I finally managed to finish this chapter! It's heavy with information but I hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless^^

Chapter Twenty-Four:

The Countess, Clockmaker - Part 3

"I was sick of time, and forests too."

A forest, Marne, France – June 1848

~Cedric~

Cedric groaned. "Couldn't you have offered me a chair first? Something to drink? To eat? You cannot reveal yourself to me like that! Have your manners eroded in the time you spent living in a forest, away from civilisation?" He gesticulated wildly to the door behind him. "I walked through those goddamn woods for six hours. Do you…" He lowered his voice. "How thick are the walls in this workshop?"

"Very thick," said Florentin with a raised eyebrow.

"Will Jacques hear me?"

"Likely not."

"Do you know how painful it is to walk through a forest with Jacques for six hours?!" Cedric exclaimed. "He stops every few metres! To look at every piece of interesting wildlife! Only it is not interesting at all! That boy sees an ordinary lizard and gets shiny eyes as if it built Buckingham Palace in one day with only one of its little hands! And then he started to sing! Oh God, he started to sing." Cedric buried his face in his hands. "And I have to endure this one more time. Six more hours…"

He could hear Florentin sigh. "Has the training for new arrivals been reduced since my time or are all members of the British branch like you?"

Cedric raised his head but made no effort to straighten up. "I promise, no training in the world can prepare you for such an ordeal. And I did very well during my training phase and am usually perfectly fit, thank you. I'm running on too little sleep, and having Jacques as a travel companion is a torture." He waited a moment and when Florentin did not reply, Cedric sighed. "Could I please have a chair now? Or is this one of those establishments where you need to buy something first before you can use the toilet and get a chair? If yes, that's very bold for someone whose shop is in the middle of the woods."

Cedric turned around and let his eyes wander over the numerous clocks around him – round, rectangular, long, short, big, small – until a lovely grandfather's clock right by the door caught his interest. "If this is what it takes to get a chair, I'll buy this one," he said, pointing at it. "Please put it on hold for me because neither have I brought any money with me – didn't think I would need my wallet in the forest; to buy what? a leaf? they are free, what a waste of my salary, and nobody warned me I would need to buy a clock of all things – nor am I able to transport a clock of this size – of any size, really – right now. After all, I cannot carry it back to the château and also cannot teleport it back because Jacques is here. I swear I'll return for the grandfather's clock when the mission's wrapped up and I don't feel deader than normal anymore."

"For someone who claims that he is tired you talk an awful lot," Florentin remarked dryly and then bent down.

If there was a secret passage under the counter and he was sneaking away, I would lose it.

Fortunately, Florentin did not vanish but remerged with a most wonderful stool. He walked around the counter and put it in front of it, and Cedric joyfully dragged himself to it. Surely, a backrest would have been good, but the lack of it could be easily solved by simply leaning against a wall – or an especially stable-looking clock because there was little bare wall left but plenty of clockwork.

With a satisfied sigh, Cedric let himself fall onto the stool and leaned back against a clock. The deep engravings pressed against his back, but it was a bearable inconvenience. "Finally! Thanks." He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaled, exhaled, and when he reopened them, Florentin was watching him from above. He stood behind the counter again, looking like a tall dark shadow; his chartreuse eyes glowed in the lantern light.

"I didn't sense you at all when I stood in front of the workshop," said Cedric. There were a million questions in his head and this one won to be asked first. "I can barely sense you now although you are right in front of me – why?"

"In contrast, I sensed you from two kilometres away," replied Florentin. "This gave me enough time to tidy up and get my glasses. More than enough time, to be honest. You and the young Beauchene were walking astonishingly slowly."

"Did you even listen to what I said earlier?"

"You could not sense me," said Florentin, ignoring Cedric's words, "because I can suppress my presence very well. I had to learn this to ensure that nobody would be able to find me here."

"I would say that I can conceal mine well too, but, in this sense, you are practically invisible to me," Cedric pointed out.

"Years of practice."

"How many years exactly?"

Florentin looked at him. "I will not tell you. I will only say that I am significantly older than you."

"I am not very young either."

"I am definitely older."

"How can you be so sure?"

Florentin sighed again. "Are all British Grim Reapers as obnoxious as you?"

"Possibly," said Cedric and stretched out his legs. How good it was to sit! He didn't even want to think about standing up again. "As you're unwilling to answer me this very basic of questions, let's move to the reason why I am even here before I forget or we run out of time.

"I am here with the Marquis' relative, the Countess of Phantomhive. She is his niece or something. Her grandmother was the Marquis' sister?"

"That would make her his grand-niece," Florentin said.

"I knew she was some kind of niece! At any rate, I am usually not allowed to say anything regarding her unusual occupation, but considering that you know the Marquis and the Duponts and that the Countess' occupation would, thus, not be unusual to you in the slightest, I can tell you it: She is Queen Victoria's Watchdog. I accompanied the Countess to France because she has been tasked by the Queen to find a certain object. A man, the Chartist Nicodemus Townsend, stole this immensely important object from the Queen because he wants to use it to get his demands fulfilled," Cedric continued. "Please do not ask me how exactly he wants to do that with this item because I don't know what this item even is – and neither does Townsend. The item is stored in a very old box with a very complicated opening mechanism. Townsend is incapable of opening the box himself but because he needs what is inside it, he has been searching for someone who is capable of opening it."

"And this man believes I could open the box?"

Cedric nodded. "Exactly. The mechanism can only be solved by an expert. As you are known for your intricately designed clocks, Townsend thinks you could solve the box's puzzle."

Florentin lightly tapped with his fingers on the counter in thought. "Making clockwork and opening a puzzle box are two different things though."

Cedric shrugged. "I have never seen this box either; it is a secret and very little is known about it. I suppose the opening mechanism is similar to clockwork. Maybe multiple steps need to be taken to set the mechanisms to open the box in motion? Isn't figuring out how the single pieces have to fit and work together the essence of creating functioning clockwork?" Cedric said, stunned by himself because of his sudden burst of deductive realisation. Perhaps, the agonising six-hour walk and Jacques' singing had not completely fried his brain after all.

"This sounds plausible," Florentin replied. He sounded a little disgusted to have to admit this, but his words still made Cedric sit up straighter and beam.

"I haven't been able to take a closer look at your clocks," Cedric continued. "They all look pretty from the outside though. When the full hour rings, does something special happen in some of them? Like a bird coming out and starting to sing?"

Florentin huffed. "I don't do mechanical birds in clocks."

"Why? I saw a Jaquet-Droz birdcage clock yesterday and seeing it in action was nothing but impressive. The mechanical bird almost sounded like a real one; it was uncanny. Those clocks are also not easily built at all as you can imagine. The Marquis' grandchildren accidentally damaged the clock, but someone could repair it, thankfully. He said the clock was barely damaged and it was, thus, an 'easy' fix; he tends to underplay himself though."

