"In heaven," he says simply.

"Any other family? Living or-anywhere?"

"You know . . ." He tucks one of his boots under the shuttlecock, f lips it into the air. "I think I must have family somewhere. But I've never met them."

Still careful to keep his distance, Vidocq eases himself onto the mattress, so warily that the straw barely stirs.

"Charles," he says. "Do you know why Monsieur Tepac brought you here ? "

"Oh, because I've never been."

"Do you understand that Monsieur Tepac is dead?"

A small furrow in the young man's brow.

"Oh, I see. He's going to meet Mama and Papa."

And with that, the furrow vanishes, and the shuttlecock continues its progress, back and forth.

"Charles . . ."

Whether it's to reassure him or to lay claim to him, I'll never know, but Vidocq chooses this moment to extend his hand. It is traveling toward the vicinity of Charles' shoulder, but it never gets there. In a single galvanic pulse, the young man jerks upward. Backs away two steps and takes three long breaths. A kind of ritualized quality to the entire sequence, as though he had just concluded a sacrament.

"I don't really like that. Being touched. Out of the blue like that."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right. You didn't know."

Vidocq tucks his hands under his thighs. Lets the silence build up again.

"Now, then, Charles. There's something I want to ask you if you don't mind. Are you the King of France?"

The young man stares at him for a short space-then begins to giggle.

"Don't be silly! " he says. "We've already got a king. Although they tell me he's very fat, and has trouble walking. Poor king."

Vidocq laces his hands behind his neck. "Have you ever been to Paris, Charles?"

"Sometimes. I'm fairly sure I was dreaming, though."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I f lew there."

"Ahh." The tiniest chuckle shakes itself from Vidocq's throat. "Well, now, Charles, Dr. Carpentier and I would like to take you back to Paris with us. As our guest."

"When?"

"Now."

His mouth twists down. "I'll need my coat."

"Of course."

"And also . . ."

"Yes ?"

"Do you think Agatha would mind looking after the f lowers?"

"We'll ask her, shall we?"

"The bulbs need tying down, you know. After the first f lower."