Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [318]
The searches were meant to dislodge that last secret, be it the hiding place of Toussaint’s rumored treasure, or some further detail of his dealings with the English . . . who knew what. But Amiot suddenly thought, where he stood in the snow, that perhaps the searches were too regularly spaced; he bore them himself by timing them closely to the changes of the guard, but Toussaint was also an old soldier, and would be as used to that routine. It was Amiot’s rest that had been disturbed; after midnight he’d slept but lightly, and after four not at all.
There was the difficulty. Amiot could alter the rhythm of the searches. Make them only an hour, or less, apart. But he must attend each search in person. No man had leave to enter or open Toussaint’s cell except in Amiot’s presence. Then what if he should lose his controlling grip on his own mind before Toussaint lost his? But surely that was hardly possible. He, Amiot, was the stronger. Certainly he was the younger. He had survived many bloodier battles, and would win this one in the end.
“Sir, it is time.”
Amiot started. The falling snow was still thick all around him but now it swirled with a milky light. Day had not broken, but rather infiltrated, while he was . . . what? Had he been asleep on his feet like a horse?
“Time?” Amiot twitched at the dimwitted sound of his reply. It was the guardsman Franz who’d addressed him, his lump of a nose shining red in the snow.
“The prisoner’s morning meal is ready.”
“Of course,” said Amiot. He must attend this service too, without exception. He spread his lips in a freezing smile. “And let us organize a search.”
“Another?”
Amiot searched the other’s face for superciliousness, found none. And yet he did not like this guardsman. Franz was Baille’s man; moreover, Amiot suspected him of secret sympathy for the prisoner. Franz had a wife and at least one child in a neighboring canton of Switzerland, and on his days of leave he managed to make his way to rejoin them—even in such weather as this. It did not do to post such a man so near to home and family. Franz was insufficiently uprooted; he retained the mute resistance of a peasant standing on his miserable plot. But much as Amiot studied him, he found no clear evidence of insubordination.
“Yes,” he said, in his most clipped tone. “Another.”
While the search detail was organized, Amiot waited by the fire of his bedchamber, rubbing his hands over the uncertain flames, relieved as the feeling burned back into his fingertips. Reckless to stand so long in the cold, unconsciously, but this time there would be no harm. His feet were number still, at first, but by the time Franz let him know that all was ready, he could feel the dampness of melting snow along the seam of his boots, and his feet ached reassuringly along the descent toward Toussaint’s cell.
A skein of ice had formed across the planks that traversed the standing water, frozen now to slush, on the floor of the second vault. Amiot slipped and had to catch himself with a palm against the chilly wall. Franz glanced back at him, expressionless, then looked away. Setting his teeth, Amiot marched ahead. He carried the ring of keys himself, and relocked every door behind them once they all had passed it.
Then he was turning the heavy iron key in the lock of the last cell door. At a light push it swung silently inward. At his arrival this door had grated loudly whenever it was shifted, but Amiot had ordered the hinges oiled.
In the wide hearth, Toussaint’s fire was ash. A vague snowy light, filtered through the grating at the opposite end of the cell, was enough to reveal the prisoner asleep, or at least unmoving under a tangle of bedclothes.
“Toussaint!” Amiot called, loud with false heartiness. “Your breakfast is served—it is time to rise.”
In a tunnel of blanket an eye appeared, just one. No other movement.
“Réveille-toi!” Amiot cried gaily. Wake up! At his gesture, one of the guardsmen crossed the room and twitched away the blanket. Another set down the covered trencher of thin oatmeal just to the