by M. J. Rose
Searching through my afternoon’s work, I found what looked like Arabic writing on the stones in the dungeon. What appeared to be a skull in the dust in the room behind the oven. And odd markings I couldn’t decipher at all on the spines of the books in the library. But it wasn’t until I showed the sketches to Madame Calvé later that I noted the most curious thing of all.
We were huddled over a card table in the coziest room in the castle. A sitting room decorated in cabbage roses and green-leaf chintz. The walls, painted a faint blush color, were covered with botanical prints. Topiaries in the shapes of robins sat in bronze planters. Birdcages hung from each window, inside them parakeets of exotic purples and greens.
“I recognize some of these rooms,” Madame Calvé said as she pored over my sketches. “But not these.” She’d pulled out three sketches and separated them from the rest. “And not this hiding place in the library.” She shook her head. “I thought by now I’d been over every inch of the château and feared the Book of Abraham was missing. When I saw you, I had a hunch and am so glad I paid it heed. Because it wasn’t really a hunch, was it? The spirit world works in wonderfully original ways. It wasn’t a coincidence that I read about the gallery opening. I’m supposed to find the book. I was urged to go down to Cannes. The spirits put you in my path, and now you are going to lead me to the most important esoteric artifact discovery in the last three hundred years.”
She reached out and patted my hand, and I thought I saw tears glisten in her eyes.
“Let me arrange for some help, and we’ll go find these spaces. I need you with me, in case you recognize something you saw but didn’t sketch.”
I was going to argue that we’d come so I could draw the castle’s secrets, not actually help her hunt for the book. But before the words came out, Madame Calvé pointed to one of the drawings. The cavern with the odd-shaped stones.
“Look at this wall.”
“I don’t see anything unusual. It’s just rocks, Madame.”
La Diva turned to me. Her eyebrows rose in amazement. “You don’t see it?”
I shook my head.
“There’s a shadow of a figure here.”
I stared at the area she’d indicated. When I’d been seeing it from behind the blindfold, there had been nothing there but uneven, unremarkable stones. I was certain of it. But now, studying from a distance, it appeared I had shaded in a woman’s shadow. And she looked very much like me.
Chapter 30
The next morning, Wednesday, I came down to breakfast to learn that Madame Calvé had enlisted help and we’d spend the day searching for the places I’d drawn. That gave us two days and nights left to find the treasure and leave before Madame’s party guests descended on her.
Over croissants and café crème, she discussed her plans for the day, saying we should start in the library because that would require the least amount of destruction.
“Gaspard Le’Malf is on his way over. He’s our groundskeeper. His family has been taking care of the castle for centuries, and he’s more knowledgeable about this building and the land it sits on than anyone,” she explained. “And he’s strong. Between him and you, Sebastian, we’ll be able to move anything in our way.”
“I met Gaspard yesterday,” I said, and told La Diva about my getting lost in the forest, finding his house, and meeting his son.
Madame shook her head. “Sophie was wonderful. She was a historian. They’d met when she was doing research on the area.”
“How did she die?” I asked.
“Her car skidded in a rainstorm. They didn’t find her for two days. It was so tragic for Gaspard and his little boy. He’s hired a wonderful nursemaid, but she can’t replace the child’s mother.”
Gaspard arrived just as we were finishing breakfast. Madame introduced him to Sebastian.
“And Delphine tells me you met yesterday,” La Diva said.
“Yes,” Gaspard said, and turned to me. “It’s nice to see you again. So your drawings proved fruitful?”
Did I detect sarcasm? I wasn’t certain, but I sensed that same tug-of-war of emotions from him that I’d felt the day before. He wanted to talk to me, draw me in, discuss something with me, and yet at the same time, he wished that I wasn’t there, that I wasn’t doing this.
“Gaspard, do you want a café before we go to work?”
“No, but thank you, Madame.” He was respectful but not deferential like an employee would have been.
“All right, then.” She took a deep breath, as if she were preparing for a performance. “Time to begin,” Madame said, “with the library.”
We followed her into the beautifully appointed room with its floor-to-ceiling carved wooden shelves. Somewhere among them, I’d seen a mysterious segment that opened like a door. There were more than a dozen partitions in the paneled room, and we each took a section.
“Of all the rooms in the house, this one was in the best shape when I moved in,” Madame told us. “Many of these books were here, left behind. We searched through them, of course, but never took the room apart. A secret door in a library is such an obvious plot device. I should have guessed, what with all the opera I’ve performed.”
“Sometimes the most obvious solutions are the right ones,” Gaspard said.
“Nonetheless, I never thought of it. If the book is here, I’ll feel quite ridiculous.”
“When do they say the book was hidden in the castle?” I asked.
“In 1655, Pierre Borel wrote about Flamel and his great discovery,” Madame began. Her voice had become deeper and more melodramatic. She turned away from the shelves and toward us. She was onstage again. The books were the backdrop. We were her audience, poised to listen to her every word.
