A/N: Well, I thought that I had better rip out another chapter at least to this tale so I can say that I have updated every year. I'm in that transition year in high school of being a senior and getting ready for college. If anyone out there is going to UW Madison, drop by and say Hi. So, hopefully this poor excuse can suffice for my tardiness in updating this story. I am very thankful for the people, back in the day, who took the time and read the first two chapters. I just realized that I had some 1200 hits for the story, so I guess I'd better finish it. Also, special thanks to Llanea, XenaLin, Souless-tears, Flashtabulor, Tanya Reed, Tantz, triple-m1978, Elemental-ZerO, and Space-Case7029 for commenting on the story. I hope you stay tuned! I can surely promise you updates, especially during this Christmas Break, will be much more frequent than they have been in the past.

So, enough with my spiel. Let the story commence!

Wait!

Disclaimer: Prosecutor: Do you own Relic Hunter or any of its characters?

Me: Nop.

Judge: A simple no is sufficient.

Me: No, but I'd like to.

Prosecutor: Ah Ha! She admits it!

He could feel a hard object jabbing into his side, but he did not want to wake. Staying unconscious, he does not feel the pain. The object, however, was persistent and succeeded in reviving his unconscious body lying awkwardly in the corner of the cell, his head at an odd angle and his limbs splayed out across the cold, stone floor.

As he opened his eyes, his vision was blurred and all his poor eyes could see was the outline of two figures looking down at him. They were probably the same ones who hurt him last night, and the day before, and the day before that, but he could not tell. Days and nights blended in his new cell world, and all his captors looked the same to him.

"Oui?" he croaked in but a whisper.

"Où est le sceptre?" (Where is the scepter?)

"Je ne comprends pas." (I don't know.)

"OÙ EST LE SCEPTRE DU DUFONT! DIS-MOI!" (Tell me!)

He remained silent all throughout the barrage of blows aimed at his ribs. He heard another one crack; not good. He had heard that sound twice already during his reluctant stay in this hellhole. Finally, his captors had had enough and had to accept the fact that this young man, yet again, would not talk.

He had thought the captors had left, but through the pain, Nigel heard talking.

"He's a waste of time! He'll die soon enough anyway. We must stop fannying about with this one and track down the woman he was with when we got him. She must know where the scepter is. This guy is probably just a pawn in this game of cat and mouse. I must have her, Remy, or it'll be your neck with a noose tied around it after I make my report to Le Maître (The Master) that the scepter has been lost, again. Do you understand me mate?"

"Oui, monsieur. Parfaitement. We will find 'er."

"Bon, monsieur. I need to return to London for some urgent ... business. Contact me of any further developments."

He heard them slam his cell door and he was left alone in the darkness yet again. Only a small hole in the stone wall was there to remind Nigel that a world outside his cell did exist, one that contained Sydney, the scepter, and Cyrille. The chances of his escape were dimming, but he would not crack, for Sydney, one whom has always stood up for him and saved him from a myriad of perils.

Something resembling food was shoved through a flap in the door, but it was too far away. Nigel neither had the strength nor the stomach to fetch it.

Slipping back into unconscious bliss, he could no help wondering at how familiar the Englishman's voice was.

It was on that thought that he soon passed out.

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(On the plane ride to Paris)

"Syd, who told you about the whereabouts of Dufont's famous jewels?"

"A good friend named Cyrille. A gang of French hoodlums was chasing him through the streets of Paris when I just happened to be enjoying a delectable baguette et café when the chase ended up taking place at the café. I didn't mind the disturbance much until my table was overturned when the chase-e fell on it and spilled my coffee. After a quick briefing of what was going on, I took the side of the chase-e and helped him to escape his troublesome friends. Turns out the chase-e was Cyrille Fache, a relic hunter employed by the Louvre to find many of France's lost treasures. He found a lost relic all right, but the relic had been the current property of a local kingpin. Naturally, the big shot wanted it back, hence the deadly parade through Paris. Through the years, he's kept in touch, and in a way of paying back for my assistance, he has tipped me off on a few French relic locals, but on one condition: the Louvre gets anything he helps me find."

"Sounds like a good system. But, how in the world did he get a lead on the lost jewels, namely, the Golden Scepter of King Charles the Tenth of France?"

"You'll soon be able to ask him. We're here," she said, as the city of Paris became visible in the aircraft's windows.

"Whatever you say, Syd," he laughed.

Well, I hope this succeeds in unfurling the story a bit. I do not claim to be excellent at French, but I'm trying my hardest, especially since that will be my major in college. Please regale me with a review or two about what you think. Any suggestions are welcome.

À Bientôt!

-Kmsorligirl