“I believe you.”

“I saw a lot of men die there. Most men. Do you know what killed them?”

Starvation, Gamache thought to say. Dysentery. Cruelty.

“Despair,” said Finney. “They believed themselves to be prisoners. I lived with those men, ate the same maggot-infested food, slept in the same beds, did the same back-breaking work. But they died and I lived. Do you know why?”

“You were free.”

“I was free. Milton was right, you know. The mind is its own place. I was never a prisoner. Not then, not now.”

“What sums do you do, when you come here? You don’t count birds, and I don’t think you count money.”

Finney smiled. “You know what money buys?”

Gamache shook his head.

“I’m an accountant and I’ve spent a lifetime counting money and watching the people who have it. Do you know what I’ve decided? The only thing money really buys?”

Gamache waited.

“Space.”

“Space?” Gamache repeated.

“A bigger house, a bigger car, a larger hotel room. First-class plane tickets. But it doesn’t even buy comfort. No one complains more than the rich and entitled. Comfort, security, ease. None of that comes with money.”

He walked slowly off the wharf, his feet echoing slightly.

“Your father was a hero, you know. He had the courage to admit he was wrong. And to change. He hated violence, hated killing. It’s interesting that his son would have a career bringing killers to justice. But be careful, young Armand. His cross isn’t yours. You don’t need to avenge every death.”

“It’s not death that angers me,” said Gamache. “It’s suffering. It angered my father too. I don’t consider it a cross, never a burden. Perhaps it’s a family trait.”

Finney looked at him closely.

“You asked what I count each evening and each morning. What I counted each day in prison while better men withered and died. Do you know the sums that I do?”

Gamache stood still, in case moving would scare this man off and he’d never have his answer. But he knew he needn’t worry. This man was afraid of nothing.

“I count my blessings.”

He turned and saw Irene on the terrasse, as though he’d sensed her there.

“We’re all blessed and we’re all blighted, Chief Inspector,” said Finney. “Every day each of us does our sums. The question is, what do we count?”

The old man brought his hand to his head and removed his hat, offering it to Gamache.

“No, please, keep it,” said Gamache.

“I’m an old man. I won’t need it again, but you will. For protection.”

Finney handed him back his hat, the hat he’d bought at the same time he’d bought one for Reine-Marie, after her skin cancer scare. So that she wouldn’t feel foolish in her huge, protective hat. They’d be foolish together. And safe together.

Gamache accepted the hat.

“You know the Mariana Islands, sir? They’re where the American troops left to liberate Burma. The Marianas.”

Finney stopped then looked over to the four chairs, one of which contained a woman and her child, both very unlike the other Morrows.

“Now, I’d like to tell you a story,” said Reine-Marie when Bean had finished excitedly telling the adults about Pegasus. “It’s about Pandora.”

Beside her Peter made to get up. “I don’t think I need to hear this again.”

“Come on, Peter, stay,” said Clara, taking his hand. He hesitated then sat back down, squirming in his seat, unable to get comfortable. His heart raced as he listened to the familiar tale. Once again he was on the sofa at home, struggling to find and hold his space next to his brother and sisters, not to be tossed off. And across the room their mother sat, upright, reading, while Father played the piano.

“This is for Peter,” she’d say, and the others would snicker. And she’d tell them about Pandora who lived in Paradise, a world without pain or sorrow, without violence or disease. Then one day Zeus, the greatest of the gods, gave Pandora a gift. A magnificent box. The only catch was that it should never be opened. Every day Pandora was drawn to the box and every day she managed to walk away, remembering the warning. It must never be opened. But one day it was too much for her, and she opened the box. Just a crack. But it was enough. Too much.

Out flew all the winged horrors. Hate, slander, bitterness, envy, greed, all shrieked and escaped into the world. Disease, pain, violence.