“I did warn you, Madam Thorn!” Archibald called out, by way of greeting. “If you don’t come to the Pole, the Pole will come to you.”
He opened the door to the bathroom as though it were that of a fine carriage, and, with a flourish, invited them all to come in.
“What’s going on here? Who is this individual?” Breathless from rushing up the stairs, her weather vane trained on them, the Rapporteur had just reached the mezzanine in a frenzy.
“Go in quickly,” said Archibald, pushing Ophelia inside. Aunt Rosaline and the great-uncle hurried after her and skidded on the tiled floor, searching for an emergency exit. There was nothing but urinals around them. Ophelia would have liked to ask Archibald where they were supposed to escape; unfortunately, he was too busy preventing the Rapporteur from coming in, too. She’d been so quick, she’d managed to block the door with one of her boots.
“Dearest mothers!” she shrieked. “She’s trying to escape! Do something!”
These words triggered mayhem inside the bathroom. With an appalling rumbling noise, the urinals, toilet bowls, and basins started disgorging all their water. The Doyennes’ Animism was already at work. All public establishments obeyed their command, and the traditional covered market was no exception.
“We can’t stay here forever,” Ophelia shouted to Archibald over the din of all the water. “What’s your plan?”
“To close this door.” He had said this without dropping his smile, as if it were all just a minor hitch.
“And after that?” she insisted.
“After that, you will be free.”
Ophelia didn’t understand. She stared at the Rapporteur’s hand, which had just slipped between the gap in the door; she knew Archibald well enough to know that he would never break a lady’s fingers.
“Move over, sonny!” growled the great-uncle. “I’ll sort out this pest, you help the girl to get away.” With these words, he swept out of the bathroom, dragging the Rapporteur with him.
Archibald slammed the door, and silence descended with it. An eerie, baffling silence. All the water had stopped pouring out of the pipes. The cries of the Rapporteur could no longer be heard. All the tick-tocking of the festival had ceased. Ophelia began to wonder whether Archibald hadn’t stopped time itself. When they went back out, there was no more mezzanine, or great-uncle, or Rapporteur, or market. Instead, there was a deserted shop in which one could make out rows of empty shelves. Judging by the strong musty smell, this business had been closed for a long time.
“Mind the step,” warned Archibald.
Cautiously, Ophelia and Aunt Rosaline left the restrooms, stepping down onto the floor of the shop. They understood why when they glanced back: they had just come out of a wardrobe.
“How did you pull that trick off?”
“I called up a shortcut” said Archibald, as if it were obvious. “Don’t be too impressed—it’s only temporary. See for yourselves.” He closed and then reopened the door of the wardrobe. Old bric-a-brac had replaced the men’s restrooms. It made one wonder how three people could have emerged from such a confined piece of furniture.
“The market has gotten its restrooms back,” Archibald added, looking delighted. “Imagine the look on the face of that weather vane woman when she’ll find us no longer there.”
Ophelia wrung out her sodden scarf and slightly opened the curtains of the shopwindow. The glass had misted up, but she could make out a little cobbled street, partly covered in snow, and full of muffled-up passersby, all endeavoring not to slip. Further down, under a pallid sky, a barge edged slowly along the half-frozen water of a canal.
“I recognize this place,” Aunt Rosaline said, over her shoulder. “We’re not far from the Great Lakes.”
Ophelia was a bit disappointed. Their escape had been so phenomenal, she’d hoped for a moment to have left Anima.
“How did you pull that trick off?” she insisted.
Archibald was a very resourceful man, as capable of getting into people’s heads as into ladies’ hearts, but this, it really defied comprehension.
“It’s a long story,” he said, rummaging in the hole-riddled pockets of his cape. “It so happens that I’ve found myself some new opportunities, new ambitions, and new loves!”
He had declared that while triumphantly pulling out a bunch of keys. Ophelia studied him in the half-light of the shop. The last time she’d seen him, on the Citaceleste landing stage, he’d been but a shadow of himself. Today, a sun shone in the sky of his eyes, and that brightness was very different to the bittersweet arrogance that was typical of him in former times.
Ophelia tensed up in spite of herself. Was it truly Archibald whom she was following like this? She’d had no dealings with God since their confrontation in Thorn’s cell, but she didn’t forget that he could assume any face he liked.
“How did you know where to find me?”
“I didn’t,” retorted Archibald. “I’ve just spent two hours in a freezing-cold ferry, and another hour asking my way in the streets of your little valley. When I finally located your parents’ house, you weren’t there. I can only summon a shortcut between two places I’ve already been to, so you made my life difficult! If you ladies would care to follow me,” he continued, heading for the back of the shop.
But Ophelia no longer really felt like hurrying. “Why bring us here?”
“Is Berenilde with you?” asked Aunt Rosaline, in turn.
“And Thorn?” Ophelia couldn’t help but add.
“Whoa, whoa!” Archibald said, laughing. “I brought you here because this is where I arrived. My calling up shortcuts has its limits. That dear Berenilde isn’t with me, no. She doesn’t even know I’m here . . . and she’ll dismember me if I don’t return to the Pole soon,” he said, checking the time. “As for the elusive Mr. Thorn, we’ve received no news from him since his escape.”
The hope that had risen in Ophelia at the appearance of Archibald collapsed like a soufflé. For one crazy moment, she’d thought that it was Thorn himself who had initiated the rescue. She glanced warily at the back of the shop, where Archibald was: it appeared to have been abandoned even longer than the front. “This is where you arrived? I don’t understand.”
Archibald tried several keys in the lock before producing a resounding click. “After you, ladies!”
Contrary to what Ophelia had imagined, the passageway didn’t lead to a cellar, but to a rotunda as vast as a station concourse. A diaphanous, almost unreal light came through the cupola’s high windows. The entire floor was a huge mosaic; it depicted a star, of which the eight corners pointed toward doors positioned like compass points. This place was as grandiose as the adjoining shop was grotty.