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The wounds on his back from the last lashing are still fresh and oozing blood. He won't be able to wear a shirt any time soon even if he ever manages to get his hands on one. The lady who found him half-naked, lost and sobbing on a freezing night in the middle of a Paris street led him down to these damp cellars and said she would take care of his injuries upon her return.
His back is burning like crazy, but he's grown deliberately suspicious of kind people. No one gives anyone anything in exchange for nothing. That is one lesson he had to learn quickly at the travelling circus. The lady might even not come back at all - and he hopes she won’t be back with anyone who might try to take him back. In any case he has found a temporary place for the night and for the moment that is all he needs.
The rooms below what the lady called the Opera House are filled with stacks of chairs, tables, clothes and other unrecognizable things. Peering around, he sees a white half mask in the clutter and reaches for it with a trembling hand. It is rigid to the touch, but the leather that covers it is smooth and soft, finely made. Nothing like the scraps of clothing he’s had for as long as he can remember. He tries it on. It's quite big on his face, but at least for the moment, he'll be covered. He'll grow into it, eventually.
He wanders around the room in astonished silence, touching a marionette here and a feathery hat there. His eyes widen at the sight of the huge wooden elephant at the bottom of the cellar stored under piles of carpets.
An ornate box with a small figure of a monkey sitting on it piques his curiosity. There's a key on the right side and he winds it. He’s startled at the sudden sound that echoes in the room, and he almost drops the box. Fear grips him, what if someone has heard and comes looking?
He tries to stop the key from turning and waits in terror, but no one comes.
The monkey’s eyes stare at him, unflinching, unlike everything else inside him that is in full turmoil. He has never heard such a beautiful melody before... and the monkey's arms move, the cymbals in its paws strike together! What a wonder! How does it work? How does it play? And who wrote such beautiful music? His mind is ensnared and starts to churn: he will find out.
He is free now. He has nothing but time on his hands to learn what the world has to offer.
The lady – Mme. Giry as she presents herself – comes back later and finds him studying the musical box. She treats his wounds and gives him a bit of bread and cheese out of pity. He promises he will only stay a few days, but he's already thinking of ways to hide out in this place and make it his home. After all, to the world he doesn’t matter. He's invisible. As far as anyone is concerned, he doesn’t even exist.
A ghost.
Mme. Giry will forget about him sooner or later and no one will ever look for him.
He's got time. He's got nothing but time on his hands.
He winds the musical box once more.