Rosebuds, Chapter 5
Mireille had a splitting headache. This day was not going how she had intended for it to go.
"Whoever it is, they already know I'm here."
Kirika's voice echoed in her head, bringing up a new worry. Evidently they were being watched. Mireille laid her hand palm up over her forehead and closed her eyes. She hated the feeling of unknowing, unsure of whether or not they were being toyed with. She had spent five years trying to erase the painful memories of the past-and the that blue envelope had destroyed the delicate shield she had constructed between the Mireille Bouquet of today and the Mireille Bouquet of Noir, sending her back to the past.
And Kirika wanted to take the contract. That thought made her feel even more miserable.
Furthermore, she didn't even understand enough of the language to buy a bottle of water, much less conduct an assassination perfectly. Mireille couldn't possibly imagine needing Kirika to translate every sentence. They could never stick together at all times during a killing.
They didn't even send us a name, thought Mireille, her thoughts becoming jumbled and angry now. What if we assassinate the wrong one? What if we never get paid for it? What if-
"Mireiyu, are you feeling all right?" Kirika asked, coming up the steps with a steaming cup of tea.
"Yes," said Mireille in a distant voice. "I'm all right."
Kirika took a seat on her bed and watched as Mireille slowly sipped her tea. "I've finished reading everything," she started tentatively, "and it appears that this is their second correspondence to us. The first one was via email, this morning."
"What!" exclaimed Mireille, sitting straight up. Tea sloshed over her lap and she grimaced at the heat searing over her legs.
"This envelope was only a backup copy, in case we didn't get the first notice. That's why it was so vague. There should be more details in the email," Kirika said calmly.
Mireille grabbed a napkin and blotted helplessly at her stained skirt, her mind racing furiously. She hadn't used her laptop in over a year and since coming home from Altena's shrine, had never touched her email. She had never corresponded with anyone but her clients and once with Kirika via email, and now that that life was over, there was no need for it. Mireille sighed and stood up, making her way to the closet in which she kept the computer.
The letter spoke truth. In addition to plenty of spam, there was one email from an address she had never seen before, with several large attachments. As it was written in plain English, Mireille read it over quickly with relief.
"A backup copy will be sent to you in Japanese this afternoon," the email ended, "in order to prevent others from reading it. It is our understanding that Miss Yuumura will be able to translate."
"We still don't know who they are," muttered Mireille, but she had to agree as well that it clearly wasn't Soldats. She clicked on the attachments.
Both of the photographs from the envelope were there, along with a few others. One was an image of the inside of a school, depicting students diligently taking notes while a teacher lectured at the blackboard, and another was of Kirika's apartment building. The last image was of a blond man walking down the school's hallways, waving to various students. Only the back of his head was visible.
"Well, that's very helpful," Mireille said sarcastically, closing her eyes in annoyance. Her headache was getting worse. "They won't show us his face. How are we supposed to know who he is?"
"There are tiny words under the pictures," Kirika said quietly, her eyes not leaving the screen. Mireille expanded the image and they leaned in to study the words.
"Andre Charbonneau. Current Principal of Tsubaki High School in Tokyo, Japan." Mireille frowned. "A Frenchman is the principal of a Japanese high school? Who was the principal when you were there?"
"I don't remember," said Kirika, "but it wasn't him."
The next picture-the playground picture-came up with a click of the mouse. Kirika read out the words. "Pictured here in a park, Andre Charbonneau came to Japan over ten years ago from France, already fluent in Japanese. Has been deliberately misusing school funds and hiring corrupt teachers-"
Mireille closed the window. "Who's the client, a group of angry parents?" she said angrily. "This is ridiculous."
Nevertheless, Kirika read on after Mireille left, building up a mental image of the target. Andre Charbonneau, the French president of her old high school. Two of the other images were explained as pictures simply included to give them an idea of where the assassination would take place. Under the image of Kirika's old apartment, however, there was an explanatory sentence stating that this would be the ideal place for them to stay during their temporary visit to Japan, since "Miss Yuumura already has an apartment there that has not been occupied for years."
Kirika had mixed feelings about this now. Sure, she would love to see Japan, and all the places she had lived in confusedly six years ago, but to go there on a contract? She'd spent many long hours sitting in class in that same school, drifting off and wondering who she was instead of paying attention. There was no way she could imagine running through the school with a gun, killing whoever stood in her way. And with a shock she realized that most people who stood in her way would be students-innocent teenagers like she had once hoped to be.
Mireille came out of the kitchen to see Kirika still sitting there. More than anything she wanted to tell the client that she wasn't in business anymore and to delete the simple email. A few clicks of the mouse, a few keystrokes, and she could forget it ever happened. Yet. . .
"I would like to see Japan again."
"Someday, we'll make a trip there together."
Mireille walked over to Kirika's side and noticed that the computer was shut off. She sat on the edge of the pool table, facing Kirika, and calmly folded the screen forwards so that it was facedown over the keyboard. She tried to smile.
"Shall we go?"
Kirika looked at her in shock, disbelief-and, Mireille believed-a faint trace of a smile. "To Japan? You want to take the contract?"
Mireille looked straight ahead then, her face set, all traces of happiness gone. "I don't know about the contract. We'll decide that when we get there," she said firmly. "We'll look at it as a trip to Japan for enjoyment. If we want to take the contract, we'll tell them later."
Kirika smiled happily.
Mireille smiled grimly. "Start packing your bags."
