Almost exactly two months after the last chapter - a new one :D And it's the last of the Clockmaker chapters! Yey.
I hope you will enjoy reading it!
Chapter Twenty-Four:
The Countess, Clockmaker
"I was sick of time, and forests too."
A forest, Marne, France – June 1848
~Cedric~
For the first time in his life, Cedric did not want tea and biscuits. Or, rather, he would want some after he could ask Florentin all the questions he still had. But now, he was sitting in the workshop's backroom and having tea with Jacques and Florentin, his questions forbidden to leave his mouth. Like the main room, this one was filled to the brim with clocks of all sizes and in different stages of completion. One wall was dedicated to all sorts of work tools; Cedric recognised common ones like wenches but also some he had glimpsed in Milton's toolbox and whose names he did not know. "The imitation of life is not something anyone should engage with," Cedric recalled Florentin's words from earlier. "It can turn into a sickness, into an obsession." Uncomfortable, Cedric quickly let his gaze wander over the countless clocks – grandfather clocks, hanging clocks, table clocks - and the ladder that led up to the half-level above them where Florentin's bedroom was located. The whole construction looked ridiculously unstable, and Cedric feared it could fall on them any moment now.
Well, maybe, it was better to focus on the table and the sweets after all.
Cedric took another biscuit and ate it as awkwardly as he had never eaten one before until fifteen minutes ago when Florentin had beckoned him to the backroom and Jacques had started to endlessly compliment the workshop. "The plant engravings on this clock are such accurate depictions of the prunus lusitanica! Papa would be ecstatic if he saw them; he would also be able to tell the subspecies. There are three after all – lusitanica, azorica, and hixa. I would say it's hixa, but I'm not sure. Which subspecies is it, M Chastain? Oh, you don't need to tell! It's azorica, isn't it? It's not? It most certainly is, my good man. Look here, this part clearly indicates this is a prunus lusitanica azorica…"
I did not despise Jacques, but after spending the day with him, I was glad that I never had children. And would never have any.
Didn't Cloudia want three children though?
Cedric took a biscuit of every variety and stuffed them all at once into his mouth. He furiously chewed on them and gulped them down with multiple cups of tea, wishing something stronger was available. He would take everything; even Cecelia's fire tincture – maybe not that, but anything else.
What the hell was I thinking? Did I go mad in this forest?!
"Duke Kristopher, are you all right?" Jacques asked, looking very puzzled. "Your table manners have suddenly deteriorated."
"I'm fine," Cedric mumbled. His mouth was still full of biscuits and he had no idea if Jacques could understand his words, but Jacques nodded and turned back to Florentin which was good enough for Cedric, and he kept stuffing himself with sweets.
I wished Jacques had never knocked and I was still talking with Florentin about soul stones and affinities for Grim Reapers and death.
Before Cedric wolfed down everything and left Florentin and Jacques with nothing, he reluctantly forced himself to stop and leaned back. Because of the abundance of clocks and the large workbench, the table and the chairs were squeezed in the room – and so was Cedric. He could barely shift in his seat; the lack of movement and the lack of anything to do, because he had foolishly eaten too many biscuits at once, made him fear that his mind could wander to strange places again and he was packed by irrational panic.
I had to think! What could I distract myself with to prevent me from thinking about… that?
Houses? Clocks? Birds? Plants? No, not plants or birds – I was still tired of that. Tired? Right, I could go to sleep!
"Can I sleep in your bed?" Cedric asked Florentin innocently.
Florentin looked at him blankly. "Pardon?"
"I wanted to ask if I could take a nap in your bed," Cedric repeated enthusiastically. "I'm still quite tired from the walk here and I don't know if I can take the walk back to the château without sleeping a bit first. If you don't want me to sleep in your bed, I can also sleep on the workbench or anywhere else where I fit. I do not mind the place."
Florentin raised an eyebrow. "With your rattled brain, you clearly need rest. Please help yourself to the bed. I will simply burn it and build a new one after you are gone."
Cedric nodded. "Thank you," he said and went up the unstable-looking ladder to the unsafely placed bed. It was not his best idea but when he was asleep he did not have to think about odd things and hear Jacques – he could only win, and in his situation, thinking positively was a must if he did not want to become mad.
He laid down and as soon as he closed his eyes, Cedric realised how his question earlier must have sounded like.
There was really something wrong with me.
Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848
~Cloudia~
"It was… an awful time," Aurèle continued, turning the knife in his hands. "Everyone was so worried and afraid she would die. I was fourteen back then and still remember that time well. My uncle and aunt were, uhm, devastated and did not want to leave Anaïs' side. Arnaud was four and even he realised that something was wrong and was restless and – what is the word? – inconsolable. However, Anaïs is a fighter and we called the best doctors and she eventually recovered. Everyone was very happy and glad, but Anaïs was never quite the same afterwards.
