The Stockholm Octavo by Karen Engelmann Page A

one.”
    â€œOh, Madame, I should love a new fan,” Carlotta said, placing a mediocre Italian souvenir fan on the table. Miss Fläder, carrying a third-rate English fan with a printed-paper blade, clapped her hands and rapped her fan down near the Italian. Mrs. von Hälsen, however, looked down and frowned. “Place a value on your goods, ladies, and I will offer cash instead. My fan is old-fashioned, but I am attached to her.”
    The Uzanne waited for a moment, then picked up her own fan, fingering the warm ivory guards. “Like you, I would be sorry to lose an old friend, but the duke commanded us to look to the future tonight,” she said, and pulled hers open with the little finger of her left hand, slowly revealing the painted silk face. “I offer you Cassiopeia,” she said softly. “She was a gift from my late husband, Henrik.” Cassiopeia was tall, the length of two hand spans. The guards and sticks were simple ivory, the rivet a silver stud set with a blue gemstone. The gorge was tight, and the face of the blade was painted with a mysterious landscape, the sky deep violet at the top, then cobalt fading to an orange sunset, wisps of cloud creating long red trails, an arc of departing birds. I leaned forward to get a better look at this strangely familiar scene. A black coach waited expectantly before a stately manor, ready to transport one to the realm of the senses.
    Carlotta tilted her head to study the open fan. “Pardon me, Madame, but why is she called Cassiopeia? You should name her Traveler, or Sojourner, what with the coach.”
    â€œI never change the name a fan already answers to, especially when she was christened by a woman of such skill and notoriety.”
    â€œAnd who might that be?” Mrs. von Hälsen asked.
    â€œHenrik swears . . . swore . . . that she belonged to Madame de Montespan, First Mistress of Louis XIV. The image on the face recalls an early rendezvous at the country château of her lover, the king.” The Uzanne turned the fan over, revealing a dyed indigo silk spattered with sequins and tiny bead crystals. “The constellations on the verso recall the mystery and pleasures of the night. And its many secrets. Madame de Montespan’s name is forever attached to love and great charm, but also to black magic and the Affaire des Poisons . Shall I tell you the secret of my fan?” The ladies nodded eagerly and leaned in close. “If you look very closely you will see that Cassiopeia has a sleeve of silk over the center stick on the verso side. Inside the sleeve is a quill that will hold a piece of paper containing a secret message, or a slender piece of wood saturated with intoxicating perfume, or something . . . well, perhaps something more dangerous.” The ladies laughed nervously. The Uzanne smiled at Mrs. von Hälsen and placed Cassiopeia faceup on the table. “Shall we?”
    Mrs. von Hälsen felt the pressure of pleasing The Uzanne, but she also felt the false confidence of her winning streak lubricated with punch. She took up the second deck in her stubby hands and dealt. They played around the table only once, The Uzanne picking up the trick, when Miss Fläder became suddenly still and all the pink left her cheeks. She excused herself abruptly.
    â€œNow what?” Carlotta said. “We’ve twelve more tricks to go and the bets have been placed!”
    â€œI would hate to see your gaming end before it’s even begun.” Mrs. Sparrow stepped out from the shadows at the side of the room, and stood at the table’s edge. “May I?” It was not at all unusual for Mrs. Sparrow to play, but to sit with someone of The Uzanne’s station, who was also a political enemy, was bold. At first I thought that Mrs. Sparrow was simply trying to make her guests happy, but she was up to something else, for her hands grasped each other as though they feared for