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Maman's bedroom is small and crowded. Her bed is carefully made, a sign she was as house-proud as it is possible to be in a place with as much clutter as this.

There's a wooden wardrobe, a desk, and a window looking out over a quiet little courtyard round the back. Several bookshelves contain volumes on theology, folklore, and the occult, filed in no discernible order. A small collection of toiletries sits beside a basin nestled under a mirror that hangs on one wall. Everything smells of lavender.

On the desk is something remarkable: a large metal box that seems to be wired permanently into the wall. The front of the box contains twenty-four drawers, each with metal handles, each decorated with a different symbol, portrait, or image. The metal box is giving off a vicious electrical hum.

The box is buzzing, and sparks occasionally crackle across the front surface. The whole box is electrified, you realize. Stenciled on its top is a sentence in Latin: Arcana Tua Ego Retinebo (I Shall Keep Your Secrets).

As you contemplate the device, you begin to get a sense of how it must work. All but one of the twenty-four little metal drawers in the front of the box are most likely electrified—and if you touch an electrified drawer, you will get a very nasty shock. Whatever Maman Danflous wanted to keep secret must be in the only safe drawer.

The images on the drawers should relate to the puzzle, and presumably the Latin tag on top contains the key. Your best guess is that one of the images has something to do with the theme of secrets, and that image marks the drawer you need to open.

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