Hello! Here is a new chapter!
Thank you Mium, Porthos10, Ranger_Red, Dekol347, George_Bush_2910, TheHumble_Dogge, AlexZero12, Shingle_Top, Historyman_84 and lizeer for the support!
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Adam, "hidden" under Marie's bedsheets, jolted and made a movement that, from the doorway, could easily have been mistaken for a startled reaction.
He pulled back the sheet and a wool blanket, staring with feigned astonishment at the landlady, whose face was red with fury. She looked like a bomb about to go off, letting out all sorts of ominous noises.
"W-what?! What's going on?!"
Adam's high-pitched voice rang through the room and probably the whole floor. The landlady, startled, came to a halt just two steps from the foot of the bed.
Marie's head, hair tousled, popped out from under the covers, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide.
Madame Boileau, still trembling, opened and closed her mouth several times before managing to stammer:
"Th-there's... a thief! A-a thief in the house!"
"A-a thief?!" Adam and Marie echoed in unison, both sitting up. "Where?!"
The landlady, exhausted by the sudden burst of effort, was struggling to catch her breath. Her chest heaved like some machine gone mad.
She swept her gaze around the room.
"I-I don't know! He... ha... ran off when he heard me coming! You didn't... see anyone?!"
"Of course not!" Adam exclaimed, sounding properly scandalized. "We would've heard him come in!"
Marie turned her face toward Adam. He could feel her gaze fixed on him.
Even without looking, he knew she had understood.
His hand trembled slightly, thankfully still hidden beneath the sheets. The young prostitute noticed, and her heartbeat quickened.
She had no idea why he'd done whatever he'd done, but for some reason, she instinctively believed this handsome young man, who looked about her age, must have had a very good reason. Lifting her chin, she met the landlady's eyes with unexpected bravery.
"H-he must be upstairs! Maybe he's trying to escape through a window!"
Like a woman electrified, Madame Boileau rushed out of the room and darted toward the stairs leading to the attic, moving with surprising agility. Adam and Marie could clearly hear her frantic footsteps as she climbed.
The heavy thuds made the floorboards creak so violently it seemed as though the entire house might collapse on top of them.
Adam felt a small movement beside him.
"Y-you're the thief she's looking for, aren't you? Why...?"
"Don't ask questions," the young man whispered, his expression deadly serious. "For your own sake."
Marie could have taken that two ways — but the most logical interpretation, Don't ask questions, or I'll silence you, never even crossed her mind. Instead, her imagination leaped straight to a story of intrigue, mysterious men, betrayal, and danger.
In her mind, she painted Adam — the quiet young man from the upstairs room — as someone extraordinary.
"Y-you... you're a spy, aren't you?" she asked suddenly, after a short but intense silence, her cheeks growing redder by the second.
Adam raised an eyebrow and stared at her as if she were a child spouting nonsense.
"What?"
What the hell is she imagining now?
"Y-you... you don't work for the British, do you?" she added, her expression shifting slightly, though her excitement was all too clear.
She had once witnessed the hanging of a man accused of espionage in Paris — but that poor soul hadn't had even a fraction of Adam's charm. That man had looked like a beggar, his face beaten so badly he was barely recognizable.
By comparison, Adam — François Boucher — looked like a storybook prince.
Adam, unaware of all this, started to panic, assuming the woman saw him as an enemy of the state. Alarms rang in his head — he had seen people die for less.
"No! I'm a loyal subject of the King of France!"
Marie raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes going even wider.
In an instant, the secret backstory she'd imagined for the handsome young man shifted once again.
"S-so... you serve His Majesty! You work in the shadows, eliminating his enemies and the enemies of France?!"
What?! No! That's not it at all — what is she even talking about...
"Y-yeah," he muttered under his breath, so softly Marie almost thought she'd misheard. "But you mustn't tell anyone, understand?"
Marie nodded vigorously, her cheeks now bright as a tomato. Adam could practically hear her heart hammering in her chest.
She's got the imagination of someone who watches too many movies... Where is she getting all this from?
