Jack held the book close to his face, inspecting it.
“Let me check something.” I took the book and my fingers brushed his, zinging sparks through me. I jerked my hand away and leaned over the diary. Close up, I could see a tiny edging of bees interspersed with the Dauphin sun symbol. Definitely Napoleon’s. But just as I was hoping, the leather on the outside of the book wasn’t attached. It was just a sleeve.
I slid the back cover out, and one corner of the endpaper was loose.
I worked it open further. After a second, my fingers found the edge of something hidden inside. I pulled it out and unfolded a single sheet of paper, one of its edges ragged.
“Le trésor . . .” I tried to translate, and then handed it to Jack. “What does it say?” There were two sets of words on the page. One looked like a normal diary entry, and below it, a message was scrawled more shakily, like the writer was having trouble holding the pen.
We both got quiet while an older couple with a striped picnic blanket tossed an empty wine bottle in the trash can behind our bench.
I held my breath until Jack started talking again. “It says,
“The treasure is not what they think. They are wrong about the union.”
My heart stuttered. Jack glanced up at me, then kept reading.
“The One’s true identity will shatter the Circle.
“The One, the true ruler, the new Achilles. Superior to the false twelve.
“For everyone’s sake, I must pretend I never found any of it.”
“That kind of sounds like it could be more of the mandate,” I said slowly.
“Yeah. It does.” Jack pointed to the shakier writing, and I leaned closer, looking over his shoulder. “This part says,
“I cannot take this to my grave. I’ve left clues to the tomb, and if one of my descendants chooses to follow a path that will renegotiate our fates, it is a braver man than I.”
“Is he talking about the tomb?” I breathed.
“It’s always been rumored—even outside the Circle, in regular world history—that Napoleon found Alexander’s tomb.” There was awe in Jack’s voice. “But he denied it, and anyway, there’s never been a union between the One and the girl. How would he have found it?”
“It says they’re wrong about the union,” I reminded him. “And even if that doesn’t mean anything, maybe he did it the old-fashioned way. By looking.” The sun hit my feet, warming my toes. “Mr. Emerson did say ‘wrong about the mandate,’ and whoever wrote this—whether it’s Napoleon or not—seems to think it’s wrong, too.” I held out my hand for the paper. “Do you think his clues to the tomb are the same as the three things Mr. Emerson wanted us to find? Or since this diary is one of Mr. Emerson’s three things, maybe only the bracelet is Napoleon’s clue?”
Jack rubbed his forehead. “It’s something to think about eventually, but we can’t get off track now. The One is our immediate concern. And if this riddle really is about the mandate, giving more detail on who the One is . . .”
It was our key to getting Mr. Emerson back. “It does say that stuff about the One, but it doesn’t give us enough information to tell who it is.” As I shifted on the bench, wrapping the blazer around me, I saw Jack pretending not to watch me out of the corner of his eye. I pretended not to notice. “Was there anything in the other entries about the tomb or the mandate?”
“Not that I’ve seen. But I also don’t see a ripped-out page.” He held up the hidden paper. “This came from somewhere.”
I sat up straighter. “Another diary?”
“If there were any other Napoleonic diaries, they’d be at the Dauphins’.”
I looked over my shoulder toward the Louvre, right on the other side of this wall.
“I was thinking.” Jack stood up. “Maybe we should go there anyway. Fitz did leave Stellan’s photo, too.”
I stiffened. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to go back there at all, and definitely not to talk to Stellan.”
“I doubt he’s as suspicious as you think—”
“He’s been calling my phone all night.” I crossed my arms. “Even at the prom—before either of us knew I was anything—he already thought I was something more. Prada made it worse. And then I ran off in Istanbul . . .”
“He might think it’s odd,” Jack said, grabbing his jacket, “but with the Dauphins hosting the ball tonight, he has other things to worry about. Everyone does.”
I still didn’t stand up. “Won’t it be suspicious for us to be seen together?”
“There are loads of family members and Keepers staying there. It’s probably the safest place for us to be together, actually.”
I finally stood. I didn’t like it, but there was another reason for me to go back to the Dauphins. My mom might be there.
“Okay,” I said.
To help smooth things over, I dialed Luc while we climbed back up the steps from the river and crossed into the Louvre courtyard. In the distance, the white Ferris wheel revolved lazily in front of a backdrop of gathering clouds.
Luc didn’t answer, but I left a message with a quick apology for running off the previous night. Jack and I drifted silently through the throngs of tourists toward the Dauphins’ wing, and only then did I realize the careful distance he was keeping. It wasn’t just me feeling awkward and wrong. The realization didn’t make me feel any better.
Jack was right—no one inside gave us a second look. There were people conferencing on settees in the sitting room, and Keepers talking into headsets, and attendants with dry-cleaning bags. We were told, to my relief, that Stellan was off preparing security for the ball.
We headed straight to the library, pausing only for Jack to ask whether an American woman had shown up looking for her daughter. She hadn’t, and I tried not to worry. With plane connections and delays and her phone maybe not working abroad, it wasn’t time to panic yet.
The Dauphins’ library didn’t actually smell like cigar smoke, but the warm dark wood and deep leather armchairs hinted that the smell would be appropriate. We scanned the lower level quickly, but it held mostly fiction and art. I climbed a set of rickety wooden stairs to a second story of books that stretched all around the room, and clicked on the dangling light overhead.