"When we walked around in town, her gaze would drift away more often and she would point around and try to show us invisible things. I can remember Jacques, uh, scoffing at her words even then. Anaïs' and my parents did not pay much attention to her words – she was three years old after all. Grand-père, however, was very interested. They started to spend more time together; maybe it was because we nearly lost her, but I think it was because of those faerie-creatures. Anaïs only began calling the invisible things she saw 'faeries' after spending time with Grand-père. She also stopped pointing them out so openly after talking with him about them.
"I asked Oncle Anselme about the faeries because he is Anaïs' father and the Dupont heir; he only dismissed them as – how to say it? – 'childish fantasies.' I then went to Grand-père directly, and he told me: 'Aurèle, you are promising with your keen eyes and nose, but I will not tell you; I want to see if you can find it out on your own first.' It's been five years and I still don't know despite all the research I did – and now, Anaïs has shown special interest in Baron Salisbury and calls him a faerie. And as I said, while the Baron is usually visible to us all, he sometimes cannot be seen! Like those things Anaïs has been seeing since that fever."
Cloudia pinched her nose.
Anaïs had talked to me about faeries the day after we arrived when I had asked her if she could help Cedric and Kamden find Milton. I had told her that she had to "find the man with the long, weirdly coloured hair" which had piqued her interest. Anaïs had admitted to me that, the night before, she and Arnaud had sneaked out of their rooms after being put to bed; they were simply too excited and wanted to have a first look at us. Anaïs had seen Cedric and noted his odd hair and his odder eyes. Considering that his eyes were indeed strange being both phosphorescent and chartreuse, I had not put much thought into her curiosity. Especially because her interest had been so very short-lived after I had told her that Cedric's hair was an unwashed mess and her attention had shifted to Milton.
Now, knowing that Anaïs started seeing "invisible things" after nearly dying of a fever, I wondered if those "things" were not, in fact, Grim Reapers?
Was that even possible? To acquire the ability to see concealed Reapers? I had to ask Cedric about that.
But then, Anaïs called Milton a "faerie" and not Cedric – and Milton was not a Grim Reaper. Or was there a difference between the "invisible things" and the "faeries"? The Marquis could have told her some lies to divert her attention from the true "invisible things." After all, if people could get the ability to see concealed Grim Reapers, I doubted the Reapers would like it.
Cloudia let her hand sink as a realisation hit her.
If Anaïs could see concealed Grim Reapers, did that mean the Marquis knew about Cedric?
"Claudette?" said Aurèle, pulling her back to the now.
Cloudia shook her head to clear her mind. "Sorry. My mind keeps drifting away. I believe you, Aurèle," she said, and his eyes widened. "I don't think you are lying. What reason could you have? And you don't seem to be a liar too. It's worrying that Anaïs can, apparently, see things nobody else can – except maybe the Marquis. I'm not sure what those things could be if they are indeed faeries or something else, but you need to believe me too, Aurèle, when I say that Milton is a human." Cloudia looked at her cousin, her eyes intense. "I have no idea why Anaïs calls him a faerie when he is nothing but human. You know your family better than anyone, and while I would not say that I know everything about him or that I am still close to him, I am still the one person in this place who knows Milton the best."
Aurèle crossed his arms. "Anaïs does not go around calling people faeries though. He is the first."
"I don't mean to belittle her or question her intelligence. Still, it is a fact that she is a child – she could easily be mistaken. Especially if she does not fully know herself what she is seeing. We don't know what the Marquis told her and what Anaïs can see. What we do know is that she suggested that, if the stranger in the village is something rather than someone, it could be a faerie which possibly means she associates murderous creatures with 'faeries' too – and Milton does not fit that description. Anaïs' interpretation of faeries does not seem to be iron-clad."
Aurèle shrugged. "Faerie lore is very varying. For example, there are many explanations for the origin of faeries: that they are demoted angels or demons or elementals – 'spirits of the air.' Those are not even all theories. In some folklore, they are, uh, mischievous tricksters; in others, they are evil murderers. There are also, uhm, differentiations between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts; Seelie faeries are a bit more benevolent, and Unseelie ones are more malevolent. There are many kinds of faeries, and Baron Salisbury must be a nicer one to Anaïs. She's not afraid of anything but she would still not behave so familiarly with him if she thought he was an evil faerie."
"You really did your research, didn't you?"
He scowled at her. "Of course, I did."
"That's great," said Cloudia, and Aurèle's eyes lit up. "I don't know much about faeries as I don't particularly care about entities that do not exist. Or seemingly don't exist," she added when she saw her cousin's raised eyebrow. "At any rate, Anaïs has only ever talked about superficialities when she spoke of Milton as a 'faerie.' She always says he looks like a faerie, not that he is one. And Milton does look 'otherworldly' in a way, doesn't he? He is very pretty for a man."
For a moment, Aurèle looked like he ate a bowl of sour plums but ultimately mumbled, "He does."
"I would be more concerned if Anaïs said Milton feels like a faerie or strange in some way, don't you think so?"
"I guess so," he replied grumpily, and Cloudia smiled. "When Milton returns, we can talk with Anaïs about her faeries; I think it's only right if the accused is present as well. After all that talk, I've become quite curious too. And now, no more of this faerie-talk. Aurèle, I have not come here to solely talk about Milton. I need you to answer me a few questions about Nanteuil-la-Forêt."