The Clockmaker glared at Cedric with such ferocity that even Lisa would be in awe if she saw it. "I know what a Jaquet-Droz clock is and how they work. I've seen the insides of those clocks. I even met Jaquet-Droz himself. Pierre was a talented man, so bright and full of potential. And then Marianne and little Julie died. 'Devastated' cannot fully encapsulate Pierre's state after his loss. He threw himself into his work as a watchmaker, but he had always been fascinated with those infernal automatons as well. I tried to discourage him from continuing to build automaton clocks, only he did not want to hear. After the deaths of his wife and daughter, this fascination, this fondness turned into an obsession.

"Automatons," Florentin continued, pronouncing the word drenched with wholehearted hatred, "are imitations of life. Vile approximations to nature. Are you familiar with the fairy tale The Nightingale in which an emperor becomes enamoured in a nightingale's song but then abandons the animal for a bejewelled automaton replica? At first, he keeps both birds and wants them to sing duets. However, it does not work because the living and the automatic bird do not sing in the same manner. The true nightingale's song is varied and more natural, and the automaton solely knows one song. The emperor and everyone else in court grow to favour the artificial bird because of that; its song is easier to learn and the predictability comforts them – and so does the fact that they could let it sing and sing as often and for as long as they desired.

"They wear it out until it could only be wound up very rarely. And when the emperor falls ill and is on the verge of dying, he wants to hear the nightingale's song once more, though he cannot wind up the artificial bird. The real bird then returns and sings to the emperor – and her song restores his health and banishes Death from his room." Florentin looked at Cedric. "No matter how much you try to approximate a machine to its natural basis, you will never get close. No matter how convenient the machine may be to you, it will never be able to replace the true entity. And you are a fool to turn your back on the living for something that is not and will never be alive.

"The imitation of life is not something anyone should engage with. It can turn into a sickness, into an obsession." Florentin's eyes narrowed. "I hope this clarifies why I don't make birdcage clocks. You should understand my sentiment the most. After all, you are a Grim Reaper too. Why burden something to be an imitation too?"

Cedric kept his eyes locked with Florentin's, not wanting and daring to look away now, though he did not know what to reply. What was there to retort? To add? To say? And in this emptiness of mind, something else found its place – a memory.

"It is not the clocks," Milton had said with this unreadable look in his dark eyes. "Not just them. Or just automata. I appreciate their composition, their machinery, but I would say I am fascinated more by the reason why they were invented."

Then, there had been this glow in his eyes, so wild and bright and present, when he had got lost speaking about automata, unable to even let go of the clock…

Cedric dug his fingers in the stool's thin cushion. "So," he drew out of himself, keeping his voice as calm as possible, "you did not like Jaquet-Droz because of his obsession?"

"Because of his obsession and wastefulness," Florentin replied. "He was a fool, and when he refused to be talked out of his foolishness, I left him. This is the course of us and humans; we let them do as they please and judge them at the end of their lives. Pierre died in misery in Biel after his card house of a business tumbled and fell. His idiocy and misplaced stubbornness brought about his end. Part of me wishes I could have been there by his deathbed, but, at that time, judging and collecting souls had not been my job anymore."

Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848

~Cloudia~

For a moment after waking up, I did not know where I was. Disorientation clung to me alongside the last bits of sleepiness. It took a while for me to remember that I was in my bedroom in the château. Kamden and I had returned to the château with the last bit of our strengths; it was quite amazing that we even managed to do that in our miserable states after the vitalisation had worn off.

Rubbing her eyes, Cloudia sat up in her bed and took a look at the clock on the bedside cabinet. It was nearly time for dinner and she knew even without consulting a mirror that she was a mess. She was still wearing the clothes she had worn in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, now crumpled and in dire need of a wash. Cloudia could picture Lisa huffing before she stripped the bed bare and washed the sheets alongside the clothes. She had seen worse, but she would still make some half-annoyed remark. What Cloudia did not want to picture was the state of her hair. She had braided it to fit underneath a hat. While she had slept, the braids had come loose and were now dangling partially assembled from her head.

I must look fearsome.

Cloudia sighed and flexed her hands a bit. Now, with sleep having completely fallen away, she felt wide awake. She was not as energised as she had been before, but she was rested and fit, and she could not be more content with that. Then, Cloudia heard a soft knock on the door and immediately knew that it was Kamden on the other side. Lisa knocked with more ferocity, Newman with more purpose.

"Please come in," she said and put down her hands.

Kamden entered the room and closed the door behind him before he walked to Cloudia and sat down beside her on the bed. "Did you sleep well, Cloudie?" he asked. He looked considerably better than her, dressed in fresh clothes, hair kempt – or, rather, as kempt as Kamden's hair could be; it was hard to tame.

"Surprisingly well, yes," she said, and he relaxed a bit, but only for a moment.

"What do you want to say, Kam?" Cloudia asked. "Your tenseness fills the air so thickly, I can almost cut it."

"The strange energisation," Kamden said. "I woke up an hour ago and asked the others in the château if they experienced the same or, at least, something similar between yesterday night and today noon."

"Very diligent of you. What's the result?"

Kamden looked at her. He rarely looked directly into her eyes, but whenever he did, Cloudia could not help herself but startle a little; it was so odd, to see one's own eyes in the face of another. Especially when the other person was not even blood-related to you. It had been odd the first time they met, and Cloudia doubted this strange sensation would ever cease.

Looking right into my own eyes was like gazing through an open door. No secrets, nothing to hide. The matter was truly bothering him and he was serious in his pursuit.

"Everyone experienced the same," Kamden said. "At least, Miss Lisa, Mr Newman, the Duponts and Beauchenes, and the handful of servants I asked. The – to us known – effects have worn off for everyone else too."

Cloudia frowned. "This is all very strange indeed. I wonder if Cecelia, Milton, Wentworth, Jacques, and the Duke experienced it too."

"Ba…. Sylviane told me that Jacques seemed more energised than ever when she bid him goodbye this morning. Thus, I assume he was or is affected too," Kamden told her. "I haven't been able to find out anything regarding the others."

"Nevertheless, good work, Kamden," Cloudia said and started to un-braid her hair as she thought out loud, "Everyone started to experience the symptoms around the same time? At night?"

Kamden nodded.

"There is not much that connects us to the Dupont servants. We have no ties to them and rarely interact," she said. "And after dinner, we went our separate ways. The children went to bed. Sylviane and Cecelia retreated to their rooms early while the other adults relocated to the parlour to continue chatting. Lisa, Newman, Milton, and I played poker in the servants' tract; Wentworth was a spectator. The Duke was passed out in his room."

"I saw Aurèle on the way to the basement; he wanted to practice some knife throwing," added Kamden. "And I was reading in my room."

