The Better to See

Chapter 11: Vermeille

When Vermeille woke, the previous three days had caught up with her and everything hurt. Her back was one long ache. She was sore in more places than she knew she had muscles. Something was tickling her lungs. She coughed, and her lip cracked, and then her mouth and nose were on fire and she couldn't stop coughing.

A door opened and closed, and then Lucas was there next to her with a glass of water to her lips.

"Small sips," he cautioned. "That's it."

She drank the water slowly. "Lucas," she tried to say, but her throat was so raspy that nothing came out but another fit of coughing.

"Shh," said Lucas. "You should rest. Does it hurt?"

Vermeille nodded. She felt like a little girl, sick in bed. What happened? Where was she?

Lucas gave her a little vial. "Drink this. It'll help with the pain."

She obediently swallowed it down. Mother, she thought hazily. I have to go see mother. The world faded away again before she could think of why.

The next time she woke up, everything was much less painful. She opened her eyes slowly.

She was in a bed, but it wasn't her bed. Her bed had burned, along with half the block. Where was she, then? They'd gone to find her mother, and then Gagnon had come and Alain had taken Edina, and then...

Then the awful-smelling rag on her face. Gagnon? He had been reaching out, but not towards her. Lucas?

She flinched from the thought and studied the room she was in instead.

It was a very small room. There was barely room for the bed and a little table affixed to the wall. There was a door—maybe to a closet—next to the table, and another door in the other wall. A tiny frosted window above her shed a surprising amount of light into the room.

There was a glass of water sitting in a divot in the table. Vermeille shifted, slowly, until she was sitting up with her back against one wall. She picked up the water and held it, feeling the cool sweat on the outside of the glass drip down her palms.

It was quiet. She couldn't hear anything from outside the window, and inside there was only a low hum so deep that she felt it before she heard it. An old generator, maybe?

Slowly, she became aware of voices approaching outside the door. They were too quiet to hear at all at first, but then they grew closer and her stomach clenched. They clearly weren't concerned about being overheard.

"Vous avez besoin d'elle, Reynard," one of them was saying. Lucas.

"J'ai besoin de sa bonne volonté," the other growled. "Qu'attendez-vous? Elle est une jeune femme terrifiée. Sa vie a éte bouleversée."

"Je ne veux rien d'elle. D'accord, il serait practique si elle était sypathetique, mais vous avez besoin d'affecter Monsier Edwards, n'est-ce pas?"

The other gave a low growl. They were outside the door.

She considered feigning sleep again, but the door was already opening. Lucas stepped inside and said something quiet to the man in the hall. Then he closed the door behind him and examined Vermeille.

"I am a fool," he sighed. "I assume you heard much of that?"

Vermeille stared at him. "Yes," she rasped. Her throat was still raw. "You speak French?"

"Yes." He started to say something else, then stopped, fidgeted. "Are you feeling any better?"

She nodded and thought of the Sterling silver scalpels he'd pulled from his box, and how he'd reacted to the mention of the floating laboratories. She opened her mouth again.