~Cedric~
To no one's surprise, going to bed with the fear that the ground could give away at any moment and you could get buried in debris did not lead to peaceful, refreshing sleep. When Cedric woke up hours later in Florentin's bed, he did not feel like he had got any sleep at all. At least, all the functioning clocks were pleasantly quiet. If they had ticked loudly in unison, Cedric would have definitely lost his mind. And he had not been subjected to Jacques' rambling for the last few hours.
But he certainly would be for the next few.
Groaning, Cedric pushed himself up as carefully as he could. He was stiff but he did not dare to creak his joints until he had stable ground under him again. Perhaps, it would have been better if he had slept on the workbench.
No wonder why Florentin's so grumpy if he slept in this place. Instead of building clocks, he should build an expansion for his workshop instead.
"Slept like the dead, didn't you?" deadpanned Florentin behind Cedric after he had descended the ladder.
Cedric flinched and turned around to him, scowling. "Slept with the fear of dying, you mean," he replied. "That bed is a death-trap. How can you sleep in it?"
"I have no idea what you are talking about again. My bed is perfectly fine."
"Your bed is on the world's most unstable protrusion!" Cedric said and gestured upwards.
"Have you never slept on the top of a bunk bed?"
"Never."
Florentin huffed. "Of course, you didn't. Someone as whiney as you could have never been a military man. How did you pass training again?"
"I passed training very well – believe it or not! Exceptionally well, even! And we do not have bunk beds. Apart from the height and instability, your mattress is made of cardboard rather than cotton."
"Princess on the pea," said Florentin with a bored face, "do you have anything else to say?"
Cedric thought for a moment. "No. Nothing I can say with Jacques around, at least," he said and glanced at Jacques who was getting enchanted by the clocks on the other side of the small room.
"Well, then, I wholeheartedly hope we won't see each other again after today. I fear we will though, and the sheer thought sours my mood."
"Isn't your mood always sour?"
"Since your arrival, yes."
Cedric rubbed his face. "Isn't it a bit sad and… weird to smile to yourself all alone in your home?"
Florentin raised an eyebrow. "Why? I don't owe anyone a smile, and I certainly do not smile to myself in the dark like a serial murderer if it is that you are insinuating."
"I had 'mad inventor' in mind. 'Serial murderer' is fine too," meant Cedric and leaned closer to Florentin. "You are a deserter after all. Did you ever kill an especially obnoxious customer?"
"I will kill you if you don't stand away from me." Florentin glared at him, and Cedric stepped back. "I still follow the no-kill rule. In part, because I am not a barbarian, but mostly because I would not want to call any of them to my location."
"Right, of course." Nobody said anything for a moment. Then, Cedric blurted out, "Do you hum?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Do you hum while working? I can't imagine you do but you may surprise me."
Florentin blinked at him. "I do not."
"Not a man of surprises, are you?"
"Only as much as you are a man of sense," replied Florentin and walked to the door that led to the front room. "Jacques, do you have all your belongings?"
Jacques looked up from a table clock made of dark wood; pine cones had been shaped from wood and framed the clock-face. "Everything is in my bag! I will get it now," he said and hurried to the table, retrieving his bag from underneath it.
Florentin levelled his gaze at Cedric. "And you?"
"I think my bag is in the front room," he said, and Florentin nodded before he stepped through the door. Cedric followed him; Jacques was right behind him.
Florentin handed Jacques a letter and a small pouch. "Please deliver the letter to your grandfather, and the pouch is filled with some sandwiches and biscuits for you."
"Thank you, M Chastain!" said Jacques as he took the items. "I will need that nourishment; my burst of energisation from this morning that enabled me to come here without effort has dried up. It is a pity, but it cannot be helped now. I hope I can, one day, sleep that well again. I liked that additional energy." He frowned and pushed up his glasses. "Well, at least, I think it came from the sleep," added Jacques before he packed the letter and the pouch into his bag.
Cedric grabbed his bag from next to the front door. He shouldered it and turned to Florentin. "Don't I get something too…?"
"I expect you to pay me for the grandfather clock in a week at the latest," Florentin deadpanned. "And that you take it with you at the same time. I do not deliver at a rate you can afford, and I hope you know how to transport a clock as fine as one of mine safely over the Channel. No returns, no repairs. You are lucky I am not charging you for the bed too."
Cedric stared at him. "Are you serious?" he asked at the same time as Jacques said, "You purchased a clock, Duke Kristopher? Which one?"
"The grandfather clock by the door," Florentin answered him and nodded at it.
Jacques' eyes widened when he saw it. "It is a stunning clock, Your Grace! You have surprisingly good taste, and you are a master of your art, M Chastain."
"'Surprisingly'?" asked Cedric but he was, yet again, ignored.
"Thank you, young Beauchene," replied Florentin. "I wish you a pleasant walk home." He looked at Cedric. "Don't die on the way. There are enough carcasses in this forest," he said before his eyes turned hard as he continued, "And don't forget: Nothing can make the clocks reverse."
