King Henri II jousted under the colors of Diane de Poitiers and fell with fatal splinters in his eye, and even Vesalius at his bedside could not save him.
Hannibal closed one eye and speculated precisely where Henri fell—probably right over there where Inspector Popil now stood, holding a potted plant and looking up at the windows. Hannibal did not wave.
“I think you have a caller, my lady,” he said over his shoulder.
Lady Murasaki did not ask who. When the knocking came, she let it go on for a moment before she answered the door.
Popil came in with his plant and a bag of sweets from Fauchon. There was a mild confusion as he attempted to remove his hat while holding parcels in both hands. Lady Murasaki took the hat from him.
“Welcome to Paris, Lady Murasaki. The florist swears to me this plant will do well on your terrace.”
“Terrace? I suspect you are investigating me, Inspector—already you have found out I have a terrace.”
“Not only that—I have confirmed the presence of a foyer, and I strongly suspect you have a kitchen.”
“So you work from room to room?”
“Yes, that is my method, I proceed from room to room.”
“Until you arrive where?” She saw some color in his face and let him off. “Shall we put this in the light?”
Hannibal was unpacking the armor when they came upon him. He stood beside the crate, holding the samurai mask. He did not turn his body toward Inspector Popil, but turned his head like an owl to look at the policeman. Seeing Popil’s hat in LadyMurasaki’s hands, Hannibal estimated the size and weight of his head at 19.5 centimeters and six kilos.
“Do you ever put it on, the mask?” Inspector Popil said.
“I haven’t earned it.”
“I wonder.”
“Do you ever wear your many decorations, Inspector?”
“When ceremonies require them.”
“Chocolates from Fauchon. Very thoughtful, Inspector Popil. They will take away the smell of the camp.”
“But not the scent of oil of cloves. Lady Murasaki, I need to discuss the matter of your residency.”
Popil and Lady Murasaki talked on the terrace. Hannibal watched them through the window, revising his estimate of Popil’s hat size to twenty centimeters. In the course of conversation Popil and Lady Murasaki moved the plant a number of times to vary its exposure to the light. They seemed to need something to do.
Hannibal did not continue unpacking the armor, but knelt beside the crate and rested his hand on the rayskin grip of the short sword. He looked out at the policeman through the eyes of the mask.
He could see Lady Murasaki laughing. Inspector Popil must be making some lame attempt at levity and she was laughing out of kindness, Hannibal surmised. When they came back inside, Lady Murasaki left them alone together.
“Hannibal, at the time of his death your unclewas trying to find out what happened to your sister in Lithuania. I can try too. It’s hard in the Baltic now—sometimes the Soviets cooperate, more times they don’t. But I keep after them.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you remember?”
“We were living at the lodge. There was an explosion. I can remember being picked up by soldiers and riding on a tank to the village. In between I don’t know. I try to remember. I cannot.”
“I talked with Dr. Rufin.”
No visible reaction to that.
“He would not discuss any specifics of his talks with you.”
Nothing to that either.
“But he said you are very concerned about your sister, naturally. He said with time your memory might return. If you remember anything, ever, please tell me.”
Hannibal looked at the inspector steadily. “Why would I not?” He wished he could hear a clock. It would be good to hear a clock.
“When we talked after … the incident of Paul Momund, I told you I lost relatives in the war. It is very much of an effort for me to think about that. Do you know why?”
“Tell me why, Inspector.”
“Because I think I should have saved them, I have a horror of
Hannibal closed one eye and speculated precisely where Henri fell—probably right over there where Inspector Popil now stood, holding a potted plant and looking up at the windows. Hannibal did not wave.
“I think you have a caller, my lady,” he said over his shoulder.
Lady Murasaki did not ask who. When the knocking came, she let it go on for a moment before she answered the door.
Popil came in with his plant and a bag of sweets from Fauchon. There was a mild confusion as he attempted to remove his hat while holding parcels in both hands. Lady Murasaki took the hat from him.
“Welcome to Paris, Lady Murasaki. The florist swears to me this plant will do well on your terrace.”
“Terrace? I suspect you are investigating me, Inspector—already you have found out I have a terrace.”
“Not only that—I have confirmed the presence of a foyer, and I strongly suspect you have a kitchen.”
“So you work from room to room?”
“Yes, that is my method, I proceed from room to room.”
“Until you arrive where?” She saw some color in his face and let him off. “Shall we put this in the light?”
Hannibal was unpacking the armor when they came upon him. He stood beside the crate, holding the samurai mask. He did not turn his body toward Inspector Popil, but turned his head like an owl to look at the policeman. Seeing Popil’s hat in LadyMurasaki’s hands, Hannibal estimated the size and weight of his head at 19.5 centimeters and six kilos.
“Do you ever put it on, the mask?” Inspector Popil said.
“I haven’t earned it.”
“I wonder.”
“Do you ever wear your many decorations, Inspector?”
“When ceremonies require them.”
“Chocolates from Fauchon. Very thoughtful, Inspector Popil. They will take away the smell of the camp.”
“But not the scent of oil of cloves. Lady Murasaki, I need to discuss the matter of your residency.”
Popil and Lady Murasaki talked on the terrace. Hannibal watched them through the window, revising his estimate of Popil’s hat size to twenty centimeters. In the course of conversation Popil and Lady Murasaki moved the plant a number of times to vary its exposure to the light. They seemed to need something to do.
Hannibal did not continue unpacking the armor, but knelt beside the crate and rested his hand on the rayskin grip of the short sword. He looked out at the policeman through the eyes of the mask.
He could see Lady Murasaki laughing. Inspector Popil must be making some lame attempt at levity and she was laughing out of kindness, Hannibal surmised. When they came back inside, Lady Murasaki left them alone together.
“Hannibal, at the time of his death your unclewas trying to find out what happened to your sister in Lithuania. I can try too. It’s hard in the Baltic now—sometimes the Soviets cooperate, more times they don’t. But I keep after them.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you remember?”
“We were living at the lodge. There was an explosion. I can remember being picked up by soldiers and riding on a tank to the village. In between I don’t know. I try to remember. I cannot.”
“I talked with Dr. Rufin.”
No visible reaction to that.
“He would not discuss any specifics of his talks with you.”
Nothing to that either.
“But he said you are very concerned about your sister, naturally. He said with time your memory might return. If you remember anything, ever, please tell me.”
Hannibal looked at the inspector steadily. “Why would I not?” He wished he could hear a clock. It would be good to hear a clock.
“When we talked after … the incident of Paul Momund, I told you I lost relatives in the war. It is very much of an effort for me to think about that. Do you know why?”
“Tell me why, Inspector.”
“Because I think I should have saved them, I have a horror of
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