Hannibal Rising (Hannibal Lecter 4)

“I am afraid for you.”

“Please don’t be concerned. I’ll dispose of … that.”

“You did not need to do this for me.”

“I did it for myself, because of the worth of your person, Lady Murasaki. No onus on you at all. I think Masamune-dono permitted the use of his sword. It’s an amazing instrument, really.”

Hannibal returned the short sword to its sheath and with a respectful gesture to the armor, replaced it on its stand.

“You are trembling,” he said. “You are in perfect possession of yourself, but you are trembling like a bird. I would not have approached you without flowers. I love you, Lady Murasaki.”

Below, outside the courtyard, the two-note cry of a French police siren, sounded only once. The mastiff roused herself and came out to bark.

Lady Murasaki quick to Hannibal, taking his hands in hers, holding them to her face. She kissed his forehead, and then the intense whisper of her voice: “Quickly! Scrub your hands! Chiyoh has lemons in the maid’s room.”

Far down in the house the knocker boomed.

24

LADY MURASAKI let Inspector Popil wait through one hundred beats of her heart before she appeared on the staircase. He stood in the center of the high-ceilinged foyer with his assistant and looked up at her on the landing. She saw him alert and still, like a handsome spider standing before the webbed mullions of the windows, and beyond the windows she saw endless night.

Popil’s breath came in a bit sharply at the sight of Lady Murasaki. The sound was amplified in the dome of the foyer, and she was listening.

Her descent seemed one motion with no increment of steps. Her hands were in her sleeves.

Serge, red-eyed, stood to the side.

“Lady Murasaki, these gentlemen are from the police.”

“Good evening.”

“Good evening, ma’am. I’m sorry to disturb you so late. I need to ask questions of your … nephew?”

“Nephew. May I see your credentials?” Her hand came out of her sleeve slowly her hand disrobing. She read all the text in his credentials, and examined the photograph.

“Inspector POP-il?”

“Po-PIL, Madame.”

“You wear the Legion of Honor in your photograph, Inspector.”

“Yes, Madame.”

“Thank you for coming in person.”

A fragrance, fresh and faint, reached Popil as she gave him back his identification. She watched his face for its arrival, and saw it there, a minute change in his nostrils and the pupils of his eyes.

“Madame …?”

“Murasaki Shikibu.”

“Madame is the Countess Lecter, customarily addressed by her Japanese title as Lady Murasaki,” Serge said, brave for him, speaking with a policeman.

“Lady Murasaki, I would like to speak with you in private, and then with your nephew separately.”

“With all due respect to your office, I’m afraid that is not possible, Inspector,” Lady Murasaki said.

“Oh, Madame, it is entirely possible,” Inspector Popil said.