~Cloudia~
"I am a little stuck with the investigation and need you to clarify a few things for me. After all, you spend a lot of time in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, don't you?" said Cloudia.
"I would not say that I spend 'a lot of time' there," Aurèle replied and threw his knife – again, it just missed bull's eye – before he took another. "We only go down to Nanteuil-la-Forêt a few times when we visit the Charbonneaus; it is a bit, uhm, unsightly for people of our status to traverse such a village with high frequency after all. Emmanuel likes to drag everyone there though, and Jacques usually wants to go too and I cannot possibly leave him alone with Emmanuel and his idiotic siblings."
Cloudia smiled. "Still, with your keen eyes and excellent people-knowing skills, I suppose you have caught some information regarding its residents, haven't you?"
Aurèle weighed the knife in his hands. "Yes, I have. I would say I know a lot about the residents in Nanteuil-la-Forêt." He grimaced. "Too much even."
"Perfect," Cloudia said and considered the knife in her own hands. She had taken it right after coming to the training room and had still not thrown it. She positioned herself in front of a target, wound up, and threw the knife. It flew through the air and got stuck right next to Aurèle's last-thrown knife, just off bulls-eye. "Seems like I'm out of practice," Cloudia grumbled.
"You can practice here if you want, Claudette," offered Aurèle and walked to the cupboard to get a knife which he then held out to Cloudia. "Now, what do you want to know?"
"Thanks," said Cloudia and took the knife. "There have been five victims so far. I told you about Nadia Allemand and Dominique Duhamel. Since then, Gustave Beaubois, Marius Beaubois, and Ruben Fournier have also been killed. What can you tell me about them? Can you make out any connections between them?"
Aurèle stared at her. "Two of the Beaubois brothers? Mme Aurore must be devastated."
"She was when we interrogated her."
He turned the knife in his hands, his brow furrowed. "I disliked Gustave and Marius; I thought they were terrible – Gustave was lazy and obnoxious, and Marius a thief and aggressive –, but their mother and Antoine are decent people and don't deserve that grief. Gustave and Marius also disliked each other; if they weren't both dead I would say one killed the other."
"Antoine also said he believes Marius killed Gustave."
"That sounds plausible," remarked Aurèle, sat down on the ground, and leaned against the wall. Cloudia sat down next to him. It was a little cold but nothing unbearable. "Marius hated Gustave," Aurèle continued. "I lost count of how often I saw them fighting in the streets." He let the knife twirl on its tip on the ground. "What connects the victims? Marius and Gustave were disliked by many – by Dominique and Ruben too. Ruben is Gustave's friend and just as lazy – and a bit stupid. He worked for a farmer, and he would complain how Ruben never used the – uh, what is the word? – fertiliser correctly. He fired him within a few weeks."
"Farmer?"
"Corentin Tonnelier. He is a grumpy older man and would become especially grumpy when someone mentioned Ruben. What else is there?" Aurèle pondered for a moment. "Right! Before I forget, Gustave and Dominique were both in love with that pastor's daughter, Nicolette."
"Oh, they were?"
Aurèle nodded. "Half the boys in Nanteuil-la-Forêt are. Have you met her?"
"Yes, she seemed very sweet."
"People like her for that reason. She is pretty and friendly to everyone."
Cloudia leaned back and grinned at her cousin. "And are you?"
"Am I what?"
"In love with Nicolette?"
Aurèle grimaced, and Cloudia chuckled. "I knew that would be your reaction. Sorry for asking. What else do you know?"
"They were all very unpleasant people," said Aurèle. "Except Mme Allemand; she was an old lady who was a little withdrawn, though she could become rather prickly at times. She liked marvelling at our clothes, at how well Michelle, our seamstress, made them. It was annoying because she would tug at my clothes. Dominique would always stare at us – Emmanuel and me – when we were in Nanteuil-la-Forêt too. This disgusted Emmanuel. He is an idiot though and misunderstood that Dominique did not look at us; he looked at our clothes. I heard he has a large wardrobe and an interest in making clothes. He was even Mme Allemand's apprentice for some time. Dominique hated working with her though and quit after a year."
Cloudia stared at him. "Dominique was her apprentice?"
"You didn't know that?"
She narrowed her eyes. "No. I had the feeling the villagers were not honest with me, especially Dominique's parents."
"But why would they lie to you? I cannot imagine M and Mme Duhamel not wanting to help find their son's murderer. Dominique was not the perfect son, but they still loved him."
"Indeed, why would they lie to me?" repeated Cloudia. "Do you know why Dominique hated working for Mme Allemand?"
"As far as I know, she could be fairly hot-headed, and while Dominique was interested in clothes and designing and sewing, he was neither diligent nor studious. He also had a short temper. I suppose, he and Mme Allemand's personalities caused them to fight often."
Cloudia frowned. "Interesting. Dominique's father said that he was studious, diligent, friendly, and amicable."
Aurèle laughed. "Amicable? Dominique?"
