Stepsister(64)

“It’s all right,” Hugo said. “We’re both fine.”

“No, it’s not all right. I thought you were both dead. Oh, Hugo, I … I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Done what?”

“Called you an idiot. In the dairy house the other day. I’m sorry. Mean is all I’ve got, you see, so I’m always trying to get better at it.”

Hugo gave her a tired smile. “You have more than mean, Tavi. A lot more. I’m sure if you lived a hundred years ago, you would’ve been the one who discovered that circles are round. Not Newton da Vinci.”

Had Isabelle’s attention not been entirely focused on the ruins, she might’ve seen that a bit of treasure had already been gleaned from the ashes—Tavi’s newfound readiness to apologize for bad behavior, Hugo’s willingness to speak sweet words instead of sullen ones. But Isabelle had only one thought in mind—saving Nero, and time was running out.

With a groan, Hugo stood. He picked up his rope, coiled it, and slipped it over his shoulder. “The sky’s starting to lighten,” he said. “My mother will be getting up soon. I better be in my bed when she comes to wake me.”

Tavi stood, too. She turned to Isabelle. “Come on, Isabelle. Get up. It’s time to go.”





Sixty-Nine


Isabelle rose. Her hands were scraped raw, her shoulder was bleeding into the sleeve of her dress.

She looked at her sister and Hugo and Martin as they started down the drive, but instead of following them, she picked up her lantern and walked back into the ruins.

Despair swirled down on her like a thick fog, but she refused to give in to it. Or to give up.

As she bent down to move a timber, she felt something tug at her hem. Certain she’d snagged her skirts on a nail, she looked down, ready to yank them free, and saw that it wasn’t a nail.

It was a mouse.

The creature’s tiny paws were sunk into Isabelle’s hem. She was hanging on to it with all her might, her back feet were half off the ground.

“Shoo!” Isabelle said. “I don’t want to step on you.”

But the mouse would not let go.

Her claws must be caught, Isabelle thought, reaching towards her to free her. But as she did, the mouse released the hem. She stood upright on her hind legs and squeaked.

Isabelle recognized the little creature. It was the same mother mouse she’d seen digging for lentils in the cracks between the hearthstones, the one for whom she’d left some cheese.

“Hello,” Isabelle said. “I don’t have any food for you. I wish I did. I—”

The mother mouse held up a claw, like a parent silencing a prattling child. She squeaked again. And then once more.

There was only a whisper at first. A low rustling, like a breeze whirling through the grass. But then it grew louder, more urgent, pushing in at Isabelle from all sides of the ruins.

Isabelle raised her lantern high and caught her breath, astonished. All around her, standing on stones, crouched on timbers, their whiskers twitching, their black eyes glinting in the light, their tails curled above them like question marks, were mice. Hundreds of them.

At another squeak from the mother mouse, they all disappeared into the ruins. Isabelle heard scrabbling, scritching, squeals and yelps.

Mystified, she glanced at the mother mouse.

“Where did they go?” she asked. “What are they—”

With a look of annoyance, the mouse held up her paw again. She was listening intently, her large ears quivering.

Isabelle listened, too, but she didn’t know what she was listening for. She looked up. The stars were fading. The darkness was thinning. She had little time left.

And then a series of shrill calls rang out from the ruins. The mother mouse squeaked excitedly, hopping from foot to foot. She waved Isabelle close and pointed.

Isabelle put her lantern down and knelt on the ground, the better to see what the mouse was pointing at. As she did, another mouse, brawny and tall, emerged from the ruins. He was wearing something on his head. It looked like a crown.

“Is he your king?” Isabelle asked, completely perplexed now. “You want me to meet your king?”

Other mice reappeared from the ruins. They responded to Isabelle’s question with strange little noises that sounded like laughter. The mother beckoned the large mouse over. He eyed Isabelle warily and shook his head. The mother mouse stamped her foot. The large mouse came.

He took off his crown with both paws and held it out to Isabelle. Not sure what else to do, Isabelle took it from him, then held it up to her lantern. A small cry escaped her as she saw that it wasn’t a crown, not at all.

It was a gold ring.





Seventy


Isabelle’s heart flooded with gratitude. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

She recognized the ring. Maman had given it to her. The band was thin. The stone—an amethyst—was small. Still, it had to be worth four livres. Maybe more.

“Thank you,” she finally managed to say.

Two more mice emerged from the ruins dragging something behind them. They presented it to her. It was a bracelet made of small gold links; a little gold heart with a ruby in its centre dangled from one of the links. Her father had given it to her. It was covered with soot, but that could be wiped away.