Louis

The bark of the tree separated itself from the heart wood and slid back. A large hole leading underground revealed itself. Louis jumped in and disappeared.

The hole grew larger and larger until it led to an underground chamber which was brightly lit by candles that stood in small alcoves in the wall. On one side, a large cupboard stood. It held two tall candlesticks, one piece of perfumed wax, and stack of books. Underneath the cupboard, tucked away in the bottom, was a large mackintosh sheet. Towards the far end of the room, a plump mattress and a few pillows lay on the ground. Besides these, the room was quite bare.

Louis strolled up and down the room, muttering under his breath before he pulled out a large sheet of paper from the cupboard and pored over it. It was marked with small dots that curved into long, winding lines. It looked like a map, but there were no specific markings on it. Like the incoherent scribbling of a child just learning to use their fingers to draw, many of the lines intersected with each other at various points. The edges of the paper did not have a definite ending or a beginning. It looked like it had been torn from a larger section. Louis licked his right thumb, held it over a flame and brought it heavily down on the centre of the sheet. Momentarily, the heat and pressure applied changed the colour of the ink. It turned pink, held its glow and faded off. He repeated this action at a different point, and the ink turned a different colour each time. Louis grunted and scowled.

“I need to heat up this damn thing all at once, or I’ll never remember how to understand it. What was Monsieur Baffremont up to when he designed this! A cruel genius he is.”

Louis carefully rolled up the paper and put it back in the cupboard. He reached into his pocket, pulled out an apple and a fruit knife. He sliced his apple thoughtfully, heading towards his bed, snapping off bites with a rage that clattered through his teeth. He heard a knock against the metal screen above him and peered.

“Monsieur…” a voice whispered. Louis started. He grew very silent and held his breath.

“Monsieur…” the voice came again. It sounded urgent this time.

Louis grunted in response. He didn’t dare risk speaking in case he was recognised.

“Monsieur, if you can hear me, please listen. The Baffremonts have discovered the missing scroll. They have plan to visit Fountainebleau tomorrow. Monsieur Bonaparte has agreed to meet them. He does not know of your presence here, but he suspects something is happening on his grounds. Movement is forbidden in these parts. If you can still hear me Monsieur, please stay inside tomorrow. I will leave a basket of food at the door at dawn. You will know it is me when I knock twice on the wood, and thrice with a stone. That’s all Monsieur, good night.”

The voice abruptly became silent and footsteps trailed off into what sounded like a bush.

Louis was confused. He had little doubt where the voice had come from, but he didn’t know how the Baffremonts knew about the missing scroll. He was amused that it had taken them so long to find it. Fountainbleau was a place that many people visited through the week for various reasons. Some to take a tour, some to visit the residents, and some to waste time on the grounds. Still, he couldn’t be too sure who would notice him if he risked wandering around. The children had already seen him once. They didn’t look like they would cause a lot of harm. He had noticed their clothes, and heard their French. They were aristocrats. He worried that one of them had recognised him, but it had been almost two days since he was sighted and no investigation had followed. He smirked. He bit into the last of his apple and flung the knife carelessly into the wall. It lodged itself into a wall and quivered slightly before becoming still. Louis climbed into bed, raised his arm to support his neck and stared at the ceiling. 

“One bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Englishman sayings. Why did Baffremont inscribe that on the box that held the scroll?”

Louis turned over and looked at his watch: 11.40. He had to wait an entire day before he could sneak around the chateau a little more. He was convinced that Fountainbleau held the answer he was seeking. As long as his shadow did not fall upon Bonaparte’s. Louis closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, and became steady. But his ears were alert. A couple of hours later, he heard a scrape near his window. It was followed by the crunch of dried leaves. Footsteps. Two pairs. Louis’s eyes shot open and he sat up listening. A low thud sounded near the door. Someone had discovered the door to his chamber.