Cloudia nodded and ran her fingers through her now un-braided hair. It was full of tangles; it would be horrible to brush. "We were all doing different things in different places throughout the château after dinner. This could mean that we were 'drugged' at dinner. However, the energisation did not start until hours later. If the 'drug' needs a long time to work, we could have been given it at any time and not necessarily at dinner. It could have happened at breakfast too. And if it does not take long to work, something could have been done to us while we were sleeping. I doubt anybody could have entered our rooms at night though. At least one of us would have noticed. And we certainly had not been drugged to fall asleep beforehand.

"It also cannot be easy for anyone to slip anything into food here. The cooks, considering that they were hired by the Marquis and his family, must be extraordinarily vigilant. Even if one of the cooks or their kitchen helpers is the 'culprit,' likely at least one of the others would have noticed the tampering. Unless it was everyone's scheme which I highly doubt. But who else could have done it? I disbelieve that any of us or my relatives has anything to do with this strange energisation. On the other hand, I cannot imagine that some – for lack of a better word – 'foe' managed to infiltrate the servants of this place." Cloudia shook her head.

"Maybe it is not something we ate or drank. Maybe it was something in the air?" suggested Kamden. "I suppose this would have made it easier to 'drug' us from the outside. I have no idea how they could have done that though."

"Or why," Cloudia said. "Kam, did someone say that they experienced some terrible side effects?"

He shook his head. "No. Just like us, everyone else was only vitalised. There was no bad effect for anyone."

"What benefit would someone get from us all being full of energy? And as it is something good, albeit perhaps a little annoying, why did they do this to us in such secrecy?" She shook her head. "None of this adds up."

"I also don't want to disregard the possibility of long-term effects," Kamden remarked.

"Our current well-being is indeed too suspicious," Cloudia replied, and he nodded.

"The fact that none of us feels any sort of withdrawal is noteworthy as well," he added. "I need to talk in-depth with Miss Lisa about this, and consult Dr Alan if we have not found the solution until our return home." Kamden paused for a moment. "I really want to know what substance vitalised us like that. I cannot think of anything that could do something like that in this manner."

"The important thing is that we are all fine now," meant Cloudia. "Maybe we will experience side effects later, but, right now, it does not seem like we will. Thus, we can, more or less, peacefully concentrate on the murders. We also need to ask the Duke, Cecelia, Milton, and Wentworth about their experience or lack thereof, and we can only do that in a few days; our investigation is halted anyway because of that."

Cloudia leaned back against the headboard. "Concerning our investigation in Nanteuil-la-Forêt… I think I need to write down everything to sort my thoughts and bring order to this chaos. Do you have anything to say about our investigation, Kamden?"

"Oh, well, uhm…" Kamden began before he averted his gaze, trying to hide the blush that was creeping over his face. He didn't succeed.

Cloudia raised an eyebrow and waited. He did not meet her eyes and instead kept his own transfixed on the blanket. "Gaspard said the stranger was a tall man with g-gold-blond ha-hair. You-You do-don't think it-it could be… could be Milton, do you?" Kamden asked, and Cloudia groaned.

"Not this again," she exclaimed and buried her face in her hands.

I couldn't believe this… Twice in two days?!

"You haven't been talking to the Duke lately, have you, Kamden?" Cloudia wanted to know.

"Eh, no, why…?"

She sighed and looked up. In the meantime, Kamden had also raised his head, startled by her odd reaction to his words, though he still did not meet her eyes. "Because," Cloudia replied, "he wondered about this too. He told me all about his 'deduction' yesterday." She counted every aspect with her fingers as she recited Cedric's delusions. "The stranger is blond like Milton. The stranger has pretty-coloured eyes like Milton. The stranger likes to vanish like him. The stranger is as orderly as Milton." She let her hand sink. "Coincidences. All coincidences. Milton cannot be the killer because the murders started before we even arrived at the château. And you were at the tailor shop too: You know only someone who knew that Nadia Allemand stored her sewing needles in a tea box could have used them to kill her. Milton never knew her because he never met her – he could have never met her! Milton can't possibly be the culprit, do you understand me, Kam?"

Kamden nodded slowly. "I… I know but still… A new person with gold-blond hair arriving in the village around the same time Milton did?"

Cloudia tilted her head. "It is an interesting detail, but only a coincidence as well. I assure you Milton is not the murderer – and certainly not the only man in the world with that hair colour! If Milton turns out to be the culprit against all odds, I promise I will eat my hand."

"Please don't eat your hand, Cloudie," said Kamden, looking very alarmed.

"Don't worry: It will be my left one and I will sufficiently season it beforehand. Or maybe I should solely eat a single finger? After all, how can I give my 'hand in marriage' one day if I have, well, no left hand at all for my wedding band? But then, there are plenty of married women with missing limbs. The full hand it is then. My future husband will have to take me as I am."

Kamden grimaced, and Cloudia nudged his shoulder. "Here you go again," she teased. "Being oddly squeamish."

Cloudia stood up from her bed and walked to her wardrobe, threw open its doors and shuffled through her clothes to find a suitable dress for dinner.

"The… the box," Kamden said after a while, startling her. "The… the Queen's box – it can only be opened by an expert, right? I saw Milton's de-demonstration yesterday too and… Do… do you thi-think that Milton could o-open it?"

Cloudia let go of the dress she had been inspecting and turned around. Kamden was staring holes into the blanket again.

"I've wondered about that too," she replied and walked back to the bed. "And I've concluded that it does not matter. If Townsend learned about Milton's skills, he could force him to try to open the box. It doesn't matter if Milton can actually do it. Only the possibility that Townsend might force him to try matters. After all, Townsend also does not know if the Clockmaker can open the box too."

Kamden looked up, all colour drained from his face. "He-he could not make…would not go… would not go after Milton, right? He's not in danger… right?"

Cloudia sat back down on the bed and took Kamden's hands, making him face her. The stubborn blush he had been sporting until a moment ago slowly crept back onto his cheeks, and he turned his head away and let his eyes dart through the room in embarrassment.

"I know you are afraid but you don't have to be, Kamden," Cloudia said gently. "I worry too, though not because I think any physical harm could come to Milton."

"Huh?"

She squeezed Kamden's hands. "Townsend does not know him. If he comes for Milton directly, there is no chance he would get what he wants from him."

Kamden looked back at Cloudia, though his eyes still did not meet hers. They widened in bewilderment. "What… what do you mean?"

Cloudia smiled. "If Townsend cannot get to the Clockmaker and learns about Milton, our best chance is Townsend going after Milton directly."

~Cedric~

Cedric sat up straighter. "Wait, wait – you are a deserter?"

Florentin raised an eyebrow. "Why did you think I was living in a workshop in the middle of a forest?"

