Clara stared ahead, clear-eyed, her chest heaving.

“What does it mean?” She spoke as though the vast river might know. Then she turned and looked at them. “What does it mean?”

“It suggests that Professor Norman and this No Man are the same person,” said Gamache.

“Suggests?” said Clara. “Is there any other interpretation?”

“Not really.”

“And if Norman and No Man are the same person?” Clara demanded. “What does that mean?”

“For us?” asked Gamache. “You know what it means.”

“It means Professor Norman came here when he was fired,” said Clara. “He was probably from around here. He came back, but not as Sébastien Norman. He decided to become No Man.”

“But why change his name?” Beauvoir asked.

“Shame, maybe,” said Myrna. “He’d been fired.”

“Or maybe it was the opposite of shame,” said Gamache. “He wasn’t exactly in hiding. You said he started an artist colony.”

Chartrand nodded and looked troubled. “He did, but I don’t think he meant to.”

“What do you mean?”

“He built a place for himself not far from here. In the woods. But then people started joining him. Other artists. Uninvited. It just sort of happened.”

“Peter came here looking for him,” said Clara. “He wanted to find Professor Norman for reasons I can’t begin to understand. But did he find No Man instead?”

“Non,” said Chartrand. “C’est impossible. No Man was long gone by then. His colony collapsed years ago. Long before Peter arrived.”

“Why did Peter come all this way looking for Professor Norman?” Clara asked. “What did he want from him?”

There was no answer to that, and so they remained silent.

“Where is he?” Clara asked. “Where’s Peter?”

“Where’s No Man?” Beauvoir asked.

Gamache hadn’t taken his eyes off Chartrand. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Where’s No Man?”

“I don’t know,” said the gallery owner. “I’ve already told you that.”

“If you don’t know where he is, you at least know where he was,” said Gamache. And Chartrand nodded. And pointed.

Away from the river and into the woods.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later they were walking along an overgrown path through the woods.

And then, as though they’d crossed some barrier, the woods stopped and they emerged into sunshine. Before them was a clearing overgrown with grasses and bushes. They had to force their way through the bracken until they were in the middle of a large circular field.

It was pocked with bumps and lumps. Gamache assumed they were tree stumps, but then realized they formed shapes. Squares. Rectangles.

Foundations.

What was now a tangle of wildflowers and burrs and weeds had once been homes.

Not just abandoned, but dismantled. Taken apart. Until just the bare bones remained as evidence that anyone had once lived here.

Gamache heard a noise beside him. A sort of exhale, a moan.