Pierre Cardon

Kitchen boy at the Ankermann restaurant, though considerably older than the title implies — appears to be in his late sixties or early seventies. Belgian, specifically Walloon. Narrow-shouldered, with tired eyes and a face marked by a life of hard work rather than pleasure. Clothes are neat but worn. Holds his cap nervously, twisting it in his hands when ill at ease. Picks raisins out of his bread roll at the breakfast table. Spent much of his life at sea, learning to cook from available materials. Was staying in Hedwig Bohnsack's room at the time of the morning gathering.

Guileless and forthcoming to a fault; volunteers damaging information without any awareness of its consequences. Speaks plainly and matter-of-factly even about sensitive matters. Calm and unhurried; handles delicate objects with care. Participates openly in conversation and nods slowly in agreement when reasoning is presented to him. Does not conceal or deflect; his revelations emerge from simple honesty rather than calculation. Thoughtfully regards his coffee cup when his own motives are under discussion.

Short, declarative sentences. No rhetorical flourish. States difficult truths as though they are self-evident. Often responds to questions with a single word or a brief statement before elaborating only when pressed.