Even in the desolate ruin of Paul-Gabriel's old home, stepping through its front doors carried the scents and sights of memory. It did not matter that cobwebs danced in the breeze as I pushed the door open, nor that the magnificent curtains were tattered and fell in ruins toward the sitting room floors; to me, the dust and muck were hardly there at all, and the curtains held in warmth and love, only allowing the outside world glimpses of it as they swept by.
Stained glass windows, covered in filth, now let only the faintest glimmer of streetlights glow across the once-handsome parquet floors that were dull and caked with dirt. To my mind's eye those colors were still rich enough to dip my fingers in, and so deep that I thought I might savor a taste should I then touch my fingers to my lips. The light no longer reached the broken stairs that I had once girlishly run up and leapt on the bannister to slide down; now I would not dare to risk even the stairs, far less the shattered spines of the bannister. I lingered in the doorway, seeing and not seeing, and my feet took me toward the stairs and the pathways I had most often travelled when I lived here. This had happened before, on the other occasions I had come searching this house for signs that Paul-Gabriel had lived, or had not; it meant a slow wend across failing floorboards, cautious investigation of dust-filled rooms.
But never before had I entered with the knowledge of where to look. Kiera's words guided me away from the familiar spaces I was inclined to. Instead I followed halls I knew but had rarely visited: the washroom, the scullery, the kitchen, and there, though it seemed to me that the dust had gone undisturbed since my last exploration here, years ago, I found the secret door that I had missed.
It was not, as I might have suspected, part of the servants' halls, but the entirety of the cooker wall that swung away: a passageway so vast it must have been built with the house, and used at great risk when what now held the dilapidated stove had instead been a hearth with roaring fire and heavy pots sloshing from iron yokes. Today, with those fires long since cooled, there was no such risk at all. I stole through dark passageways, unwilling to kindle a light for fear of warning le Monstre, should he still be within these hidden walls. I did not expect him to be: only a fool would sit and wait when his second-in-command had sided with his enemy, and my angel had never been a fool. That appellation was mine alone. But still, I moved silently through the dark, using my fingertips to guide me, and did not risk a light.
The walls were of smoother stone than I expected. They had been carefully hewn and cared for, and when I found a doorway, it was framed by polished wood, as any doorway in a house might be. I tested the knob and found that it turned both easily and quietly. I slipped inside, pressing it closed behind me, and stood for long moments in the darkness, listening for the sound of breathing other than my own.
There was none to be heard. With exploratory fingers, I searched out lights, and was astonished to find the room fitted with electric ones. Their illumination showed me a bedroom, well kept but ordinary, its interior decorated in such a way as to suggest it had been Kiera's room rather than Paul-Gabriel's. I turned the lights off and moved on, discovering another bedroom, a kitchen, and—finally, in the largest room of all—a laboratory that appeared to have been hastily emptied.
Scraps remained: notes pinned to corkboard on the walls, pieces of metal that I fingered absently whilst rifling through the notes, familiar glass vials that lay broken and empty on the floor. The floor itself was of soft, untreated wood; there were worn paths in it around tables that contained stains and scars from whatever experiments had been done upon them. I treaded the paths as if they might somehow show me le Monstre's daily behaviors, or explain to me the inner workings of his mind. Instead, twice they led me to a wall, which I, bemused, turned away from as I continued my search of the laboratory. The third time a worn path led me to the same spot, however, a spark of wit awakened in me and I realized I was, in fact, being shown something of my adversary's daily activities. Suddenly eager, I searched the empty wall, hoping for some brick or bulge that would allow me egress to another secret tunnel, as the one in the kitchen had offered me. I pressed each inch of the broad surface, my fingers flying over it delicately but swiftly, and when the telltale click finally sounded, I leapt back with pleased anticipation.
The wall did not swing away, though: it dropped downward smoothly to reveal a shallow curved space behind it, into which numerous shelves were set. These shelves contained stacks of paper, many of them weighted by pieces of metal or large empty glass vials. For a few seconds I merely stared in astonishment, but a smile of understanding pushed surprise away. Le Monstre had emptied his laboratory and made his escape, but he had left this alcove untouched, trusting that it would not be found. Indeed, had he not visited this space so often that the tender wood had been marked by it, I would not have. Hardly aware I spoke aloud, I murmured, "Merci, mon ange," and withdrew several stacks of paper to spread on the tables.
It was at once clear that most of them contained schematics for dreadful machines and notes on dangerous ideas. It was equally clear that most of them would be of interest to Khan but were beyond my limited knowledge of—or interest in—alchemy and science. None-the-less, I rifled through them, searching for any more personal notes that might suggest where le Monstre could now be found, or how I might later apprehend him.
Instead I fell upon pages of schematics I could comprehend: various designs for armor, some as crude as a medieval knight might wear, others so form-fitted that on paper they appeared to be like a second skin. The only thing they all had in common were spaces at the thigh, hip, and arm that were clearly meant to hold vials of le Monstre's elixirs: cutaway drawings showed the intubation the wearer would undergo.
I did not need to read the notes written in a cramped hand alongside these sketches to suspect what le Monstre intended, but their words confirmed what I imagined: he dreamed of an army of soldiers reliant on and slaves to his elixirs. They would be unable to refuse a command, unable to even think of doing so, under the compulsion of Obedience or Fear. But le Monstre wanted more; he wanted his soldiers to be unstoppable, and needed more than the elixirs to accomplish that. He envisioned armor, but armor unlike anything the world had ever seen: fitted, light, unbreakable, able to resist even a bullet wound. Thus far, though, the right formula to create his magical metal had eluded him.
Inspired by curiosity, I withdrew one of my pistols and cracked its butt against one of the metal shards I had taken from atop the papers. Rather than reverberate as I expected it to, the metal shattered into thin deadly blades. Pistol returned to its holster, I collected one of the shards and fingered it thoughtfully as I pored over the sketches. If this metal was as close as he had come, his armored soldiers were many years away from success, but the idea of them was alarming. I left the laboratory and found, in Kiera's room, a small but sturdy canvas bag. Upon returning to the laboratory, I stuffed all the papers and several pieces of the brittle metal into it the bag. Le Monstre would no doubt have copies of his notes, but if he did not, taking these would set him back even farther—and Khan would be fascinated by them.
There were no other stretches of worn floor leading straight into the walls, neither in the laboratory nor in any of the other rooms, now that I knew to check. I hesitated a little while in le Monstre's lair, but, unable to think of a way to find him now, and dearly wishing for a few hours' rest before dawn, I retreated to Josephine's apartment, where I stored the bag of notes under a pile of pillows Chiquita called her own. I myself was pleased to take, for the brief time that I could, advantage of the sleeping arrangements offered earlier by la grande dame.