by Gigi Pandian
Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice any more inhuman howls from cats or other creatures. Before I knew it, we were back at the abbey and Sébastien was opening the main door with the extra key Lane had made.
We didn’t know the shortcuts between rooms in the labyrinthine abbey, so we stuck to the main route. I paused on the west terrace that looked out over both the ocean and the mainland. The fog stretched as far as the eye could see. I could barely see the sandy ground beneath us. I realized why. Water now encircled the Mont. I hadn’t paid attention to the tide tables, but the warning sign at the base of the Mont wasn’t easily forgotten. It gave the high and low tides of each day, because the height of the tides varied greatly throughout the month.
With a last glance at the ocean, I led the way into the abbey.
The fog was thick enough to obscure some of the floodlights, so we used flashlights the whole way. I wasn’t sure if it was only my imagination or whether the fog also made the shuffling sound of our footsteps echo more loudly that night.
Stepping into the outdoor cloisters, I stopped abruptly, in awe of the sight before me. Fog had seeped into the garden that lay at the center of the contemplative square, above which ancient gargoyles looked on protectively.
I turned my flashlight upward. The light shone across the intricate limestone carvings above the miniature granite columns that braced the cloister’s walkways.
I hadn’t noticed before how few of the carvings were still intact. The jagged remains of stone carvings had been preserved. I smiled to myself, pleased that “renovation” didn’t mean a modernization that forgot the past.
Sébastien cleared his throat.
“It’s nearly impossible for a historian to pull away,” I said.
“I wish we had more time. It will be daylight soon.”
We continued onward, walking with purpose until we reached the crypt where we’d found North the previous day shortly before closing time.
“Zut!” Sébastien cried out. He set his small black backpack on the floor.
“What’s the matter?”
“This scaffolding is in a different place than where they were working yesterday.”
“I noticed that. But that’s a good thing. It means they don’t know where exactly to find their buried treasure. It means we have more time—”
“Perhaps,” Sébastien murmured, rubbing his chin.
“What are you thinking?”
“This is but one of at least three crypts, and they do not have the engineering equipment to properly determine where secret hiding places might be.”
“That’s exactly why we thought we could find the treasure before them,” I pointed out, “with your engineering knowledge.” I motioned to the backpack he’d brought, which contained basic engineering measurement equipment.
He nodded but didn’t look at me. He pointed his flashlight around the vaulted ceiling, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.
“The entrance to a secret room could even be inside one of these massive columns.” I lay down on the stone floor and spread my arms and legs as if I was making a snow angel, illustrating my point. “These things are almost as wide I am tall.”
“It could be anywhere,” Sébastien mumbled to himself.
I sat up and leaned against the column. “Shouldn’t we get to work, then?”
“Jaya,” Sébastien said, coming over to sit next to me. “If the thieves had narrowed down the search for us, then yes, I could most likely use my knowledge and tools to find a false wall. But even if we assume this Gros Piliers crypt is the correct one, it is simply not possible to cover so much space in this grand a room. Not in the amount of time that we have.”
I sat up. “There has to be a way. I can’t let them get away with whatever they did to Hugo and destroy the Mont in search of this treasure.”
“That’s not what I’m most afraid of.”
“What do you mean?”
“These are smart men,” Sébastien said. “They, too, must realize the futility of their situation. As I’ve said before, desperate men do desperate things. I’ve lived for nearly nine decades. I have seen both the best and the worst in men. Most men are not truly bad. But under the right circumstances...Almost anyone can be forced to act in desperate ways.”
“We’re not giving up.”
“No. But this requires a different plan.”
“Do you have one in mind?”
“If you’re up for driving the Porsche while I catch a wink of sleep, I do.”
CHAPTER 39
The round-the-clock shuttle bus deposited us at Sébastien’s Porsche shortly before daybreak. After stepping into the passenger seat, he typed an address into his phone, then set the phone into a dashboard dock.
“Follow these directions,” he said, “and we’ll be there in less than two hours.”
There wasn’t much traffic on the road, so I opened up the engine and we flew through the French countryside. Sébastien rolled up his coat to use as a pillow, and promptly fell asleep. Shifting gears in bare feet and passing a tractor, I didn’t even need coffee to feel awake.
As we approached our destination, I thought for a moment that we were returning to Sébastien’s house. But instead, the GPS system led me a different direction, out of a roundabout. We were heading toward central Nantes.
I glanced at Sébastien, who was snoring softly. Asleep in the reclined seat, he looked older. Though I still didn’t think he looked ninety, without the facial expressions that showed his joie de vivre, the deep lines on his face showed him to be the elderly man that he was.
Traffic slowed as we approached the center of the city. In the stop-and-go traffic, Sébastien stirred.