He couldn't help but be impressed by the young woman's wild imagination — though, all things considered, her story wasn't all that far from the truth.
He was trying to stop the enemies of France from doing harm, men who abused their power and acted with impunity. The only difference was that he did so without anyone's permission.
"I-is there an English spy here, in this house?" she suddenly gasped, clutching closer to Adam.
He lowered his eyes and noticed the generous curve of her chest pressing against his left arm. Her skin was so warm it felt like she had a raging fever.
But it wasn't just her chest — her whole body radiated heat.
Adam could feel his body quickly heating up.
"He's not a spy," he revealed in a menacing tone, "but he's just as harmful to the Kingdom. He's a parasite, serving an even greater parasite. He robs the King with complete impunity while wearing the face of an honorable and loyal man in the eyes of the Crown."
Marie shuddered at the sheer perfidy of it all. It didn't take her long to narrow down the list of suspects.
"The officer downstairs…"
Adam, his face deadly serious, nodded silently.
And just as Marie was about to ask more questions — which she'd been told only seconds earlier not to do — heavy footsteps echoed once again on the narrow staircase connecting the second floor to the attic.
"Not another word. She's coming back."
The prostitute, now feeling like an accomplice, slid back under the blanket, pulling it up to her chin to leave only her face visible — an innocent-looking face that had always been her best weapon for luring in clients, even if her chest wasn't exactly lacking in appeal either.
She pressed herself closer to Adam, who had, by now, entirely lost possession of his arm. Somehow, without realizing it, his hand had ended up between the young woman's burning thighs.
He didn't dare move.
Madame Boileau reappeared at the doorway, even redder than before — which had seemed impossible. Her face looked as if someone had spilled a whole pot of paint on it.
"Th-the doors… Ha… the doors are all locked… except one! B-but the window's shut! I-I don't know… ha… where he could've gone…"
"We didn't hear anything," Adam stated, confidently, feeling quite worthy of the world's best liar award.
"N-no, we didn't," Marie added, lifting the blanket slightly. "Not a sound."
The landlady bit her lip in frustration. She looked around the little room once more but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary.
Madame Boileau wanted to tear the place apart, but time was slipping away. If she didn't find the thief quickly, she feared she never would.
"I-I'll check downstairs!"
And with that, the heavyset woman disappeared into the hallway. Moments later, her footsteps echoed again, slower this time, on the stairs leading back down to the first floor.
Adam and Marie lay still for a long moment.
He tried to free his arm, only to realize it was thoroughly trapped. When he moved his hand slightly, it shifted to an even warmer spot. He also noticed a dampness that wasn't sweat.
Marie let out a soft moan and clutched his arm even tighter, as if it were a lifeline in a raging sea.
"Hmmm?!"
She opened her eyes, but didn't dare meet the gaze of the man lying next to her. It was the first time she'd ever reacted like this with a man — and she'd known plenty.
Though none of their faces had ever stayed with her, still!
"C-can I get my arm back?" Adam asked in a small voice, his face flushed deep red.
Reluctantly, Marie let him go and watched him climb out of bed. Her hungry eyes followed him as he began dressing, and once fully clothed, he handed her a few coins — far more than the usual price for a night's service in the New World.
She stared at the coins in her palm, then looked up at the man she really knew nothing about. His gaze was fixed on the window that separated her room from that of Clotilde, her roommate.
He looked so strong, so determined — and yet so terribly alone.
She guessed only a very select few knew his secret, and the burden must have been crushing. Marie couldn't even begin to imagine the depth of loneliness such a royal agent must endure.
Part of her wanted to give the money back, but she knew too well how expensive life was in the colonies. If she'd taken up this line of work, it wasn't for pleasure.
She had wanted other options — options that wouldn't have led her to prison and then onto a foul-smelling ship for nearly two months.
So she accepted the money.
Meanwhile, Adam tried to steady himself. He'd struggled to keep his instincts in check. Staring out the window, he emptied his mind, doing his best to avoid letting his eyes wander back to Marie's captivating body.
There were other things he needed to do.