"Another one of M Duhamel's lies." Cloudia crossed her arms. "Aurèle, what can you tell me about Yvette Guilloux?"
Aurèle looked at her in bewilderment. "Why are you asking about Yvette?"
"She has been guiding us through Nanteuil-la-Forêt for the entirety of our investigation, and the behaviour she displayed at times struck me as quite odd. I hope you don't like her?"
"I don't," said Aurèle and huffed. "Jacques has a bit of a, uhm, childish infatuation with her though."
"Oh?"
"Yvette is essentially the village's princess and very charming. She is very nice to Jacques and listens to everything he says. She is also knowledgeable enough to hold a conversation with him about a wide variety of topics; Yvette is very intelligent. Jacques is very fond of her – and so is Emmanuel." Aurèle grimaced at his mention. "He always tries to impress her as often as possible and share his interests with her. Emmanuel also loans her all the books she wants from the château's library. It's rather ridiculous. Jacques is a child, but Emmanuel is twenty years old and should know better. Of course, he will never marry her as she is not truly a princess and he would never, uh, relinquish his inheritance for her – what reason is there for him to attempt to 'court' her? Yvette is also promised to someone."
Cloudia raised an eyebrow. "She is? To whom?"
"To Descombes."
She stared at Aurèle. "No."
Aurèle nodded. "Yes."
"Isn't he as old as her father?"
"Her father and Descombes are close friends since childhood. Descombes lost his wife last year to some illness I forgot. I heard that they have been planning to marry Yvette to him since his wife's passing because Descombes has six little children and they need a mother. I thought she would be married to him by now but she is apparently stalling. I doubt Yvette can continue this for much longer."
"I don't particularly like her but that is terrible," said Cloudia. "Who sells his own daughter to an old man?"
Aurèle scowled. "Exactly. It is disgusting. As far as I know, Yvette has no notable connections to any of the victims, and I doubt she could have killed Gustave or Marius; they were brutes."
Cloudia stretched out her legs and smoothed her skirts. "I see. One more question: What can you tell me about Maxime Guilbert?"
"M Guilbert?" Aurèle passed the knife from one hand to the other and back. "A bit annoying and unpleasant but that's it. There is nothing remarkable about him. His daughter, Marie-Claire, is friends with Yvette. She is the Guilberts' only child and they are very protective of her, especially because she is so frail; she has been ill since she was little and is mostly bed-bound."
"Yvette said she and Marie-Claire used to run around and play as children."
Aurèle shook his head. "Impossible. Unless she means a different Marie-Claire."
"Interesting for Yvette to lie about that," said Cloudia. "There is something odd I noticed about Maxime when I last visited him and his wife. Or, rather, I noticed something odd about his workplace. I asked him to prepare chamomile tea for his wife because she was a bit jittery, and he was gone for an extensive period. I heard no kettle and when he finally returned, he was out of breath and his shoes were wet. Maxime must have gone home to make the tea. Furthermore, his wife Violaine did not seem to care at all that we were sullying her furniture with our rain-soaked clothes; she also stated they do not get many guests anyway, and you said they had to close last summer. Are they in some kind of financial trouble with the inn or why is it so desolate?"
Aurèle blinked at Cloudia. "Claudette, M Guilbert is not and has never been the innkeeper."
~Cedric~
If Cedric managed to arrive at the château alive, he could write a paper on Aster, the genus of perennial flowers in the Asteraceae family, the second largest family of flowers consisting of over 30,000 species.
After spotting some asters, the flowers had been Jacques' chosen lecture topic for the last two hours. The little sleep Cedric had been able to get at Florentin's workshop had not been enough to restore his full strength. Perhaps, if Cedric had slept on the ground and not in that death-trap of a bed, it would have been better. Only, he had not, and his faint restfulness had dissipated less than an hour after saying goodbye to Florentin. Jacques had said that he was not feeling as energetic as before; still, he could happily talk and talk and talk while walking whereas Cedric wandered behind him in utmost misery.
Only now, two hours after leaving the workshop, Jacques' excitement of being in nature had finally given away to exhaustion; he had stopped talking and instead focused on walking and not tripping. However, the damage was done, and Cedric was now an expert on asters. He knew that, while most asters were perennials, some were annuals or biennials, that they came in various colours, ranging from white to lavender and red, and that their name was derived from the Ancient Greek word for "star" because of the shape of the flower head. According to Greek mythology, the flowers grew from the tears of the goddess Astraea who, in one version, wept because she was saddened that there were so few stars in the night sky. In France, asters were known as "the eye of Christ" and laid on the graves of soldiers. In Germany and England, people believed asters to hold magical properties, and in Ancient Greece, aster leaves were burned to ward off evil spirits and snakes.
I had no idea what to do with all that information. Maybe I should actually write a paper on the genus – or simply use my newly gained knowledge to impress Cloudia.
For the next hours, Cedric and Jacques walked in silence. The sun was starting to set and they instinctively hurried up a little although they had brought lanterns with them. Cedric squinted on the ground so that he would not accidentally trip over a branch or step on a mouse which was difficult with the sun gradually fading into the dark and with tiredness clawing at him.
