Armand gave her a thin smile.
“She’s fine.”
He left to join the cadets and Charpentier. The students were just finishing off their breakfasts and Gabri brought each of the men a café au lait.
“Do you want breakfast? I have blueberry crêpes, French toast, and Eggs Gabri.”
“Eggs Gabri?” asked Gamache. “That’s new.”
“I add a bit of lemon zest to the hollandaise.”
Armand thought about that, then smiled. “A little tart.”
“A little tart.” Gabri bowed with great dignity.
“I’ll have an Eggs Gabri, s’il vous plaît,” said Armand.
“And you, monsieur?” Gabri asked Charpentier, who ordered blueberry crêpes with sausages and syrup.
“Professor Charpentier and I are returning to the academy,” Gamache said to the cadets. Across from him, Charpentier’s brows rose very slightly. “But when I come back tonight, I’d like a report on what you find out about the map.”
“Come on,” said Jacques. “It doesn’t matter, and you know it. I want to return to the academy. You can’t keep us here.”
He was glaring at the Commander, and the other three cadets turned to look, first at Jacques, then over to Gamache. Jacques had clearly never been a fan of the new commander, but now his scorn seemed to have reached new heights. Or depths.
Even Gabri, bringing Myrna and Clara a small cheese plate, paused and looked over, as did the women.
Myrna cocked her head slightly, puzzled.
“You could be right,” said Gamache as he put down his large mug. “The map might mean nothing. But then again, you could be wrong.”
“Don’t believe everything you think,” said Amelia.
“So now you’re on his side?” asked Jacques.
“Side?” said Amelia. “There aren’t sides.”
“Oh, don’t kid yourself,” said Jacques. “There’re always sides.”
“Enough,” said Gamache. It was the first time he’d raised his voice at them, and they immediately turned to look at him. “I’m tired of this childish behavior. You need to stop this sniping. You’re not in a schoolyard. You’re cadets in the Sûreté Academy. You’ve been conscripted to help in a homicide investigation. Do you know how many cadets would love to be included? And you sneer at it? And want to leave? To pick up your marbles and go home? Because you haven’t been handed a piece of evidence dripping in blood? How do you know what’s important and what isn’t? If I don’t know, you certainly don’t.”
He stared at them, and one by one they lowered their eyes.
Even Jacques.
Over by the fireplace, Myrna and Clara exchanged glances.
There was unmistakable, and rare, anger in Armand’s voice. But below that they recognized something else. Gamache was afraid that these students weren’t taking this seriously enough. And in that error lay not just a failing grade, but a grave. Someone had killed, and they’d kill again.
“You don’t have the luxury of choosing when you’ll work, where you’ll work, and who you’ll work with. I’m your commander and I’ve assigned you to work together on the map. There is no debate, no argument. A murderer thrives on chaos, on creating divisions and diversions. Infighting is all those things. It divides the focus and saps the energy. You have to learn to get along. With everyone. Everyone.” He looked from one to the other to the other. “Everyone. Your lives will depend on it. Do you think those boys in those trenches fought each other?”
“A house divided cannot stand,” said Charpentier. “You don’t need to be a brilliant tactician to figure that one out.”
“No, just a master of clichés,” mumbled Jacques.
“And you wonder why I’m a recluse,” said Charpentier to Gamache.
“Oh, there are days I don’t wonder at all,” said Gamache.
“The house fell anyway, didn’t it?” said Jacques. “They all died, those soldiers. Together, maybe. But they all died. That’s not mud on the goddamned map. It’s blood.”
A copy was sitting on the table, and he shoved it at the Commander with such force a glass fell over. Water flooded the table, making its way toward the Commander.
But while the others moved away from it, Gamache stayed where he was, staring at the boy.
Jacques was so upset he was almost in tears. He stared at the Commander’s face. Taking in the deep scar by his temple. And meeting his eyes. Holding them.
“They died,” he whispered.
“Yes, many did,” said Gamache, studying the cadet. And then he reached out and slowly pushed the map back across the table. Away from the water. To safety, and the young man.
Gabri arrived at that moment with their breakfasts and wiped up the water, giving Gamache a quizzical look before he left.
Gamache turned to Charpentier. “Tell them what you told me.”
“I believe that,” the professor pointed to the paper, “is an early orienteering map.”
“A what?” asked Amelia.
“Orienteering,” said Nathaniel. “It’s a sport.”
“Like curling’s a sport?” asked Amelia.
“Curling’s a great sport,” said Huifen. “Have you ever tried it?”
“I don’t have to—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Gamache. “Just listen to the professor.”
“Orienteering’s a training tool, disguised as a sport,” said Charpentier.
“Training for what?” asked Huifen.
“War. It was used in the Boer War and the First World War to teach officers how to find their way around a battlefield. That’s why it shows things other maps never would. A rock, a fence, an odd-shaped tree, an abandoned house. But it also has contours, like a topographical map.”
He tapped the map on the table.
“Whoever made this knew how to make maps and was also an orienteer, when it was in its infancy.”
“And they must’ve lived around here,” said Nathaniel.
“Do you think the soldier made it himself?” asked Amelia.
“It’s possible,” said Charpentier.
“But?” asked Huifen, picking up on the hesitation.
“But this was done by an experienced mapmaker. The soldier was just a boy. He wouldn’t have had time to learn. Not to this degree.”
“It was done by his father,” said Jacques, who’d been staring at the map while they talked. “To take with him.”
“To remind him of home,” said Nathaniel.
“To bring him home,” said Jacques.
Charpentier looked at Gamache, who nodded. “We think so.”
“Where should we start?” asked Huifen.
“We can figure it out,” said Jacques. “We don’t need their help.”
“But—”
“You’ll ask for help, cadet,” said Gamache. “And you’ll take it.”
“Why?” asked Jacques. “I’ve seen what happens when people follow your orders.”
Armand Gamache put down his knife and fork slowly, with studied care, and stared at the cadet with such intensity, Jacques started to tremble. Even the others at the table, including Charpentier, leaned away.
“The town hall in Saint-Rémy will have records of sales and purchases,” said Gamache quietly, coldly. “Going back a hundred years or more. They’ll know who owned the bistro, when it was a private home. That’s the place to start.”
Nathaniel wrote that down, but Jacques continued to stare into the crosshairs.
Commander Gamache got up, as did they, rising quickly to their feet. Jacques got up too, but slowly.
“I’ll be back by seven tonight. I want your reports then.”
“Yes, sir,” said three cadets.
Gamache turned to Jacques, who said, “Yes, sir.”
“Bon,” said the Commander, and walked over to Myrna. “May I have a word?”