"Well, I am here too and I'm not a deserter. I thought clock-making was a side business or a hobby. You still have your glasses and I heard deserters leave them behind."

Florentin picked up his spectacles with a disgusted look on his face. "Those are not the ones that were given to me by the Dispatch. The Marquis gifted me these tinted glasses so that I could hide my eyes if I wanted to. Those pesky Grim Reaper chartreuse eyes are far from inconspicuous after all."

"I suppose you also need the glasses to make the clocks as it's such delicate work."

"I do not," huffed Florentin. "I hold everything close to my face or hunch over. This may not be very elegant, but it is preferable to wearing those blasted glasses. Although they are presents from the Marquis, they bring unpleasant memories. Their weight pulls too much on me, and I cannot stand to wear them for too long." He put down the spectacles. "I only wore them for young Jacques Beauchene so that he would not wonder why we, two complete strangers, have the same strange eyes."

"He could think we were both faeries," mumbled Cedric.

"Excuse me? I couldn't hear what you were saying."

"Oh, it's nothing," Cedric brushed away before he shifted in his seat and started to rub his legs. After all that walking, they felt rather sore. "So… you are a deserter?"

"I guess that you are not only lacking in stamina but also in the memory department?"

"I didn't forget. I… I've simply never encountered a deserter before."

"That's good. Deserters do not exactly want to be found by active Grim Reapers." Florentin nodded.

Cedric opened his mouth, only to close it right afterwards. He pondered about what to say before making his next, hesitant attempt, "Why did you leave?"

"You had to think for five minutes to say four words?"

Cedric groaned and leaned back although the clock's engravings against his back were beginning to bother him. "Why are you so prickly? Have you been living in the woods for so long that you became a stinging nettle?"

"I simply do not like being interrogated by someone who does not want to part with any information himself," said Florentin, narrowing his eyes at Cedric. "After all, we have been talking for a considerable amount of time now – which, to my evaluation, was a waste – and you have not even told me your name. You have not convinced me with any intellectual capabilities so far, but I hope you were not so foolish to present yourself to everyone with your true name? Especially considering the particular circles you are traversing? There may not be strict documentation of birth and death dates. Still, people like the Marquis and the Countess of Phantomhive would be able to find out with your name only that you have been technically dead for fifty years – or whenever you died anyway."

Florentin slightly tilted his head. "I hear?"

When I had agreed to this trip, I had not anticipated many of the things that had happened so far. For example, that I would have to tell my real name to two strangers within four days. How bothersome.

"Cedric Rossdale," said Cedric from between clenched teeth.

Florentin nodded. "There you go, Mr Rossdale. Now, have you not done what you came here for? Inform me about the intentions of Nicodemus Townsend? I would say our conversation is over." Right when he was about to open the door to the backroom, letting in Jacques again and thoroughly ending their private conversation, Cedric jumped up from the stool and dived to the counter. Apparently, his body had recharged enough for such an action – or he was simply driven by idiotic determinism.

Cedric put his hands on the counter. "No, wait, our talk cannot be done yet. I still have questions I want to ask you."

Florentin whirled around. "I do not owe you any ans-," he started before his eyes suddenly widened and he cut himself off. Cedric was about to ask what was wrong when Florentin reached out to him and took hold of the skull pendant necklace around his neck. Cedric had not even noticed that it had come out from underneath his shirt.

Florentin yanked on the chain and pulled Cedric to him. His eyes had become hard. "Where did you get that soul stone?"

~Cloudia~

"You must have slept well to cause this mess," remarked Lisa when she glanced at the poor state of Cloudia's bed. After Cloudia had calmed down Kamden enough that he could leave, Lisa had come. Although Cloudia felt a bit like her room had become an open house, she welcomed Lisa's arrival; least of all because she could help her get dressed for dinner.

"A traitor's sleep is deep after all, as they say," Lisa continued.

"Who says that?"

"I do," Lisa replied and glared at Cloudia, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "How could you not tell me that you would go to the village again? I only know where you went because Mr Kamden left Al and me notes."

"Frankly, I didn't tell Kamden about my plan either," Cloudia replied and picked out a burgundy dress from her wardrobe. "It was fairly impromptu, and he only knew about it because he sensed I would go. Should I have woken you up in the middle of the night? Although I know how much you hate being woken up at odd hours?"

"I do hate it," affirmed Lisa, "but that does not mean you should not do it at all; only that it should happen rarely."

Cloudia looked at her. "You really wanted to go to Nanteuil-la-Forêt in the dead of night and see Yvette again?"

Lisa grimaced. "Not unless she's become the latest victim."

"I promise I'll wake you up in the middle of the night if Yvette dies next."

"I can live with that," Lisa said and went to take the dress from Cloudia's hands. "Are you sure you want to wear that?" she asked before she huffed and added, "Well, at least it's better than that yellow dress. It does suit you, Lady Cloudia, but it is nonetheless a hideous dress."

"Cecelia will have your head."

Lisa shrugged. "Let her try," she replied and then put the dress on a sofa and went to help Cloudia get out of her disguise.

"What did you do today anyway?" Cloudia wanted to know.

"Not be in Nanteuil-la-Forêt."

"Lisa."

"Well, well," she said and crumpled up Cloudia's shirt and threw it on the ground. Cloudia raised an eyebrow at her, and Lisa shrugged. "I'll wash and iron it later anyway."

Cloudia sighed and then got out of her trousers. "What did you do now?"

"Well, I woke up annoyed," Lisa reported. "Full of energy. It was disgusting. I cleaned and prepared everything in record time and it made me feel sick." She kicked the shirt on the ground. "I'm not that. I do my job and I do it well, but never like that. I would have rather become sick after that horrible rain yesterday, but no, I'm perfectly fine; not ill at all. And until noon I was even too fine. It was abominable, odious, loathsome, and sadly not literally sickening. I also spent the day with Al as you can hear."

Lisa glanced at Cloudia who was walking to the dress on the sofa. "You don't want to wash up first?"

"I'll be late for dinner. I want to take a bath, but I can do that afterwards too."

"You stink."

Cloudia stopped in her tracks and turned to Lisa. "Are you overcompensating for your earlier diligence?"

"Yes," said Lisa. "But I am also honest. You do not smell like an English Rose right now, my dearest Ladyship. Your presence at the dinner table in your current state would only make everyone lose their appetites."

Cloudia threw her hands in the air. "Fine. I'll take a bath."

Lisa grinned and vanished into the bathroom. No ten minutes later, Cloudia had settled into a lovely, warm bath.

"Since when are you so reluctant to take a bath? Did you spend too much time with His Disgrace?" asked Lisa with a chuckle and started to shampoo Cloudia's hair.

Cloudia glared at her which was not easy without getting soap into her eyes. "It's late and I didn't smell that bad, Lisa."