Exhaustion pulled on his limbs and mind, and as Cedric recalled Florentin's parting words, he gazed at the dark forest ahead and thought, Had that prince from the fairy-tale been that tired when he journeyed through the world in search of the Land of Immortality?
The sweltering heat of the day had subsided in the last hours, and now, a cool breeze blew through Cedric's hair. He closed his eyes and walked blindly for a while; the path ahead was not as thickly wooded as the way behind.
"Ceddie," she had said, "do you know the fairy-tale of the prince who sought immortality? He wandered through all the lands and met the king of the eagles, the bald-headed king, and the Blue Kingdom's queen. They and their relatives were all meant to live for hundreds, even a thousand years and offered the prince to marry into their families to become as long-living as them. However, the prince only wanted true, eternal immortality and continued his journey without faltering until he found the Land of Immortality. He stayed for a thousand years which felt, to him, like mere six months. Then, he went to the Queen of Immortality and told her he wanted to visit his parents; he had forgotten the true passage and strength of time. Still, he insisted to go. The Queen let him go and gifted him with two flasks for his journey. The first one contained…"
While Cedric reminisced about that fairy-tale, a thought jumped at him, sudden and unexpected, and it cut short his memory.
If the Marquis knew about Grim Reapers, he definitely knew that I was one too. But then…
"As I have expected: another tragedy. And such a sad one. Rossdale is such an old name."
Cedric stopped in his tracks, the blood in his veins grew cold. He opened his eyes and stared into the night.
He knew. He must know. He knew about my family. The Marquis must have heard about that day, and if he knew that I was a Grim Reaper, he must have guessed that it had happened to me, not to one of my ancestors.
"A sad tragedy." The way he had said those words…
What if… what if the Marquis knew something about that incident I didn't know?
And what had he meant with "another tragedy"?
Cedric slumped against a tree. It had been such a long time ago. He had not expected to hear anything about that incident ever again, let alone considered that there could still be someone in the world who knew more about it than he did.
He had no idea how to feel about that.
Thus, when Jacques waved to him from ahead and beckoned him "to come quickly, there are more asters here!" Cedric was, for once, glad for the boy's company. He pushed himself from the tree and went to Jacques.
What else was there to tell about asters? wondered Cedric as he crossed the distance between them. The sun was gone now and Cedric awkwardly retrieved a lantern from his bag and ignited its candle as he walked. When he finally reached Jacques, the lantern light did not only illuminate the boy and the lavender flowers but also…
"Look, Duke Kristopher," whispered Jacques. "It's a sleeping marcassin."
…a wild boar piglet.
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
Panic spread from his heart to his limbs like poison, and Cedric grabbed Jacques' arm and slowly dragged him away from the piglet before the panic froze his movements. Boar piglets lived with their mothers and often even in an entire group of mothers and their young.
And one should never provoke a wild boar, let alone a boar mother!
"It's just sleeping and there is no one else," said Jacques while Cedric gradually pulled him backwards.
"This means its mother is searching for it," Cedric replied, and he held his breath when he heard crackling branches and hooves.
He carefully craned his head to the side.
There she was.
In all her terrifying glory.
The lantern light let her dark brown coat shine and highlighted the bristles.
And the fury in her dark eyes.
Cedric tugged Jacques slowly backwards; the mother boar's eyes were trained on them. For a moment, Cedric thought that all would be well, that they could slowly retreat and stay safe.
He was wrong.
The boar let out a piercing cry and charged at them.
~Cloudia~
That liar Maxime was a shoemaker! A shoemaker, not an innkeeper!
Not long after Aurèle had told Cloudia about Maxime, she had excused herself and gone to her room; Aurèle had stayed behind in the training room. The gears in her head were turning, and it had itched her to write down everything she had learned about this case as she had wanted to do for a while. Now, Cloudia closed her bedroom door behind her and walked straight to her desk. She took out her notebook and a pen and began to write:
The Nanteuil-la-Forêt Murders
We travelled by ship from Dover to Dunkirk on June 14th. We arrived in Nanteuil-la-Forêt on June 17th, in the night to the 18th. We were supposed to arrive a day early, but on the 15th, there was a delay because our carriage and driver suddenly became unavailable; we could only resume our journey the day after.
On the morning of June 16, a stranger arrived in Nanteuil-la-Forêt. He checked into the inn and stayed in his room (Room 245) until the evening. He only talked to Maxime Guilbert upon his arrival. Since his departure in the evening on the 16th, his whereabouts are unknown.
Maxime described the stranger as follows: A tall, slender man who wears concealing winter clothes in summer. His hair was hidden under a hat, but Maxime could see a bit of it; the stranger has gold-blond hair and a "nice" eye colour, though Maxime could not remember the exact colour. He wears glasses and speaks without an accent; there is nothing notable about his speech.
