Page 184 of The Grey Wolf
“Safe? Of course he kept something safe. The formula.”
“No, I mean something else.” She looked around. “Where did he keep his copy?”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
Now the elderly monk stood up straight. He looked incredibly dignified. And very brave. Because he also looked very afraid.
“Who are you? Where are the others?”
“Please, Brother Constantine. You know me. Brother Sébastien.”
“You’re a lay monk. Not a brother at all.”
“I came here to try to protect Brother Robert. I’m a Gilbertine.”
This did nothing to allay his fears.
“And I’m a police officer.”
It seemed to be getting worse, not better, for the Carthusian. “Not from here. You have a strange accent.”
“I’m from Québec.”
Moments ago, this happy monk had been doing something he’d done for decades. Continuing a tradition, a ritual, a scared duty that brother monks had done for centuries.
But now, a Gilbertine, and a woman. A cop. From Québec. Had invaded his safe place. Telling him the other holder of the recipe was dead.
“Mon frère, I have no need to see the recipe for Chartreuse. But I do need to know if there’s something Brother Robert has hidden. Please. We’ll stay here, but can you at least look?”
“Oui?”
The door was closed and no doubt locked, and the voice that came from the other side tentative.
“Monsieur Langlois? It’s Armand Gamache. We met when I came here to tell you about your son.”
Before leaving Three Pines to head into Montréal, Armand and Jean-Guy had gone home, reassuring their family and the other villagers that they were safe. They could unlock the doors.
“So those were gunshots,” said Reine-Marie as she looked at hisbloody hands and the smears on his slacks. Though it was clear he and Jean-Guy were themselves unhurt.
“Oui.”
He told them what had happened, then went upstairs to wash up and change. Before leaving, he picked up the aspirin bottle and considered. He might need it. Slipping it into his pocket, he went downstairs and into his study, where he quickly wrote out all that he’d discovered. A light had caught his eye. Not, this time, the glint of a gun. These were fireflies, lighting up just outside his window.
Armand watched them for a moment. Losing himself, briefly, in what looked like a lighthearted dance. He tried to guess where the next one would appear, but couldn’t. He wondered what part of evolution this served. Why had a fly been given the ability to light itself?
Or perhaps, he thought as he placed the paper where only Reine-Marie could find it, there was no purpose. Perhaps being a small light in the night was purpose enough. A show of defiance. These tiny creatures were the resistance against a vast darkness.
“I need to go,” Armand said as he sat beside Reine-Marie and took her hand. Jean-Guy was upstairs with Annie and the sleeping children.
“Will you be all right?” Reine-Marie asked.
“Yes. I know what to do, where to go.” He smiled. “Ça va bien aller.”
“Fais attention, monsieur.”
“I’ll be careful. I promise,madame. And I’ll bring Jean-Guy home.”
“Did someone say my name?” asked the younger man, coming down the stairs with Annie.