"Oh, you did. I could smell you from down the hallway," replied Lisa and then shrugged. "Well, Mr Kamden told me you're back before he asked me about this strange flux of energisation. I made sure to give him a detailed report of my annoyance, Lady Cloudia, do not worry. I am fine though, at least physically."

"That's good to hear. Kam wanted to talk to you about that later."

Lisa sighed. "I would rather not be reminded of that time, but if it's Mr Kamden, it won't be a superfluous conversation at least. Speaking of baths, bad influences, and superfluous conversation: His Disgrace barged into your room this morning at around six. He was very upset that you were not there."

Cloudia shifted a bit in the water. "Oh, he was?"

"Yes. I guess he wanted to say goodbye before the forest animals do me a favour and get rid of him," Lisa replied. "They better do."

"Let's see," said Cloudia and then quickly added, "So everything you did today was being extra grumpy and doing maid work? I wasn't even here; there shouldn't have been that much to do."

"Of course not, Lady Cloudia! I would really have become insane if I did nothing more and if I let this pesky burst of energisation command me like that." Lisa finished shampooing Cloudia's hair and began to rinse it out. "After we finished our tasks, as I said, in record time, Al and I took a lengthy break. It's very good to have him back, now that Mr Wentworth isn't monopolising his time anymore. We went through the Maid's Manifesto together because Al – ever the optimist – wanted to find out if any of the maid's notes and recipes were useful. I say they're not, but he's more enthusiastic about desserts than me anyway."

Lisa quickly dunked Cloudia's head under and finished the hair washing before she went to help her scrub the rest and continued, "We also took a closer look at the maps: Al noticed that those pages are slightly thicker than the others. We inspected them and found out they are thicker because two pages were glued together! We carefully separated them and the second pages also show maps."

Cloudia looked at Lisa. "Maps for what?"

"Hidden rooms and passageways," said Lisa triumphantly. "The other maps only showed the regular rooms and hallways which are convoluted enough, but that one paranoid Baron essentially built in a second château within this place! I could get Al to look for a few hidden passages with me. The hidden maps are not very well-done though and the glue smeared the ink a bit which makes it hard to discern parts, but it seems there are also underground corridors that go beyond the château."

Cloudia stared at her and, now washed and clean, got out of the tub. "Do you know where those corridors lead to?"

"No," said Lisa and grabbed a towel. "We haven't been able to find them yet; the maps are too messy."

"Please keep looking for those passageways," said Cloudia. "And lend me the Maid's Manifesto later. I would also like to take a look at it."

Then, I could check whether there truly was a secret passage in the kitchen like Cedric was suspecting.

"I will, but first, let's dry you off and get you dressed. You wouldn't want to be too late for dinner after all!"

With Lisa's help, I was only about fifteen minutes late for dinner. Fifteen minutes were far too much for me, but the others did not seem to mind as much. Except for Kamden who darted a worried glance at me; he quickly relaxed when I told him I ran late because I had wanted to take a bath first.

Dinner was a quiet affair without Cedric, Jacques, and Milton. Anaïs had no one to argue with, Cedric was not there to instil his usual joyful idiocy into the air, and while Milton was often a silent afterthought in terms of presence, he still managed to fill space because others made an effort not to ignore him completely. This was the case even now in his absence, though the "effort not to ignore him" did not lead to conversations today. Instead, I thought of Milton in the back of my head while I ate and talked to the others. Kamden addressing him earlier had made me think of him – and, in turn, it made sure that I did not forget to speak to Aurèle after dinner. I had forgotten it once already; I wouldn't forget it a second time. And after the last trip to Nanteuil-la-Forêt, I had even more to ask him.

After dinner, Cloudia said goodnight to Kamden and the children before she hurried after Aurèle.

"Aurèle," she said when she caught up to him. "Do you care if I join you?"

Aurèle blinked at her. "You don't even know where I'm heading."

Cloudia shrugged. "All I know is that you're not heading to bed yet; it's not even nine o'clock after all. I simply realised that we've barely spent any time together so far and I want to seize this opportunity to get to know my extended family better – who knows if I will be able to travel to France again in the future?"

He stared blankly at her, and she shrugged again. "I said this out of habit. Now, what did you want to do?"

Aurèle looked over his shoulder and around before he leaned towards her and whispered, "Practicing knife throwing in the basement."

Cloudia smiled. "Well, what a perfect activity to do while talking, isn't it?"

The first thing Cloudia noted when she stepped into the basement room was how bare it was. No tapestry, no carpet. The walls were only damaged plaster and the ground was grey, cold stone. There were various targets hung on the walls, some fairly down, others farther up. In one corner was a metal cupboard and an old ladder.

It smelt a bit damp too. This room did not fit at all with the rest of the château. It felt more like the hospital's deadhouse.

Aurèle set down the gas lamp he had got on the way to the basement. "When we are visiting the Charbonneaus, Emmanuel sticks to me," Aurèle told Cloudia while he went to ignite the lamps strewn around the room. "I hate him, and he definitely hates me too. He is a very arrogant, opportunist idiot. I will only be a 'Baron' one day, but I am still both a Beauchene and a Dupont and our influence is large. Emmanuel wants to lick my butt and sticks to me like, uh, glue." Aurèle grimaced. "I have to be nice to him. We have, uh, nothing in common, and he does all I say except leave, so we'll spend our time throwing and catching knives and doing some basic combat training. I thought he would go away when I first suggested it, but he is too much of a butt-licker. When Emmanuel became decent at combat and knife throwing, I stopped. Now, I hide in the woods when he wants something. At least, I have a secret practice room now. I was here almost all day because of that – what did Bonham call it? – 'burst of vitalisation,' I think. It was, uh, a strange sensation."

"A blessing in disguise," remarked Cloudia. "Despite having a 'secret practice room,' you were throwing knives in the corridor though when we met for the first time."

Aurèle lifted his shoulders a bit and a small impish smile appeared on his face. "He was getting a bit too close to you."

Cloudia's eyes widened and then she chuckled. "I cannot say I appreciate your chivalry, but it is kind of you to look out for me – even if I don't need it. Next time, you should also consider the tapestry's feelings."

Aurèle thought for a moment before he said, "The tapestry's creator did not consider its feelings when he designed it though."

Cloudia shook her head, smiling. "Well, that's right," she replied and walked to the cupboard and opened it. It was full of throwing knives and some whetstones. Cloudia took a knife and weighed it in her hand. It was a good knife. Aurèle must have been taking good care of his little collection here, and whoever was caring for the knives in his absence was doing well too. "Speaking of the Duke," Cloudia said. "Why don't you like him?"

