The Hod King (The Books of Babel, #3)

by Josiah Bancroft

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Mr. Tut said, turning in his seat so he could better observe Voleta. “What is your opinion of the young woman who died?” “The young woman who what?” Voleta said, looking about to see if she was the only one who was confused. “It’s not in the morning edition, but it will be all over the evening post, I’m quite sure.” “What are you talking about?” the marquis said, feeling undermined by the change of mood of his celebratory breakfast. “I didn’t invite you to eclipse our moment of triumph with your own filthy gossip!” “It is related, milord.” Tut held his hands up in a show of deference. “A young lady fell from the roof of her home late last night. She was wearing a white nightgown.” He watched with undisguised interest as Voleta’s amiable smile first cracked, then shattered. “My goodness!” Xenia cried with a practiced quaver of grief. “Who was it?” “Commissioner Pound’s daughter, Genevieve.” “The poor man,” the marquis said automatically, his thoughts already moving ahead to the more important implication. “His daughter was mimicking our guest, wasn’t she?” “I don’t wish to speculate needlessly, milord,” Mr. Tut said with false humility. “Please.” The marquis shifted the handkerchief, which had slipped farther back on his head. Voleta stared down the line of gossips, chewing air and watching her with unfriendly smiles. She had never wanted to scream so badly in all her life. “No one knows what feelings reside within an unbeating heart, but amon...