Maxime lied about being the innkeeper; he is, in fact, a shoemaker. The reason for his lie and pretence is unknown. His testimonies should, thus, not be trusted. However, Gaspard Baudet also testified that he saw the stranger on the 16th, and his description matched Maxime's. Furthermore, the inspection of Room 245 resulted in the discovery of a strand of blond hair. The stranger seemingly does exist.
Room 245 was also oddly clean and unused. It is, therefore, possible that the stranger was not inside the inn from morning to evening as Maxime stated.
In the night from the 16th to the 17th, Nadia Allemand was killed. She was the village's tailor and lived together with her partner Armelle Peletier who was the first person at the crime scene. Nadia was killed right before she could go to bed with a blow to the backside of her head. The culprit then placed her in the middle of her shop and acupunctured her skin with fine needles. Those needles used to be stored in a locked tea box in her shop; the culprit could have only known about them if they had personally known Nadia. Hence, a stranger could not be her murderer. The culprit also left the shop a mess, but the disorder is too orderly and nothing was stolen. They unsuccessfully tried to make the crime scene look like a burglary gone wrong.
Nadia is the only one whose corpse was found inside.
In the night from the 17th to 18th, Dominique Duhamel was killed. He was the baker's son and Nadia's apprentice. He was found hanging from the church's roof by members of the clergy. Dominique was stabbed twice through the heart and he was discovered with an ordinary knife protruding from his chest. Lisa theorises that Dominique was stabbed once and killed; then, the culprit pulled out the knife, hanged Dominique, and stabbed him again. He was cleanly pierced through the heart without any apparent struggle.
Marcel Royer, the pastor, testified that he had watched the church from his home that night. He did not see anyone climbing the church with a ladder. Possibly, the culprit used the secret roof entrance instead; that is Marcel's theory. Only three people know about it though, and none of them could be the culprit. A stranger could not have known about the mechanism. That the murderer was able to hang Dominique from the church also means they must be quite strong.
Furthermore, Dominique was in love with Nicolette Royer. In his room, I found a ripped poem addressed to "Ni" – that must refer to Nicolette. Dominique and his mother often helped out at the church.
Aurèle said that Dominique collected clothes but when I inspected his room, he did not have many clothes at all; all his clothes had also been pushed to one side. Someone must have removed half of his wardrobe – likely his more "extravagant" pieces or even some he created himself. This was probably done to hide any connections between Dominique and Nadia.
Dominique's friend Enzo Chauveau testified that he behaved very oddly (writing down something in his notebook and refusing to show it; he seemed lost in thought and nervous) before his death. His other friend Gaspard, however, thinks that Enzo simply imagined the change in behaviour in Dominique as he desperately wants there to be a mystery in the village. Still, Enzo's words should be considered.
For an unknown reason, Dominique's father Basile lied when he gave his testimony.
In the night from the 18th to the 19th, Gustave Beaubois was killed. He was the woodcutter's, Ferdinand Beaubois', eldest son. He was discovered by Marc Cazal in the forest, close to the village border. He was lying on his stomach and he had been stabbed with an ordinary kitchen in the back; it still protruded from it when he was found. Gustave's neck was twisted to make him look up empty-eyed.
Gustave's clothes were damp from the night's rain which also cooled his body. His pockets were empty. He is strongly built; if he had been attacked, he could have easily fought back and won. Interestingly, there were no signs of a fight.
Gustave was set to inherit his father's business as the eldest son. However, because of his laziness, his younger brother Marius deemed him unsuitable. They often fought about that; the brothers' relationship was, thus, very strained. The youngest brother, Antoine, even suspects that Marius could have killed Gustave. He also testified that Marius never went to bed the night of Gustave's murder and that Gustave sneaked out of the house later. Beforehand, Gustave was, apparently, quite amused by Marius' nightly absence.
In the night from the 19th to 20th, Marius Beaubois was killed. He is Gustave's younger brother. He was found in the fountain on the village square. Antoine said Marius sneaked out that night. It was raining heavily the entire night; still, he was not dressed for the weather. Where did he want to go without a cloak or jacket?
Marius was fully submerged in water. His head was smashed in the front and back with a hammer or a similar utensil; a lot of force was used to "pry" his head open which indicates that the culprit must have been quite strong. Because of the rain, it is unknown whether Marius fought against his assailant or not.
Marius did not have a good relationship with anyone in Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Aurèle also called him a "thief," and Antoine stated that Marius was weaker than Gustave when it came to physical strength.
In the night from the 20th to 21st, Ruben Fournier was killed. He was the blacksmith's son and Gustave's best friend. Serge Renou, the cemetery's groundskeeper, discovered Ruben's corpse. He returned to the cemetery in the dead of night to retrieve his wallet which he had forgotten in the mausoleum. He then saw that a plot had been dug over. Serge decided to look and found Ruben's corpse buried about two or three metres deep; a knife had been buried with him. He contacted Alain Descombes and Yvette Guilloux shortly afterwards.
The knife was identified as the murder weapon. Ruben was stabbed in the chest with it before he was buried. It is unknown whether he was murdered in the cemetery or elsewhere.