The expression on Aurèle's face darkened as he walked to the last lamp. "I don't like strangers," he told her. "You have trouble with a stranger in Nanteuil-la-Forêt. I don't like strangers who get too close to family. You can never be too careful. The Duke gets too close. He seems too stupid to be dangerous though."

"He is indeed very harmless," Cloudia agreed, and then added when Aurèle joined her by the cupboard, "You seem to like Milton even less. Your strong dislike of Milton is one of the reasons why I wanted to speak to you. You are always scowling at or scrutinising or pressing him when we're all together, and I wanted to know why. Because like the Duke, he's very harmless too."

Aurèle looked at her for a moment before he grabbed a knife and went to position himself in front of the closest target. "It's a bit long of a reason."

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. "It is? Well, I have a lot of time right now. Please tell me everything, Aurèle."

"Good." Aurèle threw his knife and only barely missed the bullseye. "I know what my family thinks of me," he began a bit hesitatingly and went back to get another knife. "Not sharp, not bright, not sociable. I'm behind with all my lessons. Teachers get frustrated with me." Aurèle grabbed a knife and threw it; again, it only almost hit the middle. "My family thinks I'm dumb. They think I'm as intelligent as an oyster. My little brothers, my little cousins do – maybe not Gérard but he will eventually." He took another knife. "I'm bad at normal subjects and our subjects too. I can't pick locks. I'm bad with guns. I can't scheme or deduce or anything." He tightened his grip on the knife's handle. "But I like this. I'm decent at this. I'm athletic enough and a good fighter. Not that anyone seems to care.

"And I'm good at knowing people. No one believes me when I say something because they think I'm stupid: Grand-père may be scary to many but he loves his family and would never want us to be hurt. Emmanuel can be as friendly and smile as much as he wants but he's still less than shit. Bad to his servants, bad to his siblings. And Baron Salisbury…" Aurèle looked at Cloudia, his eyes dark and hard. "Maybe he is harmless but there is something wrong with him."

~Cedric~

Cedric slapped Florentin's hand away and took a step back. He swayed a little but could catch himself on time. "A what?" he asked, protectively clutching the pendant in his hand.

"A soul stone," Florentin repeated, not taking his eyes off the necklace.

"And what exactly is a soul stone?"

Florentin glanced at him before he tilted his head. "I should not have expected so much."

"There's no reason to be so rude," replied Cedric and sat back down on the stool. Idiotic determinism must have driven him earlier because he was still in no condition to stand for long, and his sudden rising had only worsened everything. "I am sure you have never heard of a lot of things too. Did you know that the dish Chicken Marengo was named after the Battle of Marengo? Napoleon fought the Austrians in the Italian village Spinetta Marengo 48 years ago and won."

"I know about the Battle of Marengo," said Florentin. "I was in Alessandria on June 14. It was my first time in Italy in years, and the experience was ruined by warring humans – typical. I quickly returned to my workshop; it was too bothersome to stay."

Cedric stared at him before he decided to simply ignore that piece of information and asked, "But did you also know that the dish was named after it?"

Florentin narrowed his eyes at him. "No," he said, and Cedric grinned. "See? Now, we both feel stupid."

Florentin sighed. "A soul stone is an object abhorrent to Grim Reapers as it can absorb and store human souls."

Cedric's eyes widened and he turned the skull pendant in his hand. "The necklaces do not absorb souls though. I've been carrying them around for years and they never interfered with any collection."

"Every soul stone works differently," Florentin explained. "The stones have only a few aspects in common: They are all blue stones with the power of absorbing and storing souls. Not every stone can hold many souls; some can only store one, others dozens. Not every stone can soak in souls easily; some have a strong suction power and can absorb the souls of the dead from metres away, while others need to be close to the dead. Some soul stones are big, others small. Furthermore, the stones always come in pairs: There are always two stones with the exact same properties; those stones are also linked together.

"Soul stones have always existed in every part of the world. Everywhere, people found them, learned of their powers, and used them for different means. For example, they crafted objects with them to wield the stones' powers that way. What can the necklaces do and where is the other one?"

"The necklaces can be used for communication and tracking," Cedric told him. "When I touch the pendant, I can send my thoughts to the person who wears the other one. And when I concentrate on the invisible thread that connects them, I know where the other person is."

"I see you've studied the necklaces."

"You don't need to sound so surprised; of course, I did. Who would not study the strange necklaces that have come into your possession? I didn't get very far though. I only know that the skull pendants are not quite the same, but fit perfectly together at the back, and that something is connecting them. If the soul stones come in pairs, I guess this means that inside each pendant is one soul stone? And the necklaces are connected because the stones inside them are?"

"That's very possible. However, just placing the stones of a pair into pendants does not activate any communicative or tracking abilities," said Florentin. "Something must have been done to the stones. How exactly did the necklaces come into your possession?"

"Someone gave them to me," Cedric replied, feeling uneasy. "Or… or, at least, he gave me one. We used them for communication and to track each other. But only once. I never found out where he got the necklaces or what they were exactly because…" His voice faltered for a moment and he hated himself for it. "… because he passed away shortly afterwards."

"That's very unfortunate," Florentin remarked in his dry manner. Of course, being a Grim Reaper – a possibly very old one even – must have desensitised Florentin to death. Still, Cedric could not help himself but dislike Florentin for being so indifferent. However, because he did not want him to notice, he pushed down that dislike and hoped that his next words did not come out as sour as he felt. "What do you think could have been done to the necklaces?" Cedric asked. His voice only sounded a bit annoyed which was fine to him.

Florentin tilted his head and thrummed his fingers on the counter. "If the soul stones never absorbed any souls as you've said, it is possible that they already reached their full capacity. The stones are full, each one possibly filled with a soul that is… was somehow connected to the other, and the necklaces are exploiting this connection."

Cedric stared down at the skull pendant in his hand. He had scrutinised it and its partner so often; he knew every detail of them – and now, they felt unfamiliar to him again.

There were souls stored in those pendants? To whom could they have belonged?

"How do we get the souls out?" Cedric wanted to know.

"That varies," replied Florentin. "Sometimes when a filled stone comes into contact with the soul of a dying person, the old soul leaves the stone and the new one is absorbed. A soul for a soul. Other times – I suppose this is the case here as there haven't been any further absorptions after all and the connection of the souls is seemingly crucial for the necklaces – a soul stone never releases the soul it caught; such stones can usually only store one soul. Then, the only way to free it is to destroy the stone."

Cedric leaned back; he pressed the pendant against his chest, and the clock pressed against his back. "I am not allowing you to destroy the pendants."

"Destroying soul stones is not easy – and possibly impossible. They have been around for millennia, and while I've heard that some stones had been destroyed in the past, there are no documents that confirm those rumours. Still," Florentin gazed at Cedric, "you should rid yourself of the pendants. A Grim Reaper cannot be caught with soul stones or they will be strongly punished."