"Thank you for everything," he whispered, turning his back to her. "And above all, not a word to anyone."
"I understand," she replied, her voice full of determination. "My lips will stay sealed."
Her gaze remained locked on his back, unwavering.
"Good. In that case, I'll be going. I have… information to pass along to my superiors."
With those parting words, he left the young prostitute to her own assumptions and headed downstairs.
He passed Madame Boileau on the way out, who looked visibly relieved — all the doors on the first floor were still locked, except for the storage room and Captain Chamoine's kitchen. In other words, it was very likely that the thief hadn't managed to steal anything from her after all.
Adam pretended to share her relief, then stepped out into the street, discreetly pressing the evidence of Captain Chamoine's guilt against his chest to shield it from prying eyes.
He headed straight for the Intendance — the large administrative building he'd visited upon his arrival — and found the ever-miserable clerk.
The dark circles under the man's eyes seemed even deeper than before. His complexion had grown paler too, as if he'd been deliberately avoiding sunlight for months.
"What is it?" the man asked in a dragging voice when Adam's turn came.
"Good morning, sir. I'd like to send a package to Fort Bourbon. Is there a supply convoy heading there soon?"
"Hm. One moment. Ah, yes. There's one leaving tomorrow morning. Would you like to leave the package with us so we can hand it over to the officer in charge of that convoy?"
Adam was tempted to accept the offer, but he wasn't sure he could trust this man, or those working with him. His mind immediately pictured the worst-case scenario.
"Hmm, no, that's alright, thank you. Tomorrow… I'll find the officer myself before they leave. What time is the convoy supposed to depart?"
"Seven o'clock, from the east gate."
Adam thanked the man and quickly walked away before anyone could take notice. He held the letters and the notebook tighter against his chest and headed straight back to Madame Boileau's lodging.
Once there, he carefully wrapped up the evidence he'd gathered against Chamoine and hid the whole bundle on a beam, one that was difficult to reach.
Good, no one would think to look up there.
Satisfied, he sat back down at his makeshift desk and resumed writing his pirate novel.
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The next morning, just before dawn, Adam made his way to the east gate and, as expected, found the convoy preparing to leave for the south.
It was tasked with supplying more than one fort — Fort Bourbon among them, the last stop on the route.
It wasn't hard for Adam to spot the officer in charge. The man was tall, with a stern face, a long straight nose, and jet-black hair. What surprised Adam was that the man held only the rank of lieutenant. Adam had put on his captain's uniform for the occasion and was glad he had.
With his rank, he hoped he could apply enough pressure to ensure the package reached its destination.
Unfortunately, there wasn't any reliable system for sending letters or packages. Adam had no choice but to count on this man and his convoy to make sure Monsieur de Bréhant would receive the crucial information he'd managed to collect.
Naturally, he had included a letter in his own hand, explaining the situation.
"Good morning, Lieutenant," Adam said as he approached. "I was told at the supply office that you'd be heading out this morning. You are going all the way to Fort Bourbon, aren't you?"
"Hmm, yes, Captain. That's correct."
"Perfect. In that case, if you don't mind, I'd like to entrust you with a package to deliver directly to Colonel de Bréhant."
"Oh, of course! I'll make sure to hand it to him personally."
Still wary, Adam pulled a few coins from his coat — coins which, ironically, had originally belonged to Captain Chamoine.
"Here, this is for you, for the trouble. I'm counting on you. Safe journey."
The lieutenant slipped the money into his pocket before returning a stiff salute to the captain, who was a few years younger than he was. Then he gave the order for the convoy to move out.
The convoy included a dozen carts — about the minimum needed to resupply all the forts south of Montreal. Naturally, most of the supplies were bound for Fort Carillon and Fort Bourbon.
Adam stood silently, watching the carts disappear into the distance.
He whispered a silent prayer, hoping the package would arrive safely and be taken seriously.
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Three days flew by at an astonishing pace, the last one even more so. Adam felt time slipping through his fingers, unable to hold on to it, and the eve of his departure arrived sooner than he'd expected.