Mireille had a splitting headache. This day was not going how she had intended for it to go.
"Whoever it is, they already know I'm here."
Kirika's voice echoed in her head, bringing up a new worry. Evidently they were being watched. Mireille laid her hand palm up over her forehead and closed her eyes. She hated the feeling of unknowing, unsure of whether or not they were being toyed with. She had spent five years trying to erase the painful memories of the past-and the that blue envelope had destroyed the delicate shield she had constructed between the Mireille Bouquet of today and the Mireille Bouquet of Noir, sending her back to the past.
And Kirika wanted to take the contract. That thought made her feel even more miserable.
Furthermore, she didn't even understand enough of the language to buy a bottle of water, much less conduct an assassination perfectly. Mireille couldn't possibly imagine needing Kirika to translate every sentence. They could never stick together at all times during a killing.
They didn't even send us a name, thought Mireille, her thoughts becoming jumbled and angry now. What if we assassinate the wrong one? What if we never get paid for it? What if-
"Mireiyu, are you feeling all right?" Kirika asked, coming up the steps with a steaming cup of tea.
"Yes," said Mireille in a distant voice. "I'm all right."
Kirika took a seat on her bed and watched as Mireille slowly sipped her tea. "I've finished reading everything," she started tentatively, "and it appears that this is their second correspondence to us. The first one was via email, this morning."
"What!" exclaimed Mireille, sitting straight up. Tea sloshed over her lap and she grimaced at the heat searing over her legs.
"This envelope was only a backup copy, in case we didn't get the first notice. That's why it was so vague. There should be more details in the email," Kirika said calmly.
Mireille grabbed a napkin and blotted helplessly at her stained skirt, her mind racing furiously. She hadn't used her laptop in over a year and since coming home from Altena's shrine, had never touched her email. She had never corresponded with anyone but her clients and once with Kirika via email, and now that that life was over, there was no need for it. Mireille sighed and stood up, making her way to the closet in which she kept the computer.
The letter spoke truth. In addition to plenty of spam, there was one email from an address she had never seen before, with several large attachments. As it was written in plain English, Mireille read it over quickly with relief.
"A backup copy will be sent to you in Japanese this afternoon," the email ended, "in order to prevent others from reading it. It is our understanding that Miss Yuumura will be able to translate."
"We still don't know who they are," muttered Mireille, but she had to agree as well that it clearly wasn't Soldats. She clicked on the attachments.
Both of the photographs from the envelope were there, along with a few others. One was an image of the inside of a school, depicting students diligently taking notes while a teacher lectured at the blackboard, and another was of Kirika's apartment building. The last image was of a blond man walking down the school's hallways, waving to various students. Only the back of his head was visible.
"Well, that's very helpful," Mireille said sarcastically, closing her eyes in annoyance. Her headache was getting worse. "They won't show us his face. How are we supposed to know who he is?"
"There are tiny words under the pictures," Kirika said quietly, her eyes not leaving the screen. Mireille expanded the image and they leaned in to study the words.
"Andre Charbonneau. Current Principal of Tsubaki High School in Tokyo, Japan." Mireille frowned. "A Frenchman is the principal of a Japanese high school? Who was the principal when you were there?"
"I don't remember," said Kirika, "but it wasn't him."
The next picture-the playground picture-came up with a click of the mouse. Kirika read out the words. "Pictured here in a park, Andre Charbonneau came to Japan over ten years ago from France, already fluent in Japanese. Has been deliberately misusing school funds and hiring corrupt teachers-"
Mireille closed the window. "Who's the client, a group of angry parents?" she said angrily. "This is ridiculous."
Nevertheless, Kirika read on after Mireille left, building up a mental image of the target. Andre Charbonneau, the French president of her old high school. Two of the other images were explained as pictures simply included to give them an idea of where the assassination would take place. Under the image of Kirika's old apartment, however, there was an explanatory sentence stating that this would be the ideal place for them to stay during their temporary visit to Japan, since "Miss Yuumura already has an apartment there that has not been occupied for years."
Kirika had mixed feelings about this now. Sure, she would love to see Japan, and all the places she had lived in confusedly six years ago, but to go there on a contract? She'd spent many long hours sitting in class in that same school, drifting off and wondering who she was instead of paying attention. There was no way she could imagine running through the school with a gun, killing whoever stood in her way. And with a shock she realized that most people who stood in her way would be students-innocent teenagers like she had once hoped to be.
Mireille came out of the kitchen to see Kirika still sitting there. More than anything she wanted to tell the client that she wasn't in business anymore and to delete the simple email. A few clicks of the mouse, a few keystrokes, and she could forget it ever happened. Yet. . .
"I would like to see Japan again."
"Someday, we'll make a trip there together."
Mireille walked over to Kirika's side and noticed that the computer was shut off. She sat on the edge of the pool table, facing Kirika, and calmly folded the screen forwards so that it was facedown over the keyboard. She tried to smile.
"Shall we go?"
Kirika looked at her in shock, disbelief-and, Mireille believed-a faint trace of a smile. "To Japan? You want to take the contract?"
Mireille looked straight ahead then, her face set, all traces of happiness gone. "I don't know about the contract. We'll decide that when we get there," she said firmly. "We'll look at it as a trip to Japan for enjoyment. If we want to take the contract, we'll tell them later."
Kirika smiled happily.
Mireille smiled grimly. "Start packing your bags."
