The Confectioner's Tale Read Online Free PDF

coming loose as they spun about the floor. A plump brunette took a shine to Nicolas and placed herself on his knee, near emptying his wallet in the process. For the rest of the night he acted as though the rough gin and soda in his glass was champagne.
    Time began to move strangely. Gui’s head swam with the cheap perfume, the bodies and liquor. Then, somehow, he found himself inside a room, sprawled out on a pile of cushions. It was dark, the noise of the bar subdued by thick curtains. Smoke drifted about his head. A girl with eyes like shadows knelt beside him, offered him a pipe. Gui took it, shook some coins into her hand.
    He had smoked tobacco before, but this pipe was different. It filled his head and burned his lungs with a bitter scent. He dragged upon it for longer and longer, and his limbs turned to lead as he sank into a deep, black oblivion.
    Then he was outside, a motor car roaring past. Startled, he tripped and landed heavily in the gutter, biting his lip. Blood flooded his mouth. He spat out what he could onto the pavement. His face throbbed, but at least the pain brought some clarity to his mind. He blotted the rest of the blood away with his sleeve.
    He looked around, and found himself hopelessly lost. At home, he had always been able to sense the river, curving flat and wide at the edge of town, grey as the skin of a fish, but not here. He was cold, shivering uncontrollably. How long had he been outside? He wrapped the thin jacket tighter around his chest, but it did little to keep away the chill.
    Nausea rolled over him and he retched – not for the first time, he suspected. There was a sour taste in his mouth, mingling with the blood from his lip. He searched his pockets for a handkerchief, but they had been emptied, down to the last centime. The city had lured him with its bright smile, shaken him of his money and fled, closing the light and laughter up inside itself like a clam.
    From further up the street came the sound of footsteps. Out of the fog staggered a pair of young men, their evening dress dishevelled. Gui croaked a greeting, relieved to see fellow humans in the darkness.
    The bottom of a cane whistled past his face.
    ‘Son of a bitch,’ one of the men slurred, eyes unfocused. His fine shirtfront was stained with vomit.
    Gui let them go, and was faced with yet another empty street. He was afraid and exhausted. Perhaps he should find a doorway to sleep in; he had nothing left to rob, after all. Ahead was a narrow alleyway that twisted in the middle and offered some shelter. One hand on the wall, he ventured forward.
    A huge wooden cart was blocking the way. It was stacked high with crates, milk churns, sacks and packages, precariously balanced. There were sounds, muffled by the fog, the thump of feet, a pair of horses shifting their hooves.
    A woman’s voice was giving orders. ‘Take the flour to the pantry, Yves. Could we have it the right way up this time? Papa was furious. Marc, no, we’ll carry the cream in last, it is cold enough out here for now.’
    Gui hunched closer. Golden light was spilling from the doorway, warm, carrying the scent of sugar. It made the fog glow, and through it, he could make out a pair of black leather boots standing on a step, the edge of a skirt. He inched forward.
    ‘Who’s there?’ the woman called.
    He tried to turn away, not fast enough. Before he could run, a man materialized behind him, cuffed him around the head. A strong grip clamped down on the back of his jacket, and he had no choice but to obey as he was pulled towards the building.
    The fog gave up a woman’s face. She stepped down from the doorway, blue eyes suspicious. She was slim, wrapped head to toe in in furs, her cheeks flushed pink with the cold. She stopped, an arm’s length away. Gui couldn’t help but notice that they were of a height, to a fraction of an inch.
    Déjà vu. Abruptly, he was back at the station, winded upon the platform, the same face gazing down at him in shock.