Now that the point had been made, Evan was not surprised to hear heavy footsteps approaching through the underbrush. It was time for him to be returned to his box. A moment later Dex broke through the tree line into the clearing. Still crouched, Evan looked up at him.

Dex was expressionless as always, his gaze absent of life. His face maintained that preternatural blankness as he lifted his right hand and cupped it over his mouth—elbow flagged to the side, palm pressed to his lips, the V of his thumb and forefinger snug against his nose. For the first time, Evan saw the tattoo on the back of his hand clearly. It was a mouth stretched eerily wide, conveying pleasure but no happiness.

A painted smile, slapped monster-mask crooked over Dex’s actual mouth.

15. Back-Alley Philosophers

15

Back-Alley Philosophers

René’s sleek steak knife sliced through the cut of venison, juice oozing from the pink center. He skewered the cube of meat on a designer fork and held it out to his side. Dex took it gingerly and deposited it into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, nodded.

A poison taster to the king.

Of course, the majority of toxins would take much longer to manifest, but Evan was learning more and more how much René indulged his affectations.

With its dark woods, brass sconces, knockoff Monet, and silk rugs overlaying a parquet floor, the formal dining room had a somber ambience, taking itself too seriously. Evan sat at the opposite end of an elegantly set table the size of a small sailboat. He and René were the only two dining. Aside from Dex cast in the role of guinea pig, the sole deviation from the Citizen Kane setup was Manny standing ten yards behind Evan with a shotgun aimed at the base of his skull.

René’s eyes flicked down the length of the table at Evan. At last, he spoke. “This is proving to be a protracted conversation.”

He mopped a pink square through the juice pooled on his plate and took the meat off the tines. He closed his eyes as he chewed, then dabbed the corners of his plush lips with a linen napkin.

Evan looked down at his setting. His venison had been cut into bite-size pieces. No utensils. His napkin had no bamboo ring. But the bone-china plate would shatter readily, and he could wrap the napkin around the base of one of the shards.

René interrupted his thoughts. “You have to stop trying to kill my men.”

Evan said, “Trying?”

René’s laugh seemed to catch him by surprise. When the smile faded, it was as though it had never existed. “Eat,” he said.

Evan ate with his fingers, the meat delicious and salty, tinged with rosemary. He couldn’t remember being this hungry since he was a kid. He’d spent a lot of years half starved, fighting for every mouthful.