Lune and the Red Empress

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An argosy slid under the stars and for a moment the two of them paused in their skating. Lune wondered if she recognised the heavy-bellied craft, with its dull-droning engines and gaslit gondola. It was rare to see an argosy these recent years; still rarer to see one flying and not be aboard it herself, in the service of Madame Bezile.

“It’s not ours,” Soutine said quietly, as if he’d read her thoughts.

“I thought she might have left early. When she called me to her room it was full of suitcases and crates. That always means she’s about to leave Paris.”

The wavering lamplight caught Soutine’s nod. “I was told it wouldn’t be until tomorrow evening. It’s no coincidence that she’s sent you out tonight, though. She wants that egg to take with her.”

Soutine was right; it took only a second glance to verify that this was not their mistresses’ machine, but simply the modest transport of some middling merchant or privateer, coming or going from some other part of Free France.

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