His leave was almost over, and he would soon have to return to Fort Bourbon.
Determined to end it properly, with no regrets, he had finally decided to spend some quality time with Marie. She had been delighted and had done everything she could to make sure he was satisfied.
And in the end, both of them had been more than satisfied.
Later, to close the peaceful day, he went to the inn and ordered a hearty meal of potatoes — the famous cartoufle à la Montréal. The steaming potatoes covered in melted cheese reminded him fondly of raclette, a popular winter dish back in France.
With an easy stride, his belly full and his mind at ease, he headed back to Madame Boileau's house. The air was cool and damp, but at least it wasn't raining.
Still a little under the weather, though much less than in the days before, he had wrapped a thick gray wool scarf around his neck. He looked up at the dark sky, too overcast to glimpse even a single star, and let a quiet smile cross his lips.
But his smile vanished the moment he spotted Captain Chamoine standing at the entrance of the house.
The man stood there, motionless as a statue, the left side of his face lit by a small lantern hooked onto a rusty nail.
What's he doing here? Waiting for something? Or someone?
Adam did his best to summon back his smile, making it as cordial as possible.
As he drew closer, he noticed Chamoine glaring at him with the blackest of stares. Adam greeted him politely, and as he was about to step past him to go inside, a firm arm shot out in front of him like a barrier.
His heart skipped a beat, but with tremendous effort, he managed to keep the smile on his face, trying to make it look relaxed.
"Is there a problem, Captain?" he asked lightly. "You seem troubled."
Chamoine kept staring, jaws clenched so tight Adam could almost hear his teeth grinding.
"It seems we need to have a little talk, monsieur."
The tone left no room for argument. Adam felt fear rising inside him.
"Oh? A talk? At this hour? Why not tomorrow, over a drink, somewhere warm—"
"I'd rather settle this right now," Chamoine cut in, his voice sharp as a blade.
Adam felt the muscles in his jaw twitch uncontrollably and silently prayed that his face wouldn't betray him.
Chamoine stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His eyes gleamed with a strange, unsettling light.
"Here, or inside?"
"Here's just fine. We won't be disturbed."
Adam swallowed discreetly. He could feel just how much energy it cost him to keep up this false, cordial front while quietly searching for a way out.
A heavy silence settled between the two men.
"Very well, I'm listening."
Captain Chamoine slowly drew a pistol from his belt. The weapon, which looked quite heavy, glinted faintly in the soft glow of the lantern hanging beside them.
Adam's eyes fixed on the muzzle, pointed squarely at his chest. At this distance, the bullet would shatter his bones and likely rip through his organs, reducing them to pulp.
"It was you the other day. The thief. Wasn't it?" Chamoine said, his voice slow and cold as ice.
It didn't sound like a question. Adam tensed even more, though he managed to hold on to his strained, artificial smile. At this point, it wasn't even an effort — he was simply stuck that way, frozen.
"Y-you must be joking, surely? A thief? Me? Come now. I was with a prostitute at the time of the theft. Marie, you know her? The pretty blonde. Madame Boileau—"
"You broke into my house and paid that whore to act as your alibi. It was you."
Click.
Captain Chamoine slowly cocked the hammer of his pistol.
"All the doors were locked and there was no one in the house," he continued, his eyes never leaving Adam's face. "No one except you and that blonde-haired whore."
A cold bead of sweat formed on Adam's back. He suddenly felt as though insects were crawling all over his skin, but he didn't move a muscle.
"Unless proven otherwise," the officer muttered between clenched teeth, "people don't vanish or walk through walls. Boileau swore no doors were opened, but the lock on my room had only one turn. I always lock it with two."
He raised the pistol, aiming it now at Adam's face. The young man turned pale.
"The lock was picked, the room visited, and the door closed afterward. Boileau arrived right after — the thief had left the room, but not the house. I immediately saw what was missing. And I know you went asking questions at the Intendance the very same day."
Adam stepped back, his body stiff with fear.
"I want to know — who did you give my letters to? And my notebook?"
