tel Magnifique printed at the top, along with a kiss of rouge; someone had used it to blot their lips.

“I fish them from trash bins from time to time. Keep it. Now you can know what will appear out there.” She pointed.

Twenty soaring windows stretched across the front, each one flanked by marvelous orange trees. Outside was a white-sand beach, but it was the windows themselves that stole my breath.

“Oh.”

“They say the windows converse and decide on the single best angle to view Elsewhere, then repeat it across all the windows on this floor.”

Each window didn’t merely look out, but showcased the exact same frame-up of the beach. I stared when a woman in flowing crimson robes walked out the front door then turned, appearing through all twenty windows simultaneously.

Béatrice smiled. “It’s something, no?”

Behind her, a sign was framed with gilded vines that twisted and coiled. For a brief moment, I thought I spotted a woman’s face peeking out from beneath a golden leaf. The sign within the frame appeared ordinary in comparison. There were arrows pointing to the lavatories, the coat and raincoat check, the Ballroom of Astonishment, and an everlasting buffet. A liveried worker flipped the bottom arrow, changing the direction to the buffet to be to the left instead of the right.

Béatrice sighed. “The buffet moved again? I don’t know how I keep anything straight anymore.”

“You mean rooms move around at random?”

“Nothing is random. Rooms appear when they’re needed. The game rooms, for instance, only appear during inclement weather and contain the most fantastical games. Certain ballrooms appear when a guest requests a fête. There are other rooms that sometimes pop up. Once there was a room filled floor to ceiling with porcelain plates.” She frowned. “Never understood that one.”

“Earlier, I took a strange staircase that shifted direction.”

Béatrice nodded. “The hotel shifts to accommodate rooms, adding hallways, changing the layout. You’ll get used to it.”

As she continued speaking, I finally recognized her accent; ferries from the north would dock in Durc carrying wealthy folk who sounded just like her. “Are you from northern Verdanne?”

“You shouldn’t say such things,” she snapped. “Reminding a worker of their home when they’re away from it for so long can be painful. It’s rude to ask.”

“I didn’t realize . . .” My words trailed off as the lobby fell silent. Something rustled at my side.