"I cannot let go of them," said Cedric firmly. "I will not let go of the skull pendant necklaces. I've owned them for decades; I'm certain I will be able to hide them for many more. Especially now that I know what they are."

"If you believe so." Florentin huffed. "Be warned: The Grim Reaper Dispatch will not take this lightly. As I've said, the stones are loathsome to Reapers as they interfere with the duty of collecting souls. Each absorbed soul is left lost and unaccounted for. The stones mess with the books' balances, and the Dispatch is a highly bureaucratic place. One does not mess with the books of bureaucrats."

"Well, as the stones in the necklaces are likely full, they will not interfere with my collections. And the souls in them cannot be retrieved anymore anyway. It is a sad matter, but not one that can be helped."

"If you think so."

"How do you even know that much about those stones?" Cedric enquired.

Florentin looked at him. "As I have said, I am very old. I worked for the Dispatch for a very, very long time and I eventually began to pass my free time by schooling myself in everything related to Grim Reapers. A document I found mentioned soul stones, and I then researched them as well as I could. There was not much information though and I had to do it in secret. My research could have got me into a lot of trouble if someone had found out."

"Did you desert because you feared someone could eventually find out?" asked Cedric.

"I'm not telling you," Florentin replied and huffed. "Like you didn't answer my question of where the other necklace is. Considering that my question is actually relevant to the conversation and the matter at hand, you should answer it though. You didn't give it to the Countess of Phantomhive, did you?"

Cedric scowled at him, and Florentin sighed. "How could you jeopardise her life like that? You are lucky that the stones are full; otherwise, her soul would have been long claimed by it! Now, the only risk you have to fear is getting caught – which is no small risk at all! Grim Reapers cannot interfere with life, but the higher-ups can be disturbingly crafty if they wish to be and will find a way to punish the Countess as well without violating the rules."

"First of all, I didn't know what soul stones were fifteen minutes ago!" Cedric retorted. He was getting sick and tired of Florentin and his attitude and it was wearing him down. "Second, I would never allow the Countess to be punished for possessing a soul stone. It is my fault why she has one, and I will take full responsibility if we are ever found out. She has to keep her necklace though; we need it for communication, and I need it to find her. There was an incident a few months ago when I had to use that function. I would not have been able to find her if she had not had the necklace with her that day. It has to stay with her."

"A terrible decision," commented Florentin.

"Thankfully, I don't care what you think."

"You should. After all, everything I'm telling you right now is to your benefit, you blockhead," Florentin exclaimed and narrowed his eyes. "Get ready to bear the consequences when this house of cards falls apart. They will not only come from the Dispatch though. The Marquis will also not be happy to find out how you endangered his beloved sister's granddaughter."

"I'm ready for everything," said Cedric firmly and straightened his back. "For her, I'm ready for everything."

Florentin considered him for a while before he huffed. "Good. Never forget that."

"I won't." Cedric gazed at Florentin. "Speaking of the Marquis. How did you meet him? After all, you are both recluses from what I can tell. Or is that a question you won't answer anyway?"

"The Marquis was not always a recluse," Florentin replied, to Cedric's surprise. "He used to be very active. Only when his body started to fail him, he became a bedridden – to utilise your word – recluse. I, however, vehemently dislike people and am a better example for this term."

I couldn't believe he admitted this so nonchalantly.

"I go out for my weekly shopping – I do despise Grim Reaper physiology; why should we have to eat and sleep? – and I get hounded by a boy who seemed to know exactly what I am," continued Florentin grumpily. "How bothersome."

Cedric stared at him. "He knew from the beginning?"

"Yes, he did. People who are close to death can sense and sometimes even see Grim Reapers in their concealed states," Florentin explained. "Such people do not only include the dying but also those who work closely to death – doctors, coroners, morticians, etc. They became accustomed to death and got to know the signs of its arrival. The Duponts, who engage in all sorts of criminal activities, have had blood on their hands for generations. They cannot wash themselves free from blood and death anymore and have, thus, become affined to death. It's horrendous, and this fifteen-year-old boy – who was not the Marquis then – had a remarkable affinity to death and had correctly deduced that those strange green-eyed people he could see when no one else could were Grim Reapers. Unfortunately, the day I was out of my workshop for once, he had to decide that it was time to acquaint a Grim Reaper. He has always been very merry and bold."

Florentin crossed his arms. "He clung to me like a bur, no matter what I did or said. Now, seventy-one years later, we still talk; such a nuisance. He cannot visit the workshop anymore though as he's only a frail human against the passage of time; I know he is a bit saddened by this because he likes my workshop. The Marquis is also the one who started calling me 'the Clockmaker' so that I have a title as he does. I think it is very ridiculous, don't you?"

"Very," Cedric reassured him. "What interests me more is the affinity part, however. Humans can become affined with death?"

"Now I understand why I don't like you," said Florentin. "I don't like Swiss cheese and your knowledge is full of holes too."

"It's good that you don't like me because I don't like you either," replied Cedric. "And?"

Florentin huffed. "Of course, they can. Humans can get used to everything; getting used to death is not easy though. People are usually not plagued and surrounded by death with enormous frequency after all. Because of that, there are not many people who can sense and see concealed Grim Reapers. For example, not every mortician can do this; morticians are only more likely to develop this affinity.

"The Duponts' family business has existed for centuries now. Children born into that family are born surrounded by death and are, therefore, very likely to develop this affinity. Seeing death is not an innate ability though. At least, not for the Duponts as far as I can tell; I am not particularly versed in this topic and don't know if there are people who can innately see hidden Grim Reapers. I would not eliminate any possibilities at this point.

"At any rate, the Phantomhives possess this affinity to a certain extent as well, and when the Marquis' sister and that Phantomhive boy Percival showed interest in each other, their families pushed them together. It was a terrible experiment; their son was so miserable." Florentin shrugged. "Anyhow, this affinity is nothing serious. Most often, it only manifests itself as a vague feeling that something is off or strange. Stronger cases that can see concealed Grim Reapers are fantastically rare, so you don't have to worry about that."

"That's good to know," said Cedric and rubbed a thumb over his skull pendant. He weighed out what to say next, hesitated with his question, and when he finally found the strength to ask, there was a knock behind Florentin. Cedric let the pendant vanish behind his shirt and struggled to haul himself from the stool while Florentin grimaced and put on his glasses.

"Time for some tea, 'Duke Underwood,'" he said and went to open the door to the backroom.

~Cloudia~

Cecelia, Cedric, Kamden, Aurèle – had everyone gone mad? Where did that sudden fixation on, the sudden interest in Milton come from? Sure, I had dwelt on him for months too but only after he had actually done something to catch my attention. Not because of faint rumours and hearsay, pure coincidences, or "odd" behaviour.

