execution, settling instead for a life sentence on Belle Isle, mistakenly assuming that his release could be arranged at some future date.
Rain lashed the window, the wind howled. Savary said, "What are you reading?"
"Eliot," Brosnan told him. " 'What we call the beginning is often the end and to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."
"The Four Quartets. Little Gidding," Savary said.
"Good man," Brosnan told him. "See, all the benefits of an expensive education, Jacques, and you're getting it for free."
"And you also, my friend, have learned many things. Can you still open the door the way I showed you?"
Brosnan shrugged, swung his legs to the floor, picked up a spoon from his bedside locker, and went to the door. The lock was covered by a steel plate, and he quickly forced the handle of the spoon between the edge of the plate and the jamb. He worked it across for a few seconds, there was a click, and he opened the door a few inches.
"The same locks since eighteen fifty-two or something like that," Savary said.
"So what? It doesn't get me anywhere, only to the landing," Brosnan said. "I never told you this before, but I once worked out a way to get out. A little climbing, a certain amount of wading through the central sewer system, and I could be outside. Found that out three years ago."
Savary sat up, his face pale. "Then why have you never done anything about it?"
"Because it gets you nothing. You're still on the rock, and there's nowhere to go."
There was the sound of footsteps ascending the steel steps at the far end of the tier, and Brosnan quickly closed the door and worked the spoon around again. There was a slight click, and he hurried across to the bed and lay down.
The footsteps halted outside, a key turned in the lock, the door opened. The uniformed guard who looked in was an amiable looking, walrus-mustached man named Lebel. He wore an oilskin.
"Stir it you two, I need your services."
"And what have we done to deserve the honor, Pierre?" Savary demanded.
"When I suffer, you suffer. You know I like you," Lebel said as they walked past him onto the landing. "The bastards have just given me the burial detail for the next month, and you know the regulations. When they take their last swim, it must be at night."
They paused for Lebel to unlock the door in the great steel-mesh barrier at the end of the landing, and Brosnan peered through it to the central hall below.
"Who's dead?" Savary asked.
Lebel looked at the paper in his hand. "67824-Bouvier. Served thirty-two years. Cancer of the bowel."
It was a sobering enough thought to kill any further conversation as they descended to the hall, crossed to the outer door where the judas gate was unlocked for them by another officer. They crossed the courtyard outside and went up the steps to the mortuary.
It was a simple enough room, with whitewashed walls and lit by a single naked light. There were several well-scrubbed wooden benches in a neat row. The corpse waited on one of them, strapped in a canvas body bag. An old convict in overalls that were too large for him, shoulders bent with age, scrubbed carbolic across the floor. He paused, leaning on his broom.
"All ready for you, sir."
Brosnan knew the form. He had performed the task many times before. Against one wall there was a simple wooden cart, which he trundled across, and he and Savary got the body onto it.
"Right," Lebel said. "Let's go."
"What about the chaplain?" Savary demanded as they maneuvered the cart down the steps.
"Said he didn't want one. An atheist."
Savary was shocked. "Hell, everybody should be entitled to a priest when he goes." He glanced sideways at Brosnan. "You make sure they do things right for me."
"You won't die, you old bastard," Brosnan said. "You'll live forever."
The guard on duty at the gatehouse emerged to open the gates, and they went outside and followed the road, not down toward the harbor but curving up to the left. It was hard
Rain lashed the window, the wind howled. Savary said, "What are you reading?"
"Eliot," Brosnan told him. " 'What we call the beginning is often the end and to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."
"The Four Quartets. Little Gidding," Savary said.
"Good man," Brosnan told him. "See, all the benefits of an expensive education, Jacques, and you're getting it for free."
"And you also, my friend, have learned many things. Can you still open the door the way I showed you?"
Brosnan shrugged, swung his legs to the floor, picked up a spoon from his bedside locker, and went to the door. The lock was covered by a steel plate, and he quickly forced the handle of the spoon between the edge of the plate and the jamb. He worked it across for a few seconds, there was a click, and he opened the door a few inches.
"The same locks since eighteen fifty-two or something like that," Savary said.
"So what? It doesn't get me anywhere, only to the landing," Brosnan said. "I never told you this before, but I once worked out a way to get out. A little climbing, a certain amount of wading through the central sewer system, and I could be outside. Found that out three years ago."
Savary sat up, his face pale. "Then why have you never done anything about it?"
"Because it gets you nothing. You're still on the rock, and there's nowhere to go."
There was the sound of footsteps ascending the steel steps at the far end of the tier, and Brosnan quickly closed the door and worked the spoon around again. There was a slight click, and he hurried across to the bed and lay down.
The footsteps halted outside, a key turned in the lock, the door opened. The uniformed guard who looked in was an amiable looking, walrus-mustached man named Lebel. He wore an oilskin.
"Stir it you two, I need your services."
"And what have we done to deserve the honor, Pierre?" Savary demanded.
"When I suffer, you suffer. You know I like you," Lebel said as they walked past him onto the landing. "The bastards have just given me the burial detail for the next month, and you know the regulations. When they take their last swim, it must be at night."
They paused for Lebel to unlock the door in the great steel-mesh barrier at the end of the landing, and Brosnan peered through it to the central hall below.
"Who's dead?" Savary asked.
Lebel looked at the paper in his hand. "67824-Bouvier. Served thirty-two years. Cancer of the bowel."
It was a sobering enough thought to kill any further conversation as they descended to the hall, crossed to the outer door where the judas gate was unlocked for them by another officer. They crossed the courtyard outside and went up the steps to the mortuary.
It was a simple enough room, with whitewashed walls and lit by a single naked light. There were several well-scrubbed wooden benches in a neat row. The corpse waited on one of them, strapped in a canvas body bag. An old convict in overalls that were too large for him, shoulders bent with age, scrubbed carbolic across the floor. He paused, leaning on his broom.
"All ready for you, sir."
Brosnan knew the form. He had performed the task many times before. Against one wall there was a simple wooden cart, which he trundled across, and he and Savary got the body onto it.
"Right," Lebel said. "Let's go."
"What about the chaplain?" Savary demanded as they maneuvered the cart down the steps.
"Said he didn't want one. An atheist."
Savary was shocked. "Hell, everybody should be entitled to a priest when he goes." He glanced sideways at Brosnan. "You make sure they do things right for me."
"You won't die, you old bastard," Brosnan said. "You'll live forever."
The guard on duty at the gatehouse emerged to open the gates, and they went outside and followed the road, not down toward the harbor but curving up to the left. It was hard
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