„That’s a rare wine,“ said Mallory. „Too expensive to drink.“

„You say that because it’s old.“ He pulled on the screw, and it came out with crumbles of dry cork. „Damn.“ He sank the metal deeper, twisting it into the bottle’s mouth. „I remember when this wine was young. And you’re right, it was a rare good bottle even then.“

The rest of the cork came out in pieces. The odor of vinegar poured from the glass neck, to tell them that the wine had gone over.

„Now that’s criminal.“ He stared at the label, as if reading the obituary of a beloved friend. „This is why hoarding wine is not in my philosophy.“

Mallory perused the other bottles. „Different wines, different vintners. Why are they all from 1941?“

„It was a wonderful year, a painless year. Louisa was still alive. The boys were all together then – Faustine’s apprentices. That was before everything went sour.“ He stuffed the largest bit of the broken cork back into the bottleneck to kill the pungent odor. „You got the dates right, Mallory. By the end of 1942, Louisa was dead, and the boys were scattered.“ He wiped a wineglass with his handkerchief and placed it in her hand. „I’ll find you a good bottle.“

She set the goblet down on the cement and pushed it away.

„No wine for you?“ He smiled. „Interesting.“ He turned to the space beside him. The ashtray was on the floor now, and Louisa had begun another cigarette. „My wife thinks you’re afraid of losing control. She wants you to take more risks – have many lovers. Drink all the wine you can hold.“

„Did Louisa have many lovers?“

He turned his eyes away from Mallory and began a search from bottle to bottle, looking for one that was not ruined.

The rich bouquet of burgundy was tainted with the smell of machine oil. Mallory calmly watched her murder suspect reassemble a freshly cleaned lethal weapon, fitting the long curved section through a slot near the end of the arrow bed.

They had long since decamped from the wardrobe trunk, carrying unspoiled bottles around the dragon screen to settle near the platform. Mallory’s internal clock had gone awry. Time was passing in increments of alcohol and repetitions of the blues. She was listening to the same record album for the fourth time. Or was it the fifth? Sitting cross-legged on the bare cement floor, she sipped from a crystal goblet, having forgotten her dread of dust and wine.

Billie Holiday sang, „If you hear a song in blue – “

„You’re so young.“ He twisted a screw to realign the crossbow sight. „These lyrics don’t mean anything to you, do they?“

„No,“ Mallory lied, not wanting to give him anything of herself, not her unique connection to Rilke’s caged panther, nor T. S. Eliot’s four-o’clock-in-the-morning thoughts – or a song in blue.

„ – like a flower crying – “

Her glass was only half empty, but Malakhai was filling it again. At some point, the silk top hat had traveled from his head to hers, just when or how she could not say, and now the brim was falling over her eyes, and she pushed it back.

„Max should’ve been an engineer. He designed this bow.“ The veins and muscles of his forearm stood out in bold relief as he bent back the thick curve of metal to string the crossbow pistol. „This has a hundred-and-fifty-pound pull, but a child can work the lever to cock it. The arrow travels two hundred and thirty-five feet a second. Very deadly.“

„ – heart trying to compose – “

„I thought you’d be into classical music like your wife. Why Billie Holiday?“

„Well, we were all jazz babies in Paris, but I came late to the blues. I discovered Billie between World War II and Korea.“

„Emile St. John said you found Louisa in Korea. After she’d been dead for – “

„More like she found me. Let’s stay with the earlier war. I think you’d like that one better, Mallory. Lots of big guns.“

„ – a prelude that never dies – “

„A world at war.“ He picked up a narrow wooden box, a magazine to hold a load of three arrows. „I wish I could make you see the whole thing, the amazing scale of it. The bombs falling.“ He set the box in place over the arrow bed. „Parades and music, crowds cheering, whole cities falling down.“ He tightened the screws that bound it to the crossbow. „Goose-stepping Nazis and Yanks in tanks. It was sublime.“

„ – my prelude to a kiss – “

Malakhai pushed up the curving metal rod extending out from the rear of the pistol section. „Charles was right. They all need new strings. But this should hold for a few shots.“ When he moved the rod down again, the string was pulled back to receive the first arrow.

The brim of the top hat fell over her eyes again. He reached out to her and tipped it back.

„In 1943,1 saw a dogfight in the sky, a battle of fighter planes. The losing aircraft blew to bits, and the pilot was dropping through the clouds – still alive. The parachute never opened – just a white streamer of silk. His feet were pumping up and down like mad. Perhaps he thought, if he hit the ground running, he might get away with falling from an airplane. The ultimate optimist. He must have been an American.“

Malakhai looked through the crossbow sight. She wondered if he realized that he was aiming at the ashtray, where Louisa’s cigarette was burning. „Mallory, promise me you’ll never walk in front of these things when they’re loaded on the pedestals.“

„Max Candle walked in front of four of them.“

„Well, you’re no Max Candle. And neither was Oliver.“ Malakhai walked over to the platform and set the crossbow grip into a pedestal slot. He came back to her and picked up a half-empty wine bottle.

„A very good year.“ He refreshed the third glass by Louisa’s ashtray. „Max ran away from boarding school early in ‘41. He used to be a Butler like Charles. When he followed me to Paris, he took the name Candle to hide from the Pinkerton men his parents hired. If you’re not familiar with – “

„Private detectives, I know. So you met at school?“

„Yes. Max’s father was in the diplomatic corps. His parents were about to take him home to the States when he ran away.“

„What was your real name?“

„Malakhai. Disappointed?“ He returned to the platform and climbed the stairs to the stage.

She watched him pick up the heavy target, easily lifting it from the slots in the flanking posts. „What’s your first name?“

„Perhaps I’ll tell you about that when I know you better.“ He moved the target behind the red drapes.

Mallory was becoming accustomed to this evasion. She never pressed him anymore, but only continued to collect the soft spots marked by unanswered questions.

Louisa was a chain-smoker. The ashtray was filled with red-stained cigarette butts, and Mallory had yet to catch the dead woman’s husband in the act of lighting one. She had decided that all the cigarettes from Louisa’s pack must be premarked with lipstick, but they were lighting up when Malakhai was nowhere near them.

A neat trick.

Mallory sipped her wine in the spirit of research. So this was the flavor of 1941, when Malakhai was a teenage boy with a war going on all around him. „How well did you get along with the Germans during the occupation?“

„Oh, the soldiers were our best customers. After Faustine died, we turned the place into a dinner theater. Couldn’t make ends meet with admission for the magic show. So we ripped out all the theater seats and put in chairs and tables – one big dining room.“

„You fed the enemy?“

„And poisoned them – the food was that bad.“ He disappeared around the dragon screen, and his voice carried back to her. „The wine was worse, so we never had any officers in the audience.“

She could hear the splintering of wood as he pried open another crate.

„We were just a pack of children,“ he said. „When you’re young and poor, you think about your stomach, not politics.“