NOTE: This story goes contrary to some of the "facts" of The Eight. I have Mireille return to Montglane between the time of her journey to England and her journey to Russia. The narrator is a character I invented, a young woman who lost her family in the Terror in Paris and who has gone to Montglane to retreat from the world.

In these pages I, Sara Pelletier, student at Montglane Abbey, give a faithful account of the legendary Montglane Service and of Mireille, the extraordinary young woman sworn to protect it against the forces of evil.

I first arrived at Montglane Abbey in 1795, after my parents and brothers were guillotined in Paris during the Terror. I have no desire to relate the details of my journey, which was long and arduous. And I had no wish to become a nun. I had lost any faith I might have had after what happened to my family. No, I only wished to bury myself in books, and Montglane was the place to do it. My mother had been a novice there as a young girl, before her parents changed their plans for her and decided to marry her off instead. She had often spoken of it as a beautiful place in the Pyrenees, where one could go to lose oneself in study. That was exactly what I needed at the time. When I arrived, I had vaguely heard of the legendary chess set that had been buried there for centuries, but I dismissed the stories as legends, and I had no idea of the powerful secret the chess set contained.

Upon my arrival, I met a young, red-haired woman, tall, with a sturdy frame, who looked more like a farmgirl than a nun. Her name was Mireille de Remy. She was a few years younger than me: 20 to my 23. Mireille had once been a novice at Montglane, but had left in extraordinary circumstances with her cousin Valentine, also a novice, in 1790, and only recently returned. When I first met her, I had no idea of all the adventures she had been through in the intervening years, but I was soon to find out.

Mireille and I were often in each other's company, since we were the only ones at Montglane who were not nuns or novices. I asked her why she didn't want to be a novice any more, and she told me she had fallen in love with Talleyrand and had given birth to a son by him. I, who had been in love myself once, although it ended tragically, understood very well, and I was glad the nuns didn't judge her harshly for having a child out of wedlock. In fact, everyone at Montglane seemed to be extremely proud of her, and after she told me of her adventures, I knew why.

I remember the day she began to tell me her story. We were sitting in the library of Montglane. She was looking at a copy of Herodotus which she often carried with her, and she had stacks of books about alchemy piled up around her. I noticed she was reading about what is today Algeria. When I asked her about it, she said she had been there.

"You've been to Algeria? By yourself?" I asked.

"Not entirely. I have a friend named Shahin. He's a Tuareg, one of the famous Blue Men of the desert. He was my guide in the desert, and I could never have survived without him."

"What were you doing in the desert?"

Her green eyes lit up like flames. "Have you ever heard of the Montglane Service?"

"The chess set that supposedly belonged to Charlemagne? But that's just a legend! No one believes those stories now."

"The Montglane Service is all too real. I've touched it with my own hands! It contains a formula so powerful that whoever solves it can rule the world. My cousin Valentine, who I loved like a sister, was murdered for those pieces. And, ever since, I have been searching for the secret of the Montglane Service. The key to that secret lies in Algeria. I probably should not speak of this to anyone who is not in the Game, but you are my friend and I know I can trust you. Let me tell you what has happened to me since 1790, when Valentine and I left Montglane."

"I'm honored that you can trust me with such a secret."

"My cousin and I left for Paris when we learned of the great danger to the Montglane Service. The Abbess, who, as you know, is no longer here, sent us to live with Valentine's uncle, the painter Jacques-Louis David."

"The greatest painter in France! I didn't know he was your uncle."

"Valentine's, not mine. Like you, he didn't believe in the Montglane Service at first, but, tragically, he was soon to learn how mistaken he was. It was at his house that we met Talleyrand. Valentine and I both fell in love with him."

Her face fell, and I saw her eyes fill with tears. "You know Valentine was murdered."

"Yes, you told me that before. For those pieces, you said. But who murdered her?"

Her voice broke, and she could barely speak the name. "Marat! In the prison massacres in 1792. She was beheaded before my very eyes, after he had promised to let her go." Then she murmured, "Your family was guillotined in the Terror. You understand, too, what it's like to lose someone you love."

