Chapter Seven: Dicentra

‘Good morning, Dizzy.’

I’m greeted by the voice of Marceau when I wake in the morning, his arm wrapped around my waist.

‘Marceau,’ I reply, the events of the previous night coming back to me in a flash. I wince at the memory.

‘You know, for someone with so much work, you sleep for an awfully long time,’ he continues, shifting to the other side of the bed.

‘I’m surprised that’s something you actually pay attention to,’ I say as I stretch, ‘but you know this isn’t going to be…. a thing, right?’

Marceau sighs, and nods reluctantly, ‘Oh, I know,’ he chuckles a little forcefully, ‘I have to keep reminding myself not to get attached, and it’s working out great so far.’

He climbs out of the bed, and starts dressing himself.

I sit up and watch him, confused. ‘If you’re not attached, or at least, you claim not to be, then why do you sound so disappointed that I don’t want to have that kind of relationship with you?’

He pulls his shirt on over his head, then turns to face me. ‘My tone is entirely subject to interpretation, so if you think I’m disappointed, then I’m disappointed.’ He slips his belt through the loops in his trousers, and starts to put on his shoes, ‘But if you ask me what I really feel…. well, that’ll have a different answer.’

And before I have a chance to ask any further questions, he walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.

***

Eyes follow me as I enter the Court of the Marionettes. It’s not unusual for citizens to stare at me – in fact, I’m quite used to it. But something about the way they analyse my movements or start frantically whispering when I walk past tells me that something isn’t right.

And when I get to my office, I find that things are worse than not right – they’re very, very wrong.

‘Mistress Dizzy, there has been a sudden surge in cases, and it’s not looking good,’ says Philus, hobbling after me as I march through the halls.

‘How bad are the cases, and how many do I have to deal with?’ I ask, my attention focused on getting the court room.

‘They’re all Grade 1, Mistress, and there’s about…’ Philus starts unfurling a list, and when it reaches his feet and he doesn’t stop counting I pull out my coreglass for backup.

‘Ok, Philus, I get it. There’s a lot of cases. But you’re being rather useless right now, because I still don’t know why there are so fucking many.’

Philus looks up at me, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

‘Well, Mistress, I didn’t believe that it was my place to say…in fact, I think it’s better that you hear it from–’

‘Spill it, Philus.’ I bend down to his height and stare him down, hard, ‘Or I’ll make sure the only things you say to anyone are your goodbyes when you lose your job.’

He shivers, the possibility of being fired not an option for him, but he doesn’t have to reply, because as we approach the doors of the courtroom, the clamour from the inside increases, and that’s when I’m certain there’s a really big problem.

‘I suppose you’re about to find out the reason why, Mistress,’ he says, fear in his eyes.

I push open the doors – and I really wish I hadn’t.