“It was that book that I found in Dujols’s shop in Paris and that led me to purchase this château. I know the passage by heart. Borel wrote, ‘Now the book by which Flamel said he came to achieve the Great Work is that of Abraham the Jew. Many have worked to recover it … but these searches have been useless. I have nevertheless been assured by a gentleman of Rouergue called M. de Cabrières, tenant of his château of Cabrières near Millau, where I went specially to see this Monsieur, that he had the original of this book, which M. le Cardinal de Richelieu recovered a short time before his death.’ ”
Sebastian and I were riveted by the recitation. Gaspard, however, didn’t seem to be affected and continued searching the shelves. Madame had owned the château for thirty years; he doubtless had become inured to her dramatics. Just as Madame finished, he called out, “I’ve found the movable section. It’s right here.”
We all turned to watch him open and pull out an entire unit of shelving, just like a door.
The three of us crowded around him. Beyond the shelves was a room cast in darkness.
“No one set a foot inside yet. We don’t want to disturb anything. First, we need a light,” Madame said in an excited voice.
“I’ll go get a lantern,” Gaspard offered.
I was a bit surprised that given the years Madame had been looking and the potential monumental importance of the book, Gaspard was so blasé about the discovery. It was almost as if he knew that the famed book wouldn’t be there.
He returned with a lantern, which he handed to Madame, and let her do the honors. As she held it out in front of her, a warm glow illuminated the room. Holding her breath, she took a first step into the hidden enclave. We crowded in behind her.
Two comfortable-looking chairs with ottomans flanked a fireplace faced with dark green marble. On the opposite wall, a luxurious chaise longue was covered with maroon and purple pillows and a fur throw. A thick Persian carpet lay atop the wide wood-planked floor. Two side tables, one between the chairs and another beside the chaise, were crowded with all kinds of paraphernalia. And everywhere layers of dust suggested that no one had entered in quite some time.
Madame shone her light directly at the objects on the table, on the long pipes, bronze lamps, small china bowls stained with a b
lack tarlike substance, and an exotic Middle Eastern tea set complete with an elaborate silver pot and glass and silver cups.
“It’s an opium den!” she exclaimed.
Gaspard picked up a newspaper near my feet. “This is dated 1872.”
“I’d imagine no one has been in here since that very day,” Madame said.
I was in awe of the perfectly preserved time capsule, but La Diva was all business. “Now, carefully, we must go over every inch of this room. What a perfect place to hide an ancient book! In a room almost no one knew existed.”
She assigned us to different areas, and for the next hour we explored. I had the fireplace and worked each carved scroll and decoration, looking in vain for one that might be hinged to open a secret compartment. Next, I moved on to the mantel. Above it hung an oil painting of an Arabian harem. Like everything else in the room, it was covered with dust. I peered at it … Something was familiar. Then I remembered. When I was at L’École, I’d studied a very similar painting by Ingres in the Louvre. I took a handkerchief from my trouser pocket and swiped the canvas. I was no expert, but it looked very much like a slightly different view of the same Turkish bath Ingres had painted around 1860. I wiped the bottom right corner, looking for a signature. Nothing. But it was there in the left corner.
“Madame!” I called out, excited by my find.
She was by my side in an instant, and I realized my mistake. She’d thought I’d found the book.
“Do you have it?” she asked.
“Not the book, no, but this painting is a masterpiece by Ingres. Its sister is in the Louvre.”
“An Ingres?” Sebastian asked, coming over and looking at the painting with us. “This is a historic discovery.”
“But not the discovery we are searching for,” Madame Calvé said, with a sigh of despair. “Gaspard, I hope you are going to have better luck?”
He was taking apart a shelving unit in the far corner. “Not so far. But I do believe I found a good bit of opium here.”
After an hour, Madame called off the search. “Let’s all go have some coffee and figure out what room to tackle next.”
The four of us returned to the dining room and regrouped over freshly made madeleines and steaming cups of espresso.
“I have all of the castle’s floor plans here,” Madame said, as she unrolled them.
Some were recent, drawn up as part of her renovations, others were old, and still others were ancient, and she was careful with the fragile yellowed paper.
Sebastian studied them. With an architect for a father, we were both well versed in reading blueprints. “Maybe we should try the kitchen next,” he said, as he pointed. “This section looks promising.”
“Yes, and tomorrow the room in the servants’ quarters,” Madame agreed. “And then the only room we’ll have left to find is this …” She picked up my strange drawing of the dungeon with my shadow on the rocks. “I just don’t recognize anything about it. Gaspard, does it look familiar to you?”
I watched as he examined the drawing, his face remaining impassive. “No,” he said. “I don’t recognize it either.”
I wasn’t convinced that he’d told her the truth. But what made me suspicious? Had his fingers clenched? Had he handed it back to her perhaps too quickly?
“Do you think it could be a subbasement?” she persisted.
“I suppose it is a possibility,” Gaspard answered. “But it’s hard to imagine that I wouldn’t know about it and that you would never have stumbled upon it when you did the repairs to the foundation.”
“Well, no one knew about the opium room,” she said.
