Century #4: Dragon of Seas Read Online Free PDF Page B

on it with unexpected grace. “You asked for me?”
    The man doesn’t turn around to look at her. He concentrates, as much as possible, on the objects on his desk. Finally, he breaks the silence. “I don’t understand.”
    “What don’t you understand, Heremit, dear? What?”
    The man sits down in his chair. “I need the kids.”
    “Ah,” Mademoiselle Cybel remarks, straightening her glasses. Then something crosses her mind and she takes them off, pulls a little mirrored compact out of her purse and checks her makeup. “You said that—”
    “I know what I said.”
    Cybel snaps the compact shut, satisfied. No lipstick smudges on her cheeks. “As you like, dear, as you like. Let’s go get them, then. Do you still have someone in New York?”
    “Miller is already on his way to Shanghai.”
    “Then we can get Mistral Blanchard.” The woman chuckles. “From what I know, she’s probably at home. Or taking those singing lessons of hers. I’ll send someone at once, if you like.”
    Heremit Devil doesn’t respond.
    “I think we’ll need someone in Rome, too, for our Little Miss Electrical Current.”
    Heremit Devil has perfectly combed hair. Black Bakelite glasses that frame his eyes. He wears a dark Korean jacket buttoned all the way up.
    “Yes,” he says.
    But something off-key lurks in that single syllable.

“N OT BAD , M ADEMOISELLE B LANCHARD, NOT BAD AT ALL ! Y OU ’ RE my finest student!” Mistral says, laughing, as she lies on her bed in her room.
    She’s changed clothes and now wears a sweat suit with tiny light blue flowers. She’s opened a notebook, the kind she uses to write down everything that happens to her, and is sketching Professor François Ganglof’s face. If she closes her eyes and thinks back to the audition, she can still feel her legs trembling. She was certain she got a number of notes wrong. And that her voice was too sharp, shrill, almost unpleasant. She was nervous, of course, but the professor told her, “Emotions are vital, Mademoiselle Blanchard. That is what one must convey when singing. The world is full of fine singers. Excellent singers. Powerful voices with perfect intonation. But not voices full of emotion.”
    Mistral flips through her notebook, going back in time. Then she stretches and steps over to the window. Above it, just beneath the gutter outside, the beehive is closed now, sealed up with wax. Indifferent to the changing of the seasons, the bees have already decreed the end of summer.
    “Darn you,” the girl grumbles, thinking of everything she detests about autumn and winter. She walks to the living room.
    Her mother is out doing a little shopping. The purse made of soda can tabs is there, where Mistral left it. The Veil of Isis is draped over the backs of two chairs like an old blanket hung out to air. Sophie’s photographs are scattered over the table, next to the books on calligraphy and alphabets and the one on the language of animals that Agatha, Professor Van Der Berger’s friend, sent to her from New York. Mistral opens her purse to look for the MP3 player Madame Cocot gave her.
    She turns it on, plugs in her earphones and goes back to her room, whistling. She scrolls down the list of songs saved on it: titles and artists she’s never heard of. Classical music, it seems. She sets it on shuffle mode and tumbles into bed.
    Murmurs, applause, and then a piano strikes the first notes of a nocturne by Chopin. Mistral listens to it, enchanted. A loud symphony follows, and she skips over it. Again, a piano. Sweet and extremely slow.
    In the background, a few coughs from the audience. Fourth piece: powerful and romantic. Mistral looks at the display and reads the artist’s name. PRELUDE AND FUGUE BY SHOSTAKOVICH, PERFORMED BY VLADIMIR ASHKENAZY .
    Mistral reads it a second time. She knows that name, but …
    The pianist plays, then coughs, the audience bursts into applause. The MP3 player moves on to the next track.
    “Hello, Mistral,” a voice