Corday claps her hands and Madame Langur ceases all movement.

“Reveillez-vous.” Corday snaps her fingers.

Madame Langur gives a start, as if shocked out of a deep sleep. She looks around, disoriented.

“Thank you, madame.”

Corday’s servants help Madame Langur back to the audience.

“It’s my pleasure to amaze you. Now, for my next feat, I’ll attempt something quite out of the ordinary.”

A boy brings her a tray, and from it Corday picks up a long chain that ends in a censer, smoking with sweet incense.

“I’ll ask you all to watch this vessel attentively.” She swings the chain back and forth in a repetitive motion. I look for Montparnasse, but I can’t find him.

“Don’t look away. Look only at the vessel. Keep your eyes upon it. Don’t let it out of your sight.”

“Ettie, we need to go.”

But Ettie’s eyes are glued to the censer.

Corday swings the chain back and forth in large arcs.

“Ettie!”

Corday claps twice. I shake Ettie. She won’t even look at me. I turn to the dauphin, and he, too, is staring, mouth agape. In fact, as I look around, gone are the expressions of merriment and wonder: the whole audience is staring, slackjawed, at Corday’s censer. Just like when we left her Guild.

The trick, little Cat, is not to look, Corday said to me earlier, and I’ve been looking for Montparnasse, away from her and the swinging chain.

“You may all sit down,” Corday says.

The nobles collapse like children playing a game. Everyone in the room sits, except for the Assassins, who remain standing, eyes averted. I lower myself as well and watch from the corner of my eye, making sure not to look directly at Corday.

“Now I’ll ask a question.” Her voice has lost its mysterious timbre. This is the Corday I’m used to.

I see Col-Blanche.

“Who gave the order to poison the city wells?” She looks over the crowd. “Rise to your feet.”

An older man rises and stands perfectly still, gazing expressionlessly at Corday.

I bite my lip. St. Juste’s tests must have provided Orso proof of the poisoning.

Col-Blanche takes a bottle from one of the trays and pours it into several glasses.

Corday continues. “Who came up with the idea to put sickness in the water?”

Three more gentlemen stand.

“And who will tell me why it was done?”

The first gentleman opens his mouth and speaks in a cold, distant voice. “Grain was running short,” he drones. “Famine was coming, and when there is hunger, the commoners rise up. We thought to reduce their numbers. Incapacitate them to avoid the uprisings we faced last time.”

“Who else knew this was being done?”

Twenty more rise. Among them are Madame Langur, Monsieur Sagouin, the king, and the queen.

There in the background, Montparnasse is watching me, his face its usual blank mask.

Corday bows to the royals with delicate deference, and as she rises, she looks straight at the queen.