Georges' excitement as the coach pulled away from Clermont-Ferrand had lasted for two whole hours. He had eagerly watched the scenery passing by – forests alive with fall colors, tiny villages similar to Molyneaux – feeling that something truly momentous had begun.

But after a while, as the coach traveled on and on and on, he began to get drowsy. He hadn't slept at all the night before, and once the initial exhilaration of getting away had passed, he found himself yawning. He folded his coat into a makeshift pillow, put it under his head, and closed his eyes. Soon, lulled by the rhythmic movement of the coach, he drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed he was at home, sitting on the couch between his parents while his mother read a story aloud. Mimi and Lili were sprawled on the big bearskin rug on the floor in front of the fireplace. Alain was sitting by the small table, repairing a rifle while listening to the story. Georges snuggled closer to Mama to look at the pictures in the book. Papa reached over and tousled Georges' hair fondly, and Georges smiled up at him. He felt so safe and warm...

The coach lurched to a stop, jolting him awake. He opened his eyes and blinked in confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings, feelings disoriented for a second. Then he remembered. As the dream faded, he felt a sudden sharp pang of loss, realizing he wouldn't be seeing his family for a long time.

They'd know he was missing by now. He wondered what they were doing. Mama was probably crying...Papa would be angry...His brother and sisters would be upset and worried...

Guilt overcame him.. How could he do this to them? Poor Mama... He hated the thought of making her unhappy. And he would miss them all so much. ..

But I can't turn back now – not when I'm so close! he thought.

He tried to comfort himself by imagining the end of his journey. He'd knock on Professor Liseur's door. It would swing open, and there would be the professor, delighted to see him. Georges would explain about his father, and Professor Liseur would be outraged on Georges' behalf. "To think that he actually forbid you to write poetry! Why, it's almost a crime! Talent such as yours must be nurtured!" Professor Liseur would say, putting a hand on Georges' shoulder. "You did the right thing, Georges. Leave everything to me."

Professor Liseur would enroll him in a school in Paris. And he'd insist that Georges live at his house, treating him like his own son. After all, he himself had said that Georges reminded him of himself as a boy. He'd be thrilled to have him there!

Imagining it all made Georges feel a lot better. It wasn't like he was going to be all alone forever, after all. He just had to get where he was going, and then he'd have someone to look after him while he followed his dream. And then he'd write to Mama and explain everything, and she'd forgive him. She'd be so proud of him when he went to university and became a real published author and poet at last. "I always knew you could do it, Georges!" she'd say. It would all be worth it then.

And besides, this is an adventure! he reminded himself. Just like in books! Picturing himself as the hero of his own story thrilled him and made him eager to find out what would happen next.

His enthusiasm renewed, he looked around. The other passengers were disembarking and getting their baggage. George gripped his pack and got off the coach. "Where are we?" he asked the coachman.

"Saint-Pourcain-sur-Sioule," the coachman replied. "We've stopped for the night at the inn."

An inn! Georges began to get excited. He had stayed at inns before, with his family on their trip to Paris. But now he was going to stay in one all by himself, like a real adult!

The coachman raised his voice. "Everyone, get a good night's sleep, because we're leaving tomorrow morning at 8:00 sharp. So I want all of you out here and ready to go at 7:30, to give me time to load the baggage on the coach. We have a long way to travel tomorrow. Understand?"

The passengers all nodded and began to file into the inn. Georges followed. The innkeeper began checking them in one by one.

While he waited for his turn, Georges looked around. It looked a lot like the tavern at home, only bigger. People sat at tables, eating food, drinking beer, or playing checkers. There was a bar on the side of the room closest to Georges, with a doorway behind it that seemed to open into a kitchen. At one end of the bar, the bartender was pouring drinks for the men sitting on barstools, while at the closer end, the innkeeper was writing the passengers' names and room numbers in a book and taking their payment.

The passenger ahead of Georges headed upstairs, and the innkeeper turned to Georges. "Traveling alone?" he said in mild surprise.

Georges nodded. "My parents are sending me to Paris to stay with my uncle. I'm going to go to school there."

"Did they give you any money? A room for the night costs five francs, you know."

Georges nodded. "Yes, they gave me enough money for the whole trip." He pulled out the money purse he kept under his shirt, hanging from a cord around his neck, and counted out five francs, then replaced the purse inside his shirt. He didn't notice a dark-haired, bearded man watching with sudden interest from a bar stool.

"Name?" the innkeeper asked.

"Georges Av-" Georges suddenly broke off, realizing he shouldn't give his real name in case anyone was trying to find him. He cleared his throat. "Georges Liseur," he said.

The innkeeper wrote it down and handed Georges a key. "Room 16, up the stairs."

Georges went upstairs and found himself in a small hallway with numbered doors. Finding room 16, he unlocked the door, went inside, and put down his pack.