“True,” Gaspard said. “But you didn’t renovate the library.”
“Is it possible there had been such an area a long time ago but it was filled in to build on?” Sebastian asked. “I remember one commission my father had. In the process of tearing down a house, they found an ancient Roman cistern underneath. Someone at some point had just wanted a house there, and they built over it.”
“Yes, anything is possible,” Madame said hopefully. “We’ll leave the basement for tomorrow. This afternoon, let’s find our fireplace and cauldron. Inside an iron pot would be a clever place to put an alchemical treatise. Now, look here …” Madame Calvé pointed to the most current floor plan, dated 1893. “When I bought the castle, I’d hoped to find the book while in the process of renovating. Some rooms were pristine and only required minor repairs. Others were in dire need of a total overhaul. The kitchen, which is here now, was a sitting room at that time. And …” She unrolled another floor plan, which was slightly aged and from 1824. “The original kitchen was here.” She indicated a rectangle on the lower elevation. “One story below the front of the château but flush with the back of it.”
“Before we start searching, we should make sure the kitchen was always there. It might have been relocated more than once. What about before 1824?” Sebastian asked.
“I don’t know. But let’s look. Some of these older plans should tell us.”
We all began inspecting other blueprints. We found the kitchen in that same place going all the way to the earliest drawings done in 1658.
“What did you do with the old kitchen?” Sebastian asked.
“Nothing. It’s just empty. Other than the wine cellar, we don’t use any of the rooms on that level.”
“Then I guess we have our work cut out for us,” Sebastian said, standing.
As we walked out of the room, Gaspard caught up to me. “I didn’t realize when you described what you were doing here what you meant about painting the house’s portrait. It’s very impressive. How do you do these drawings?”
I briefly described the process.
“How long have you had this gift?”
“Since I was almost ten.”
“Did it come upon you suddenly or develop over time?”
Any mixed messages from before were gone now. He seemed genuinely interested in my ability.
Now I, not my brother, was more forthcoming than usual. But there was something about Gaspard that told me I could trust him. That he would understand.
“I was blinded in an accident. During my recovery, the scrying began.” I looked at him. “Do you know the word?”
“I do, yes.”
“After I regained my sight, I retained the ability to see from behind the blindfold, but I don’t use it very much anymore.”
“Well, I’m very glad your sight was restored. And it’s good to know that if I ever lose anything, I’ll know where to turn.” He smiled.
“Don’t give me any credit yet. So far, we haven’t found what we’re looking for.”
“True. But we have discovered a painting that belongs in the Louvre. And a small fortune in opium. Maybe in the old kitchen, we’ll find some pirated gold bars from Spain.”
For the second time, I had the distinct impression that Gaspard was certain that no matter what we might find, it wasn’t going to be the Book of Abraham.
Chapter 31
It only took a few minutes of inspecting and examining the old kitchen to find enough carbon residue on one wall suggesting where the cauldron had once hung. Luckily, the mortar between the stones was old and easy enough to remove. Within an hour, Sebastian and Gaspard and I had cleared away enough of the wall for Madame—who had been watching us work—to step inside.
Like the room off the library, this one offered a surprise. But instead of an opium den, we found a medieval torture chamber.
No one spoke for several minutes as we examined the horrible scene, taking in the gruesome-looking utensils and mechanisms.
“These are the instruments they used, aren’t they?” I asked.
Madame was silent.
“Yes,” Gaspard said, his voice almost a whisper.
I knew why he was keeping his voice low. I felt it, too. The pain of the victims still vibrated in the air. It was a cruel and holy place.
“Did they make people sit in this?” Madame asked, pointing
to a wooden chair covered with spikes on every surface—the back, the seat, and the armrests. Old worn leather straps that showed use hung down from each side.
Gaspard nodded. “That’s a Judas chair. People bled to death on those spikes.”
“And this?” I pointed to a clawlike handheld device.
“An iron spider. They used it on women who had given themselves abortions or were adulterous.”
“What did it do?” Sebastian asked.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.
“They used the claws to rip off their breasts.”
The implement was covered with rust … or dried blood.
“I’m not sure I really want to know this, either, but what are these horrible things?” Madame pointed to a pair of scissors.
“A tongue tearer,” Gaspard answered.
“And this?” Madame asked, as she reached out and opened a cabinet. Inside, the walls and door were lined with long, sharp spikes.
“The iron maiden,” Gaspard said.
“How do you know about all this?” Sebastian asked suspiciously.
“From stories passed down from generation to generation in my family.”
“So you haven’t seen it all before?” I asked. He’d been so knowledgeable, with answers to all our questions at the ready.
He didn’t answer me but instead said, “You’re shivering. I think the atmosphere here is too disturbing?”
“I’m fine,” I said, but I wasn’t. How had he known?
“We should go, Madame,” Gaspard said. “There’s nothing here.”
“How can you be sure?” she asked.
“I can’t, but …”
“Gaspard’s right,” I said. “I don’t know how I know, but I can feel it. There’s nothing here but screams soaked into the dirt on the floor and the stones.”
