“You should’ve seen their production of The Glass Menagerie,” said Armand. His eyes widened as though to say it was exactly what Isabelle imagined it would be.

“By the way, did you talk to Clara?” Antoinette asked Myrna. “Will she do it?”

“I don’t think so,” said Myrna. “She needs more time.”

“She needs distraction,” said Gabri.

Isabelle looked at the script in Antoinette’s hand.

“She Sat Down and Wept,” she read. “A comedy?”

Antoinette laughed, handing her the script. “It’s not as dire as it sounds.”

“Actually, it’s wonderful,” said Myrna. “And very funny.”

“Some might even say gay,” said Gabri.

“Well, time to go.” Isabelle got up. “I see the soccer game is over.”

On the village green the children and adults had stopped playing, and were all looking toward the stone bridge across the Rivière Bella Bella where a kid was shouting and running into the village.

“Oh no,” said Gabri as they watched through the bistro window. “Not again.”

The boy paused at the edge of the green and gestured wildly with a stick. When no one reacted he looked around and his gaze stopped at the bistro.

“Hide,” said Myrna. “Duck.”

“God, don’t tell me Ruth’s coming too,” said Gabri, looking around frantically.

But it was too late. The boy was through the door, scanning the crowd. And his bright eyes came to a halt. On Gamache.

“You’re here, patron,” the boy said, running over to their table. “You have to come quick.”

Grabbing Gamache’s hand, he tried to pull the large man out of his chair.

“Wait a minute,” said Armand. “Settle down. What is it?”

The boy was bedraggled, like something the woods had coughed up. There were moss and leaves and twigs in his hair, his clothes were torn and he clutched a stick the size of a cane in his scratched and filthy hands.

“You won’t believe what I found in the woods. Come on. Hurry.”

“What is it this time?” Gabri asked. “A unicorn? A spaceship?”

“No,” the boy said, looking annoyed. Then he turned back to Gamache. “It was huge. Humongous.”

“What was?” Gamache asked.

“Oh, don’t encourage him, Armand,” said Myrna.

“It was a gun,” said the boy, and saw a flicker of interest in Gamache. “A giant gun, Chief. This big.” He waved his arms and the stick hit the table next to them, sweeping glasses to the floor.

“Okay,” said Gabri, getting up. “That’s enough. Give me that.”

“No, you can’t have it,” said the boy, protecting the stick.

“Either you give it to me, or you leave. I’m sorry, but you don’t see anyone else in here with tree branches.”

“It’s not a tree branch,” said the boy. “It’s a gun that can change into a sword.”