The room was small and plain: just a bed, a dresser, a chair, and a washbasin. But to Georges, it meant so much more. It meant he had really done it - his quest had truly begun! He was on his own, free and independent, staying at an inn on his way to Paris! He went to the window and looked out eagerly. It overlooked the street, but in the darkness there wasn't much to see, just a few people hurrying home.

Georges sat down on the bed. What should he do next? He was far too excited to sleep or read. His stomach rumbled, and suddenly he was ravenous. He hadn't eaten anything all day. He remembered seeing people eating in the inn's pub area, so he went out, locked the door, and headed down the stairs.

He headed to the bar and hesitantly asked the barman, "Excuse me, where can I get food?"

"Right here," the barman replied. "Tell me what you want and I'll tell the kitchen. We've got roast mutton, shepherd's pie, or baked potatoes."

"Shepherd's pie, please," Georges said. The bartender went into the kitchen to place the order. Soon a serving maid brought out his food and a mug of water.

Georges paid for the food and took it to a table. As he ate, he watched the people around him. Most of them looked tired and ordinary – not the colorful characters he had hoped to see on his travels. All these people looked like they could have come from Molyneaux. Still, it was early in his journey, he told himself. Surely he'd meet fascinating people on the way to Paris - the kind of memorable characters all the heroes in novels met along the way.

I should keep a journal of my trip, Georges suddenly thought. I could describe all my adventures, and the people I meet, and all my thoughts along the way. And then, when I get to Paris, I can write about the city, and the university, and everything that happens to me on my way to becoming a real writer!

Inspired by the idea, he finished his food, brought his empty plate to the barman, and asked, "Is there a bookstore in this town?" He couldn't wait to buy a blank journal and get started writing!

The barman nodded. "There is, but it wouldn't be open now. It's almost seven o'clock."

"Oh," Georges said, disappointed. Well, he had some paper in his pack for writing poems – he could write some entries on that until he got a real journal.

But he didn't feel like going back to the room just yet. He went outside onto the inn's porch. Leaning on the railing, he breathed in the cold fresh air. Even though it was dark and there wasn't much to see, he was exhilarated just to know that he was in a strange new town where no one knew him, a place where anything could happen. He was no longer "the hunter's son" or "the schoolteacher's boy" - he could be anything he wanted to be. He was forging his own destiny. Nothing could stop him now!

He was smiling at that thought when he suddenly became aware that someone had stepped closer and was leaning on the railing next to him. It was a man with dark hair and a beard.

"Nice night, isn't it?" the man said in a friendly way.

Georges nodded. "Yes."

"So, did I hear right? You're traveling to Paris to go to school? That's a fine thing! Can't beat the value of a good education," the man said approvingly.

George smiled. "Yes. I'm going to study poetry and literature. I want to be a writer when I grow up."

"Is that so? Marvelous! What a clever boy you must be!" the man said, impressed.

"Aw, I'm not that clever," Georges said, embarrassed. But he was pleased by the compliment.

"Your parents must be so proud of you," the man added.

Georges' smile faded as he thought of his father.

"Oh! That must be why you were asking the bartender about the bookstore!" the man went on. "I love reading myself. Nothing like a good book, I always say."

Georges smiled. "That's how I feel too!" This man was so nice.

"Shame about the bookstore being closed – you'd have liked it," the man said. "It's a great store. Full of all kinds of books, anything you could want."

"I wish I could have seen it," Georges said wistfully. The bookstore sounded wonderful! And it would feel so comforting to browse through books again, like meeting familiar old friends.

Suddenly the man snapped his fingers. "You know what? The owner of the bookstore is a friend of mine. I'll bet I could get him to open it just for half an hour or so, so you could look around."

"Really?" Georges said excitedly. "Oh, but I wouldn't want him to go to any trouble."

"No trouble," the man said breezily. "He's always happy to open up for a customer – means more business for him, am I right?" He grinned. "But do you have money to buy a book? If he opens the store for you, he'll expect you to buy something."

"Oh, I have money," Georges said. "That's no problem. And I'll definitely buy something – I can't go into a bookstore without buying something!"

The man laughed. "All right then! Let's go to the bookstore!"

"Thanks! That's really nice of you," Georges said as they started walking.

"Glad to help," the man said.

He led Georges down a maze of streets, sometimes turning right, sometimes left. Georges was full of anticipation. He couldn't wait to see what the bookstore had to offer!

But after a while, he began to feel anxious. "I didn't realize it was so far away from the inn," he said worriedly. They'd been walking so long, and gone through so many twists and turns, he didn't think he could find his way back if the man left him alone.

"Don't worry. We're almost there," the man assured him.

Georges didn't want to be rude when the man had gone so far out of his way to take him to the bookstore. Well, he did say we're almost there, he told himself. I'll just look around for a minute, buy a book, and then we'll go back..

