The Left Hand of Justice by Jess Faraday Read Free Book Online Page A

who still knew her from the old days. She’d been a friend of Corbeau’s mother. Corbeau had practically grown up in the warmth of the wooden walls and the glow of the wall sconces. The café was a refuge whose loss Corbeau would have felt acutely. “A nuisance. But he’s doing well.”
    “I’m glad. It was bad enough, him running under the wheels of that wagon. I never thought a little one like that would survive an amputation on top of it.”
    Corbeau was grateful Marie hadn’t reminded her Joseph had been running because Corbeau had been chasing him. The fumes from her tinctures and potions had been slowly curdling her common sense, pushing her natural suspicion toward a deadly paranoia. When six-year-old Joseph’s curiosity had led him to peek through the window of Corbeau’s basement lab that day, he’d been lucky the carriage had gotten him before Corbeau had. Vidocq had kicked down the door of her lab the next day.
    “Joseph’s a tough little weasel,” Corbeau said.
    Marie narrowed her eyes at the uncharacteristic emotion in her voice. She caught her eye. “You’re doing right by that family, Elise. Your mother would be proud.”
    Corbeau sighed. “I won’t be doing it for long if prices keep doubling every time I take a breath. If His Majesty doesn’t give our salaries a bump soon, I’ll be sleeping on the floor of Joseph’s bedroom—and I’ll still be paying that place off, poltergeists and all.”
    Marie smiled kindly and patted her arm again.
    “Come to the bar and I’ll fix you some breakfast. On the house. You look terrible, by the way.”
    Corbeau followed her across the traffic-worn floorboards to the bar at the back. Leaning Javert’s umbrella against the bar, she slid onto one of the stools. She grimaced at her reflection in the long mirror on the wall. Bruises shaped like Vautrin’s fingers were blooming on her neck. They matched the black eye Jacques’s man had given her. Not the most attractive look, but at least she hadn’t lost any teeth. She ran her fingers through her hair until it no longer looked like a bird’s nest and took a clean cloth napkin from the pile on the edge of the bar to wipe the dirt from her face. A little banged up, but not bad for twenty-eight, she thought. A proper wash, and she’d be good as new. She turned up the collar of her coat and winked at her reflection.
    “Jacques hasn’t sent anyone else, has he?” Corbeau called. She used the mirror to give the place a quick once-over.
    “Pfft. After what you did to the last one? Besides, I don’t think drooling thugs wake up as early as honest citizens such as ourselves.”
    After a bit of shuffling behind the kitchen doors, Marie reappeared with a slice of buttered bread on a plate, a wedge of cheese, and a small cup of strong coffee. The bread was stale, but it calmed the burn in Corbeau’s stomach. The mere smell of the coffee began to clear her head.
    “That’s better, yes?” Marie asked.
    Corbeau smiled gratefully around a mouthful of cheese. She flipped another coin onto the lacquered wood in response and took out the papers Javert had given her, spreading them across the bar in front of her. Nodding her understanding, Marie pocketed the coin and drifted back into the kitchen.
    As she took the clippings from the envelope, Corbeau admired the clean, thick paper. The envelope had seen a lot of use but had a lot of use left in it still. Javert’s notes were likewise written on expensive stock. He had taken great care quartering and tearing the sheets of paper inside—paper covered on both sides with perfectly straight lines of his small, neat hand.
    The prefect’s salary was doubtless larger than her own, but she was willing to wager not by enough to afford Spanish cigarettes and expensive paper. Many of Corbeau’s colleagues had taken second jobs. But Javert was high enough on the ladder that such an infraction would be noticed—noticed and not tolerated. Yet he didn’t strike her as a