Page 63 of A Slipper in the Smoke
And a tiny wooden box at the bottom of the final drawer.
Elena paused, her fingers dancing over the lid. She removed the box carefully, testing the weight. It was heavy for its size, echoing with metal.
She pried it open. Inside, wrapped in velvet like an object to be treasured, was a small clockwork mouse.
Elena turned it round in her hands. It was the only object in the room remotely out of place. Clockwork mice were usually children’s toys, not a thing a general might be in possession of. Was it a toy of his own from childhood? He didn’t seem the sentimental type. The only thing personal in the room was a single photograph of a woman by his desk. His wife, Elena suspected. She’d heard she’d died in a Spartan bombing—the one that started this miserable war.
One photo, and a toy mouse. And a broken one, at that. Half its gears were spilling out.
A sound along the corridor yanked her out of her thoughts, a whisper of voices. She paused, waiting for them to pass. They hovered outside the door.
Elena’s gaze darted around the room, searching for cover. Not enough space under the desk, and too obvious. The wardrobe was better, or—
The door handle turned.
The bed. Under the bed.
She kicked the drawer shut, still clutching hold of the mouse, and skid underneath the wooden frame. It was empty and clean, as she expected from the general and someone who lived in a palace with servants to clean for him. There would be no need for him to check under here.
Two men walked into the room. She recognised the polished boots and the dark green of the military uniform as belonging to the general. The other wore equally shiny dress boots with silver buckles in the shape of stags.
Elena froze, waiting for the voice that confirmed it.
“Thanks for agreeing to speak with me, General.”
Prince Nero.
Elena’s heart spasmed.They won’t look under the bed,she told herself.There’s no way they’ll look under the bed…
“Of course,” said General Bestiel in his clipped, measured voice. “You made it sound important.”
“It is,” Nero went on. “But it’s also… of a delicate matter.”
“Go on.”
“Mira wants to put me in charge of… I’m sorry, is there something wrong?”
A hard silence followed.
“Someone’s been in here,” the General said.
Elena sucked in her breath. She’d closed the drawers. She knew she had. She put everything back in its proper place—
Everything but the mouse, but there was no way he knew about that. He wasn’t anywhere near the desks. There was no way he could know—
“You’re sure?” started Nero. “This place looks untouched—I’m not even sureyou’vebeen in here.”
“I’m sure,” the General muttered, offering no elaboration. He moved across to the desk, rustling the paper. It sounded to Elena like the clinking of bullets into a pistol.
Nero moved around the room, obscuring what little she could view. “One of the maids, maybe?”
“They don’t touch my desk,” the General insisted.
“Honestly, I’m not sure you do either. Anything missing?”
“Not that I can discern. I don’t leave important documents here, anyway.”
“Understandable.”