Adam couldn't tear his gaze away from the weapon. He was bracing for the sound of the trigger, knowing that by the time he heard it, it would already be over.
So you can kill me and recover the package?! Dream on! If I talk, I'm dead. Whatever I do, I die!
But then, an idea struck him.
Slowly, his expression hardened. His posture straightened, and he lifted his chin. He stared at Captain Chamoine as if watching an insect trapped and squirming in vain.
"It's already too late," Adam murmured, his voice surprisingly cold and firm. "You've already lost. You just don't know it yet."
Chamoine narrowed his eyes, trying to understand this sudden shift in demeanor. It felt as if the situation had flipped without him realizing it.
"The only question now," Adam continued, as if stating a fact, "is who will take the fall. As things stand... it's you."
Chamoine's finger tightened slightly on the trigger. Adam noticed but didn't flinch, keeping his merciless gaze locked on the corrupt officer.
"Don't play games with me!"
Chamoine stared into Adam's blue eyes. They glinted strangely under the flickering lantern light, casting unsettling shadows across his face, making him look half mad — a man ready to die for his mission.
"This isn't a game. His Majesty takes this matter very seriously. That's why I was sent. Your notebook... it condemns you, and the charges will be as numerous as its pages. The letters, however, name no names. Pity, really. Which means you'll be the only one punished."
"What?"
The moment Adam mentioned the king, Chamoine's expression darkened. A bead of sweat slid down his forehead, despite the evening chill.
"What did you think? That no one knows what's happening in New France? That the King, his ministers, and his loyal officers haven't noticed the missing supplies and equipment?"
Adam deliberately paused, letting fear slowly seep into Chamoine's heart. Since almost the first day of his strange adventure, Adam had learned that justice in this era was swift — especially for those who were nobodies.
And Chamoine was surely imagining the worst. If he were lucky, the rope would await him. If not, the galleys — slavery until death.
"His Majesty has decided to act," Adam concluded, "and believe me, when the King's agents strike, it's already too late to beg."
Chamoine tried to keep his face blank, but the pistol in his hand trembled ever so slightly.
"But," Adam continued, his tone softening slightly, "from what I've seen, the rot runs deeper than expected. There are still too many missing pieces to truly cleanse this city."
He stepped toward the man holding him at gunpoint, as though the weapon were meaningless — or his death would change nothing.
"There's only one way out for you," Adam said softly. "Just one."
"And what would that be?"
"Give His Majesty the names of all your accomplices. Especially the main beneficiaries of this traffic. Names important enough to make you seem like an insignificant pawn. They'll be punished for their crimes, and your cooperation will earn you some mercy."
Chamoine didn't lower the weapon. He stared at Adam with such intensity it seemed as though he could burn a hole through him.
"Tch. You really believe that'll be enough? That they won't execute me anyway?"
"I can't promise anything," Adam replied with a light shrug, his voice almost gentle. "But if you serve the Kingdom's interests, His Majesty will surely take that into account. All I can do is write a report, explain your role in dismantling the network. That's the only hand I can offer you."
Chamoine remained silent for a long moment.
If His Majesty truly knew everything, then the entire city — all of New France — would soon be purged. Punishment would be unavoidable, even for the Intendant, who had powerful friends back in France.
And for him...
He felt the warmth drain from his body, as though he were already dead.
Chamoine understood: there was no other option. No escape but the one this young man was offering him.
At last, he lowered his pistol.
"Very well," he said hoarsely. "Since it's come to this... I'll do my best. I'll give you every name I know. After all, it's not like I have much of a choice, do I?"
"Indeed," Adam replied, inclining his head slightly. "It's a wise decision. The ones who truly profited from this are far more powerful than you. Fortunately, I leave tomorrow morning. His Majesty will soon be informed of your... loyalty. Good evening."
With that, Adam calmly walked past Captain Chamoine, who this time didn't stop him, and stepped back into Madame Boileau's house.
The building was silent, as dark and cold as a tomb.
When he reached his room, Adam collapsed onto his bed as though all the strength had drained from his body.