The Watchtower

dangerously close to tears. I had a sudden urge to unburden all my troubles to this complete stranger, but when I recalled how bizarre those troubles were, I told him I’d meet him at eleven thirty in the lobby and let myself into my room before I could make a complete fool of myself.
    I dropped my overnight bag on the floor and collapsed onto the freshly made bed. The maids had left the window open, letting in a cool breeze that ruffled the lace curtains. Beyond them the green leaves made a soothing murmur. I felt as if I’d come home. I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep and a strange dream.
    I was on a road—or perhaps above a road. I could see a carriage speeding along it as if I floated in the air. It was my job, I somehow knew, to keep whoever rode in it safe, but safe from what I didn’t know. The countryside on either side of the road appeared peaceful—rolling hills, cultivated fields marked off by hedgerows— England, I found myself thinking with a pang that felt like homesickness. I followed the coach through twilight and into night until I felt so tired my limbs— wings? —began to feel as heavy as lead. I looked longingly at ponds surrounded by tall grass on either side of the road. Good nesting ground, my dream self thought. But just as I began to drift from the sky, I woke in the dark room with a start, feeling as if I’d not only slept the day away, but somehow slept years … even centuries away. And that I’d forgotten something.
    Melusine .
    I went to the closet and dragged my suitcase off the top shelf. The Poland Spring bottle was still inside. I jiggled it and held it up to the light, trying to see anything remarkable about it, but it just looked like water. Then I opened my laptop and looked up train schedules to Lusignan. After a half hour on the SNCF site, which kept crashing on me, I realized I had to catch a 6:10 a.m. train for Poitiers, then I’d have nine minutes to transfer to a train to Lusignan. If I missed it, I’d have to stay overnight in Poitiers because there was only one train a day to Lusignan. How remote was this place anyway?
    When I googled Lusignan, I found out. Other than a Wikipedia entry on the Lusignan dynasty, I could find nothing about the town. When I tried to find a hotel, I got results for Poitiers. Apparently the town had no hotel. If I missed the one train back to Poitiers, I’d have to … well, I’d better not miss it.
    By the time I finished plotting my itinerary it was 11:25. Roger Elden would be waiting in the garden. I put on a sweatshirt over my T-shirt and jeans and tossed the Poland Spring bottle into my backpack—just in case I didn’t have time to get back here before the train. As I went out into the garden, I reflected that by the time I caught up with Will Hughes I would be nearly as nocturnal as he was.
    *   *   *
    Roger Elden was sitting at one of the little metal tables in the garden, a bottle of champagne and two glasses set up before him.
    “I knew you’d make it!” he said, popping the champagne cork and filling the two glasses. “You look like a woman who couldn’t resist an otherworldly experience.”
    “You have no idea,” I said, taking a glass. “What are we drinking to?”
    “To exploring dark matter and bringing the universe’s mysteries into the light.” He held up his glass.
    I held up my glass and clinked it against Roger’s. The clear chime (where had he found two crystal champagne flutes?) reminded me uneasily for a moment of the bells tolling in the Garden of Diana last night, but I shook off the connection. “To the light,” I said, echoing the last words of Roger’s toast.
    His glass paused halfway to his lips and he tilted his head at me. “Exactly!” he said, breaking into a grin. “To the light!”
    The champagne was ice-cold and tasted mysteriously of orange blossoms and cloves. We finished our glasses, then Roger stoppered the bottle and put it into a padded carryall, which he put over his shoulder.
    “I thought we’d walk. It’s such a beautiful night. I love Paris after dark, don’t you?”
    I agreed and we started out, walking briskly down the rue Monge toward the Seine, then crossing the river over the Île de la Cité past Notre Dame, lit up like a great ship sailing along. I asked Roger how he became interested in astronomy, and he chattered happily about a boyhood fascination with the stars, an influential academic mentor, and an enduring quest to plumb the secrets