“When was it found?” Hayden asks. “How did you hear about it?”
“The entrance was discovered two months ago,” Dorf says. “Quite by accident.” I watch him sitting there. Solid as a rock, like he has all the time in the world. “They thought it was a sinkhole at first. A Mr. Gourbillon was in charge of this house’s restoration. He and some of the workmen came down one morning and found a ten-foot crater in the wine cellar. They started digging and found a chair. Then a room, wallpapered. They had stumbled right onto one of the palace’s higher antechambers. Mr. Gourbillon called the Sapanis’ people. The Sapanis’ people called me.”
Lucky the Sapanis’ people didn’t call the police. The police would have issued a statement and this place would be crawling with AFP and treasure hunters and bearded adrenaline-junky hipsters with huge cameras.
“And why did the Sapanis call us?” I ask. Jules shoots me a look like ‘Really? Now you’re going to bring this up? I ignore him.
“The Sapanis are very keen on nurturing and supporting the youth of today,” Dorf says. “They have multiple foundations and scholarships set up in a variety of fields. They wanted to give you all an opportunity. And they have.”
“That’s nice of them. Why aren’t they here at the chateau if they care so much? Have they already been into the palaee?”
Dorf looks at me curiously. “No. Anouk, the Sapanis are busy people. I’m sure you read your dossier. Their corporate empire spans Asia, Europe, the United States. . . . One of their technology firms may have designed the processor chip in your phone, the engines in the plane that brought you here, the air-filtration system in this very room. Surely you’ll forgive them that they didn’t come running the moment you arrived.”
Jules snorts, starts coughing violently to hide his laughter.
I stare at Dorf, stone-faced. “I don’t expect them to come running for me, no, but for the unsealing of a massive underground palace? Yeah, I’d stop designing air-filtration systems for that.”
Dorf twinkles at me. I want to punch him. “Would you? Well, I’ll let them know. In the meantime, they’ve entrusted me with your care and the direction of this expedition, and that will have to be enough for you.”
He didn’t answer my question. At all. Lilly looks over at me, frowning slightly, and I’m not sure if she’s frowning about what I said or what Dorf said. The silence stretches––
––and breaks: three waiters walk into the room. Cream satin waistcoats, gold buttons, little bowties. Each carries two silver, bell-covered dishes. They place them in front of us, swoop the bells away, and file out as quickly as they came.
One whiff, and I don’t even care about Dorf anymore. In front of me are three dainty bowls, one soup, one chicken, one green steamed vegetables dusted with red threads of saffron. I smell roasted garlic and sweet chili and spring onions.
The table lights up with sounds of clinking silverware and sliding china.
“Has anyone been down there yet?” Hayden asks between mouthfuls. “The file said the palace was sealed up. Have you been inside?”
“No.” Dorf isn’t eating. He’s flicking around on the glimmering surface of the table next to his plate, and I realize he’s got a tablet there, razor thin. His fingers skid over the screen. “We found the Bessancourt coat of arms in the antechamber. A butterfly with eyes in its wings. That particular coat of arms ceased to exist after 1792, so it didn’t take long for speculation to begin that this was the actual Palais du Papillon. We did some GPR scans and charted out a rough outline of the palace. The antechambers lead to the shafts which lead to what we assume is the main entrance, but that’s as far as we’ve gone.” Dorf glances up. “And yes, Hayden, it is sealed. We have no idea what’s on the other side.”
He holds up the tablet. On it is a photo, so harshly lit it looks black and white. It shows a huge, ornately gilded set of double doors. The handles are knotted together with massive rope. A dark, fist-sized lump is fixed to the center. I think it’s a wax seal.
A hush falls over the table. I stare at the screen. Tomorrow we’ll be standing in front of those doors. Breaking the seal. Going in.
“Um . . . ” I swallow a piece of chicken without chewing. It hurts. “Obviously the Bessancourts had those doors sealed after they left, right? They escaped to England and lived happily ever after. We’re not going to find a bunch of corpses down there.”