“She likes you,” he said, returning his seat to an upright position. He ran a hand through his wild hair, resulting in an even taller white bouffant.
“The car? I like her, too.”
The navigator led me alongside the Loire river that ran through the center of the city. We had approached from the north, so I drove along the north side of the river until I could cut across on a narrow bridge. In spite of the chilly weather, there were just as many bicycles as cars on the road.
“C’est bon,” Sébastien said. “We’re almost home.” With those joyous words, he again looked decades younger than his years.
“Unless there’s a vortex inside that carousel ahead, we’re nowhere near your house.”
“That carousel marks the beginning of my second home.”
“In an industrial warehouse?”
“You don’t recognize it yet, from the photographs at my house?”
A moment later, the creature that appeared showed me where we were. I slammed on the breaks as a forty-foot elephant came into view.
Luckily, the bridge was nearly empty of cars. Though I’d seen the photographs and illustrations of the giant mechanized elephant at Sébastien’s house, the images didn’t do justice to the wooden elephant that roamed the park. Far more detailed than a statue on wheels, the animal was made up of hundreds of separate sections of wood, intertwined to replicate the real movements of an elephant.
“The Grand Elephant,” Sébastien said. “If you return to driving, you may park up ahead.”
I put the car in gear and cruised by the elephant just as it roared and blew a burst of steam from its trunk, much to the delight of a small group of children running alongside it.
“No need to rush,” Sébastien said, as I zoomed into a parking space, the tires squealing. “You’ll have plenty of time with the elephant. It will take several hours to gather what we need from this studio. My barn is my personal studio. As an emeritus staff member at Les Machines de L’Île: The Machines of the Island, I have access to this shared studio. There’s much more equipment here.”
“What is this place
?” I asked on the short walk back to the path of the elephant. The area looked like a combination of old warehouses, a Victorian carousel, a wondrous arboretum, and a Twilight Zone episode with children trailing the surreal elephant.
“This area used to be shipyards,” Sébastien explained. “It is the project I told you about at my house that revived the area. After years of disuse, a group of engineers and artists got together and created this testament to the meaning of life. The animals are man-made creations, yet with simple materials and engineering—not computers—they move and interact with us. One of my greatest joys is watching the expressions on people’s faces as they watch the animals come to life.”
“We missed the elephant.” I heard the disappointment in my voice as we reached the front of an open warehouse.
“He’ll be back shortly. He likes to walk through the whole park.”
“Are there more mechanical animals like him?” Now that we were closer, I could see that the warehouse was more than it seemed. A mechanical tree filled with real plants stood next to a gift shop and café, and a strange assortment of plants peeked out from behind closed doors. Families stood in line in front of an entrance to get inside.
“None of the creations are quite like the Grand Elephant, but yes, there are others. A giant heron made of wood and steel, not quite as large as the elephant, flies through this building, carrying two children with it.”
“So there are mechanical people, too?”
“Ah, no. The children are very real. There are two baskets the heron carries as it flies through the sky.”
I shook my head. I knew I should be thinking about foiling North’s plans, but in this wonderland I felt as if I’d left the real world far behind.
“It’s as if I’m in another time,” I said, “but not one that exists.”
“As you young people might say, it is a ‘mashup’ of Jules Verne and Leonardo da Vinci’s imaginations. It began with an exhibition called The Clever Mechanicals that toured the world in the early 2000s, and the idea caught on. Inventors came here to continue thinking up modern versions of classic creations, and to have it all be sustainable. I was asked to consult, and I never left.”
“I can see why.”
“Bof!”
“What is it?”
“The elephant in The Clever Mechanicals exhibition,” he said. “I haven’t thought of that original elephant in quite some time. But with you here, it reminded me—he was called The Sultan’s Elephant. This country of mine has had a long history entangled with India. Alors!” He rubbed his hands together. “We don’t have time to sit around speaking of the philosophical implications of colonization. I must get to work. There’s an extra bed in the studio, if you’d like to get some sleep while I gather materials.”
I shook my head. “What I need is to go for a run. I don’t think I’ve ever been somewhere more perfect for it.”
I donned my running clothing and shoes, and set off to explore the Machines of the Island.
One side of the old warehouse had been converted into the theme park of mechanized animals and self-sustaining plants, leaving the other side as a working studio for the dozens of artists and engineers whose ingenuity made these creations a reality. But I wasn’t ready to be indoors.
Instead, I followed the path of the Great Elephant, whose slow progression was trailed by children clapping with glee. I caught up with it as it rounded the back of the park. It was even larger than it looked from the car. Many times the size of a real elephant, this mechanical animal transported not one but dozens of people on an elephant ride. His leather ears flapped in the wind, as his jigsaw-puzzle trunk twirled and blew steam at the children on the ground. Wheels and a motor were visible on the back side of the creature, but if you stayed in front of it, you could imagine that the intertwined pieces of wood making up its legs had brought the wooden beast to life.