I got to know Milton for eight months and many more via letters. From what I knew of him and from what the facts said, he was no weapons smuggler, no murderer, and there was nothing wrong with him either.

I knew he was awkward because he had interacted very little with people outside his family growing up. I knew how heavily the deaths of his family weighed him down. I knew that he was ever-restless because he liked to keep himself busy and distracted, especially on rainy days.

I knew he was seemingly plagued by nightmares even when awake. I did not know why; I could only wonder. But I knew that he surely had his reasons not to tell me and I would not pry, no matter how curious I was. Milton had never pried either.

I knew he was haunted but he was still so full of kindness. How could he be anything but harmless if he cried so easily like on the day of that hunt? If his heart broke so easily, irrelevant to how big or small, how serious or trivial the matter was?

But then, I had never expected the proposal, never knew about the clocks and machines or the map-making.

"You can know people for decades and still discover new aspects of them."

Cloudia blinked at Aurèle. "What do you mean with that?"

"Do you doubt me too?"

"No," she said firmly. "I'm not. However, I've known Milton for years now and while I agree that he is a bit strange at times, I would not say that something is wrong with him. I'm simply curious to find out why you think that."

Aurèle briefly scrutinised her before he turned around to throw his knife – only almost perfect again – and then turned back to her. "I said it's a long answer. I have many reasons. A few days ago, I was walking through the forest with him, Papa, and Bonham. I came too because I wanted to assist Papa as he, uh, often gets lost in his head when he is studying a plant or an animal. Often, he then wanders off too far and cannot get back or gets hurt. That day, I was not only watching Papa, but I was also watching him.

"He mostly talked with Bonham, but he also spoke to Papa and me. He impressed Papa with his botanical knowledge. What caught my eye is how often Baron Salisbury looked around. At first, I thought it was because it's a new place to explore but it was too – what is the word? – excessive. And at some point, his eyes widened a little bit at something. I was watching him and didn't see what he saw on time. It was gone when I looked. His behaviour changed afterwards. He subtly persuaded Papa to turn around and he looked a bit tense underneath his smiles. I don't think Bonham noticed. Did he tell you something?"

Cloudia shook her head. "No. He barely told me anything from that walk; he would have told me if anything of note happened during it."

"Bonham's attention was mostly on Baron Salisbury," Aurèle informed her and then huffed. "And he still didn't notice. He needs to get better, Claudette."

"I'll tell him later."

Aurèle nodded. "Good. I have no idea what the Baron saw in the woods that made his behaviour change. He behaves weirdly in general though. He does so much paperwork all by himself in some odd corners of the château. His presence is so thin, and he walks around the château a lot. You're barely here, Claudette, but Baron Salisbury walks around the building like a ghost. I see him in the corridors a lot, stopping here and there, writing down things in some messy notebook. That's suspicious. Even I know it's suspicious."

"Milton told me he was charting the château," said Cloudia, "because he likes to create maps, blueprints for buildings. He loves to explore places and discover as much there as he can. He told me about it."

"It's still very odd, Claudette," retorted Aurèle. "Also, Baron Salisbury stood a metre away from us at the tea party, and we didn't notice him! Maybe he is a ghost or a ghost-like… thing. That's not normal. He also does not eat certain foods during mealtimes; he never eats quiche lorraine."

"One of your reasons why you're suspicious of Milton is because he does not like quiche?"

Aurèle scowled. "It's a very good dish and it's odd he wouldn't even eat it out of politeness."

Cloudia pinched her nose.

While the rest of his suspicions were warranted, this one certainly was not. Maybe he and Cedric would get along splendidly in this aspect.

"Is there anything else, Aurèle?" asked Cloudia and twirled the knife in her hands.

He looked at her. "Yes. The main reason why I know something is wrong with Baron Salisbury is Anaïs."

"Is it because she calls him a faerie?" she said while Aurèle selected another knife.

He nodded. "Jacques thinks she's silly for believing in faeries. I think it's a bit odd but not silly. Do you know who does not think she's silly for that? Grand-père."

Cloudia stared at Aurèle as he continued, "Grand-père is a busy man even now despite his age and health. We don't see him very often nowadays, but a few years ago when he was still well, he would spend as much time with us as he could. Jacques, Arnaud, and Anaïs were so little; they barely remember anything but I do.

"Grand-père, uh, bonded with Anaïs especially well over faeries. He is interested in them too because, like faeries, he puts great value into people's true names. Grand-père always says there is power in knowing someone's true name. A name is a key to someone's story and background. Grand-père likes the truth, and knowing a person's true name brings him closer to it. He also likes to hold power over people, to be in control. Grand-père only goes by 'the Marquis' to protect his own true name. He also insists that a person's true name is not necessarily their parent-given name, but a name they chose themselves. 'Changing stories,' he says and 'people are in charge of their own stories.' Whatever that means."

"True names, you say?" asked Cloudia more to herself than to Aurèle but he nodded nevertheless.

Cedric had told me that the Marquis selected him and Jacques to go to the Clockmaker. He had not told me anything else because I had sent him to bed and we didn't talk about that later. Now, I wondered how exactly Cedric had received this message: Had Lièvremont handed him a letter? Had Jacques told him?

Or had my great-uncle informed him in person? And if yes, had he insisted on knowing Cedric's true name too? From what I knew of him, I would say yes, but I hoped he did not, considering what Cedric was.

Damn. I wished I had enquired further about this.

Cloudia pinched her nose. "Sorry, Aurèle. My mind drifted away just now. Please continue."

Aurèle raised an eyebrow and then nodded. "Grand-père would tell Anaïs many stories about faeries and give her picture books. From the outside, they looked like a little girl with an, uh, overactive imagination and her attentive grandfather. To me… it was off. No one paid any attention to this but I did because it was so sudden. Anaïs did not care about faeries when she was very little. She would listen to fairy tales only very absentmindedly. And when Anaïs was very small, Grand-père had no such special interest in her. Anaïs only started to become interested in faeries and Grand-père in her when she was three years old."

His brown eyes darkened. "Anaïs had always been a very observant and lively child and this never changed. But she did change a bit after she survived that terrible fever."

Somewhere, Milton keeps sneezing because people keep talking about him XD

Some notes: Florentin and the Marquis are best friends, and Aurele's favourite dish is quiche lorraine.

I hope you liked this chapter! See you at the next one.

(If you want, you can check my tumblr (tothelasthoursofmylife) for life signs and occasional stupid extras.)

Also... I really don't like asking because I know it can be stressful/much/etc. for people but if you have something to say regarding the story, would you mind leaving a review? I don't know if anyone even reads it on here anymore (it's also on AO3 btw). After all, my last review is from June 2021 and this chapter is the 5th time I updated this FF since then :/ Anyway, sorry for the inconvenience! See you.