‘Is something wrong?’ Ari asked.
‘Someone’s borrowed a book.’
‘I know that tone,’ Jason said. He’d followed them in when Ari had summoned him, not apparently willingly, but now he was just as enchanted as his sister. A library like this, full of rare and ephemeral records of history, was like catnip to them. Adventurers, treasure hunters, seekers after the lost and mystical worlds of long ago… Places like this were where they found the threads they followed.
Like Ariadne of legend, weaving her path through the labyrinth. Like Jason in search of the Golden Fleece.
‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ he replied, aware of the vague tone in his voice. He wasn’t sure. Not at all. He ought to go and ask her, but still, he hesitated. It was not a good idea to leave anyone in here unsupervised. Mémé had impressed that on them since they could first talk.
This is the real treasure of Sainte Sirène, crammed into this small space.
She guarded it fiercely.
Which was why a missing book was so unnerving.
Ari picked up on his discomfort. ‘What book is it?’
He picked up the neighbouring volume and flicked it open, turning the brittle yellow pages with care. It was a diary, handwritten, in a spidery writing he recognised as belonging to Mémé’s uncle, Fabien, one of many he had written in his short life.
Because, of course, he had led a short life. Eventful, adventurous, but short.
‘A diary covering the war years, by the looks of it. My great-great-uncle Fabien was in the resistance here. It was a brutal war for Cap Sizun.’
There were memorials dotted all over the peninsula, in every town, marking the places where his people had fought, had made their stands. The coves and inlets here had been vital to the resistance, stealing people and equipment in and out, like the smugglers and wreckers of old. And the retaliation from the Third Reich had been brutal. There wasn’t a family that hadn’t been scarred.
Fabien had written in code half the time because he hadn’t been an idiot to write down all the secrets which the occupying forces could use against him and his comrades. But there were things Fabien had felt were not so secret. It was clear from the diaries that he’d written quickly sometimes, scrawling down ideas, or brief impressions in a rush.
He’d been in love. Opinion was divided on whom with. Sometimes there were poems. Sometimes there were sketches and maps with no names.
Rafael glanced at the page before him.
I didn’t think she would be there again, but when I came out, she was walking along the shore, collecting shells, her bare feet sinking in the wet sand. Tris told me I was imagining things, but there she was. And I had never seen such a creature. Like something from the legends of this place, the ones that tell us we will die and the sea will have us. She looked at me and smiled, her long white-blonde hair catching the sun like candlelight. I asked if she was a White Lady. She laughed and told me her name was Blanche.
Rafael closed the book and replaced it carefully on the shelf. The woman reminded him too closely of the one in his nightmare, the one waiting for him at the foot of the Pointe de Castelmeur. He pushed the thought away as firmly as possible.
‘What do you need to know?’ he asked. ‘How can I help?’
‘I need to know more about the early history of the area. Where the place names came from, for example, and why they changed. Sainte Sirène?’
‘Yes. It’s a French name. The Breton is Sant Sieren.’
‘I saw the signs,’ she replied flatly. ‘But surely that’s just a modern translation back. Who was Sieren? Why change it to the word for mermaid? Do you see what I mean? There must be something else, some other name, something older. Or a story of some kind to explain it.’
Rafael cast a confused glance at Jason, who just shrugged. ‘Hey, this is what she does. And she’s very good at it. She follows the breadcrumbs left in place names and stories. I just dive and dig stuff up.’
Ari shushed her brother, embarrassed by his praise. ‘What I mean is…do you have a map?’
Rafael almost laughed and his mood shifted. She could do that to him easily, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. ‘A map? There are dozens here. More. A modern one? A fifteenth-century one? What do you want?’
Ari grinned. ‘Show-off.’
They spent an hour lost in the past. Rafael suspected that, for Ari and Jason, it was easier than dwelling in the present where a friend had just died. He placed item after item in front of her. Books, maps, documents, printed and handwritten, all those priceless things he could lay hands on. It was only when Laure came in looking for them that Ari took a break.
‘Have you even eaten?’ his sister asked with the pout she always wore when she was being ignored.
‘No, we’ve been working,’ he replied. ‘It’s a thing people do in between shopping and sleeping.’
She pointedly ignored him, shook back her glossy hair and fixed Jason Walker with that perfect Laure du Lac smile. ‘Come and help me, Jason. I was going to arrange dinner. You’re all welcome to stay. Gwen is coming over. She’s fascinated to know what you’ve found in here.’