But it seemed to Georges they continued to walk for an awfully long time. The main part of the town, with all the shops and business, had been left far behind them. The longer they walked, the more run-down and dingy the buildings were. Georges saw some with broken or boarded-up windows, peeling paint, or holes in the roof. The streets were deserted – there wasn't a soul to be seen.

This doesn't look like the kind of place that would have a big bookstore, Georges thought in confusion.

He tugged on the man's sleeve. "Sir? I'm very sorry, I didn't know it would be so far. It's getting late, and the coach is leaving early in the morning. I want to go back to the inn, please."

"Nonsense! It's just down this alleyway." Before Georges could answer, the man pushed the boy ahead of him into a dark alley, following close behind.

There were no stores here. Georges felt a prickling of alarm. "What is this place?" Georges protested, turning back to the man.

Instead of answering, the man unexpectedly shoved Georges hard against a building. "Now where's that bag of money?" he demanded, his voice suddenly rough and menacing. He saw the cord around Georges neck and tried to grab inside his shirt.

"Hey! That's mine!" Georges yelled, trying to squirm away.

"Keep still!" the man snapped. He struck Georges hard across the face. The pain and shock stunned Georges for a moment. He felt blood trickling from his lip. The man grabbed the cord around Georges' neck with both hands and yanked, breaking the cord, then pulled out the money bag. Georges desperately grabbed for it, but the man shoved him back against the wall, his head banging against the hard bricks, and put the bag in his own shirt.

Georges screamed as loud as he could. "Help! Help!"

"Shut up!" the man hissed. He grabbed Georges and yanked him close to him, wrapping an arm around him and pressing his hand over Georges' mouth so he couldn't scream. Georges fought and struggled as hard as he could, but the man was too strong. Georges was wild with panic. How could this be happening? It was like a nightmare!

The man muttered, "Got the money...but now what do I do with you?" He looked down at Georges, who was making muffled sounds and wriggling like a caught fish, trying in vain to break free. "Can't let you go - you'll scream like a stuck pig. Could knock you out. But you'd wake up soon and tell. No good." He shook his head and made his decision. "Hate to rub out a kid...but there's no help for it. You've seen my face. Sorry, kid. I got no choice."

Terror flooded through Georges. Oh, my God, he's going to kill me! He struggled frantically against the man's grip.

"Quiet down now!" the man ordered. "I'll make it quick. It'll only hurt for a second."

Georges' mind raced. He had to do something! But he was so scared, he couldn't even think. And the man was so much bigger and stronger than he was. There was nothing he could do! He was going to die, right here and now!

No! he thought desperately, trying to fight down the panic. Think, George, think! There has to be a way out!

Suddenly a memory flashed in his mind. His father was teaching him to fight, telling him what to do against a bigger opponent who had him held tight.

With a silent prayer, Georges went limp, as though he'd fainted. The man relaxed his grip slightly and started to draw out the knife he kept hidden in his boot. His hand was still over Georges' mouth, but looser now.

Georges opened his mouth and bit down on the man's hand as hard as he could.

"Aaargh!" cried the man, letting go. Georges slipped away and ran down the alleyway as fast as he could. Cursing, the man ran after him.

Please, God, let there be a way out!, Georges prayed. If the alleyway led to a brick wall, he was dead.

But thankfully, it was open at the end. George ran out of the alleyway and into the street, the man in hot pursuit. Georges turned one corner and then another, hoping to lose the man, but it sounded like he was right behind Georges. Georges couldn't waste the precious seconds it would take to turn his head to look.

He was getting tired. He wouldn't be able to keep running forever. With a desperate effort, he put on a burst of speed and turned another corner. He saw a building with a door hanging off its hinges, the doorway dark. Without stopping to think, Georges ran into the building and immediately crouched down, crawling to the side to get away from the doorway and stay below the level of the window. As soon as he was away from the doorway, he lay completely still on the floor, not moving a muscle, trying to still his panting breath. He prayed that the man hadn't turned the corner yet when Georges had darted inside. If he'd been close enough to see Georges run in, then it was all over. He was trapped here and the man would know it.

He heard the man's running footsteps in the street. They paused as the man looked around. "Where is that stupid kid?" he growled in frustration.

Georges' heart was pounding so hard he was sure the man would hear it. His eyes were closed tight, as though if he couldn't see, he wouldn't be seen. Please don't let him find me, please don't let him find me...

After a few moments, the footsteps resumed as the man ran down the street, trying to catch up with Georges. Georges breathed a sigh of relief, but stayed where he was. He was too scared to move. The man could come back. He might see Georges if he left the building. Besides, Georges had no idea where he was. He wouldn't know where to go if he DID leave.

All he could do was stay here till morning. Then it would be light, and there would be people around, and he could ask someone how to get back to the inn.

That was, if the man didn't come back and kill him first.