Passing the elephant, I ran onward, circling the large concrete park. On the far side stood a three-story carousel, grander than the small one I’d seen on our approach. Winding around it, I caught glimpses of the fantastical creations that spun slowly around. Instead of horses, this carousel was full of piranha skeletons and sea monsters.
I was tempted to stop and get myself a ticket, but I had too much pent-up energy. I continued running until I was too tired to worry about anything besides getting myself a snack.
I ordered a baguette sandwich in the café next to the warehouse and thought about what to do while waiting for Sébastien. I called Lane on our burner phones, but he didn’t answer. I was tempted to check email, but I half expected that using the modern invention would set off a series of alarms here in this fantasyland. As I ate my sandwich, savoring the delicious sweet pickles the menu called cornichons, the Grand Elephant passed by. Watching the ingenious creation, I felt that anything was possible.
I entered the exhibit hall and was about to watch the heron come to life, when I caught a glimpse of Sébastien’s untamable hair. He ran into the room and grabbed me. He was running so quickly that he skidded on the concrete floor as he came to a stop.
“No time to explain,” he said, his voice out of breath. “Head for the car. Get it running. I’ll meet you there.”
“What are you—”
“Run, Jaya,” he said. “For the love of God. Please. Run.”
CHAPTER 40
With my heart thudding in my chest, I sat in the car, revving the engine. Whenever Sébastien arrived, I’d be ready to go. Thankful I’d stopped to fill up the tank with gas on the way, I tried to stay positive, but I couldn’t help worrying that North was onto us. How had that happened? I was positive nobody had followed us from the Mont. We were the only people on the pre-dawn shuttle bus to the car park. Even if North had figured out what we were up to, how had he found us at the Machines of the Island of Nantes? I’d called Lane from our burner phones. We’d done everything right. Hadn’t we?
I didn’t have to wait much longer for my answer. Two minutes later, Sébastien appeared. He walked as quickly as a man could walk without breaking into a run. Under one arm he carried a bulging canvas bag. Over his other shoulder hung a duffle bag.
“Open the boot!” he called.
I located the switch and popped the trunk. Sébastien dumped his gear into the trunk and slid into the passenger seat.
“Drive,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere that isn’t here.”
I peeled out of the parking spot and gunned the engine. As we left the mechanical wonderland in our wake, I heard the sound of sirens. Sirens? North wouldn’t have called the police.
“Are those for us?” I asked.
“Indeed.”
“You’d better fill me in on what’s going on.” I shifted gears to avoid losing control as I spun around a roundabout.
“It’s my fault. I didn’t think through the necessity of being secretive.”
“You told people what we’re doing?”
“The contrary. Which was the problem. We’re a collaborative group. That’s why the studio is an open floor plan. When I began to collect equipment secretively...”
“One of your co-workers thought you were trying to steal something and called the police?”
“Worse.”
“What’s worse than that?”
“Years ago, one of my misguided colleagues thought it would be a good idea to test out his engineering skills by robbing a bank vault. He rigged equipment that would allow him to both detect weaknesses in the walls and take advantage of that weakness to get inside. His first, experimental piece of equipment is still here. I removed it from storage.”
I groaned and shifted gears to avoid maiming a family of bicyclists. “So now the police are after you?”
Sébastien waved his hand. “Claude has always bee
n prone to fits of exaggeration. As soon as the police talk with him and others, they will see there is no reason to suspect I’m robbing a bank.”
“Then why did you run?”
“We don’t have time to convince the police and my colleagues of our intentions. Do you have any idea how long the police would have kept us?”
He had a point. “Did you have a chance to get what we need?”
“I’m not sure if anything will be enough, but when Claude interrupted me, I was working on adapting the machine in the boot to detect differences in stone. I did not have time to make calculations for the specific materials on the Mont—the different stones and bonding materials such as quicklime. Alors, I hope it’s enough to find our secret room.”
“And as soon as we’ve located the room, we can alert the authorities, rather than damaging it ourselves or waiting for the thieves to damage it.”
“Précisément.”
Winter days were short in northern France. The late afternoon sun was close to the horizon as we approached Mont Saint-Michel once again.
The plan was for Sébastien to try out his equipment after the abbey was closed but before North’s midnight digging resumed.
At eight o’clock, the two of us got to work. The safest thing to do was split up. I was to wait one level above the crypts, by the abbey church. From that more central location, I could watch out for anyone aroused by the noise. The abbey church was for more than the tourists. It was a functioning church, so it was possible that someone from the present-day order might be wandering around this early in the evening.