I nodded as I took her hand in mine. "Marat was a monster," I said. "It was Robespierre who sent my family to the guillotine, but I've always hated Marat. What a loathsome man! I was glad when Charlotte Corday killed him."

I saw Mireille breathe a sigh of relief. At the time, I didn't know the significance of that, but I was soon to find out. Then she continued, "I left eight pieces of the Montglane Service with Talleyrand, who was going to England. I didn't know yet that I was carrying his child. I left Paris disguised as a boy, and then I met the future General Bonaparte. I'm sure you've heard of him."

"Yes, he's certainly made a name for himself recently."

"And will continue to in the future, no doubt. He and his sister Elisa, who is close to my age, took me to their home in Corsica. Elisa became my friend. Their mother told me much about the Montglane Service, but not all I needed to know. Then a rebellion in Corsica forced me to flee to Algeria, where I had originally intended to go before I met the Bonapartes. When I arrived there, I met Shahin, who was a friend of the Bonaparte family."

I was amazed by Mireille's adventures in the desert, wandering across the Sahara and climbing mountains, especially when she was pregnant with Talleyrand's child all that time. Shahin had taught her to train a falcon. Then she gave birth to her son, on top of a mountain, by the ancient painting of the White Queen, a powerful figure that had existed for thousands of years. She named her son Charlot.

"Where is your son now?" I asked.

"In the desert, with Shahin's family. He's two years old now, and extremely intelligent. It broke my heart to have to leave him, but Shahin insisted that he stay. Shahin's people consider Charlot some kind of prophet, and he has to stay with them, to learn what he has to learn. But I will come back for him soon. Shahin promised that he and Charlot will follow me on my quest."

"When did you leave Algeria?"

I was surprised to see Mireille shudder, as if she were afraid to tell me something. "In July of 1793," she said, her voice breaking. I was puzzled. Something was upsetting her, but I couldn't imagine what. What could possibly be worse than seeing her beloved cousin murdered before her eyes?

"I didn't stay long," was all she said about that time. "I returned to the desert, and then, six months, later, I went to England with my son and Shahin. I was hoping to find Talleyrand there, but he had already left for America. Instead, I met Boswell, Wordsworth, and Blake. And Philidor, the great chess master and composer. Have you heard of him?"

I nodded. "I remember seeing his opera Tom Jones in Paris."

"Valentine and I were there! You must have been at the same performance, and we didn't know it."

"All those great minds! It's incredible you've met all these people."

"Boswell is evil," said Mireille. "He's on the other side-the White team. I'm on the Black team. And I have reason to believe Philidor is also on the White team, even though I admire him very much as a composer and the greatest chess player in the world."

"Do you play chess?" I asked.

"Not very well. Do you?"

I laughed. Was that the only thing Mireille couldn't do? "Not very well, either. What were Wordsworth and Blake like?"

Mireille smiled. "Wordsworth is very handsome. I think I could almost have loved him, if I hadn't met Talleyrand first. And Blake will help me get permission to see Newton's papers when I return to England. Newton discovered at least part of the secret of the Montglane Service. I know it has something to do with alchemy."

"And that's why you're always looking at those books on alchemy."

She nodded. "After I left England, I had to come back to Montglane. Not only because of these books, but because I needed to get away from my quest for a while. Montglane is so beautiful, and it's the perfect place to study, as I'm sure you know," she said with a smile. "But I won't be able to stay here much longer. The quest is too important."

"Where will you go next?"

"First to the desert, for my son and Shahin. Then to Russia, because I have reason to believe the Abbess is there, in great danger, possibly even in prison. I have to rescue her. Then I will return to England and read Newton's papers."

I had never met the Abbess of Montglane, but my mother had. Everyone who knew her spoke of her with great respect and admiration. She had brought Mireille and Valentine up since they were seven years old and lost their parents to a plague.

I was thrilled by Mireille's story of her adventures. But as I was soon to learn, there was one important thing she hadn't told me.