There are no signs that Ruben fought back. His father, Xavier Fournier, noted that this is very unusual as he would always fight back if he had to; Ruben was also quite strong. Xavier said that Ruben was a quiet boy and devastated by Gustave's death as they had been best friends since childhood. Ruben never kept any secrets from his parents but about a week before his death, it seemed as if he was hiding something from them. Xavier does not know what it could have been.
I was unable to interrogate Ruben's mother as she has been visiting her ailing sister in a nearby village for about two weeks now. Ruben's aunt is very sick and needs surgery the family cannot afford to survive.
Furthermore, Xavier stated that, while Ruben showed talent in blacksmithing, he did not hone it as he was rather lazy. Aurèle confirmed this. Ruben briefly worked for the farmer Corentin Tonnelier who was very dissatisfied with his performance; e.g., Ruben never used fertiliser properly. Corentin fired Ruben barely a week after hiring him.
Similarities:
All of the victims did not fight back against their assailant (potential exception: Marius). They seemingly "stood still and let it happen." This is highly unusual behaviour. It could mean that all victims knew their murderer; still, upon realising their counterpart's murderous intention (e.g., when the culprit took out a knife), the victims could have fought back – they never did, though. None of them had been drugged.
Further notes:
On the 13th, Hector Monteil joined the gendarme force of Nanteuil-la-Forêt. A day later, all his superiors left to help with a larger incident at a nearby village; they have not returned left. Hector is currently the only policeman in Nanteuil-la-Forêt. He is highly incompetent and can barely find his way through the village. He can be regarded as a "stranger" to the village; however, he does not match the stranger's description (Hector has red-blond hair). It is doubtful that Hector is the murderer.
Interestingly, the murders started right after all capable gendarmes had left. This cannot be a coincidence; either the stranger quickly found out that the village is currently unprotected or the culprit is a resident.
Antoine Beaubois also stated that "there is something wrong with the village" as if a "malady" was roaming through it.
Yvette Guilloux, the mayor's daughter. According to Aurèle, she is essentially the "princess" of Nanteuil-la-Forêt and is widely liked. She is set to marry Alain Descombes, her father's secretary, despite their considerable age difference as Descombes "needs" to replace his late wife.
Yvette has been our guide in the village and accompanied us to (almost) every crime scene and interrogation. While she is friendly to us, she has been observing us very intently and insists on her presence – e.g., she did not allow me to speak to Armelle in private, and she and Descombes joined Kam and me at Xavier's as soon as they could despite their presence being unnecessary. Interrogated people often look at Yvette when talking, and she sometimes diverts the conversation or dismisses people – e.g., she interrupted Enzo and told him he was needed at home when he was about to answer a question. She also speaks for others (e.g. Violaine) instead of letting them answer on their own and has been untruthful in several instances (e.g. the Guilberts).
Because Yvette does not seem strong enough to have been able to lift Dominique, she is very likely not the culprit. She could be stronger than she appears to be; still, hanging someone of Dominique's stature from a building is not something even I could do. Although Yvette is possibly not the murderer, she might know more than she admits. She could, e.g., know who the culprit is and might protect them, maybe even hide them. Or there could be something else. Aurèle noted that Yvette is very intelligent; she could be scheming something – but what?
Yvette has also overseen and handled the murders with surprising competence. She ensured that crime scenes would not be tampered with and asked Laurent Michaux, the head of the local hospital, to preserve and safe-keep the corpses; due to lack of knowledge and experience, Laurent did not examine the bodies.
Additionally, Armelle stated that her room was "cold" because of the "people inside it." In turn, the living room was "warm" for the same reason. Only Armelle, Yvette, and I were in her room. Armelle did not mean me; she meant that Yvette was bringing "coldness" into the room with her presence. Armelle also sounded annoyed and unhappy when greeting Yvette.
Could Yvette be the "malady"? Or, at least, know about it?
There is an interesting patient at the hospital. It is the only patient on the upper floor, and their room is the farthest from the stairs. I saw Corinne, a nurse, entering the room with a tray of water and medicine. Interestingly, she had to unlock the door beforehand. Why would this patient have to be locked up?
Theories:
Kamden suggested that, perhaps, the stranger is not a human but a monster/a fantastical entity. He based his theory on the words of some men who came to his bookstore a few weeks ago. They spoke about a series of strange murders in the North of England in 1841; the culprit was, apparently, "a phantom." I've never heard of those murders, and I doubt that case is applicable to the murders in Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Furthermore, I highly doubt there was a "phantom" at all, or that the stranger is such an entity.
Both Kam and Cedric are alarmed by the stranger's hair colour. "Gold-blond" is a rather conspicuous colour. Milton has that hair colour which makes them wonder whether he is the stranger. This is, of course, a ridiculous idea. Milton is not only not a murderer, he, like the rest of us, arrived a full day after the murders began. He has also never been in Nanteuil-la-Forêt before and could not have known about Nadia's tea box.
Cedric's theory is also based on the facts that the stranger's eyes were described as "pretty," the stranger's room is as unused as Milton's, and Milton somehow "vanished" after entering the kitchen a few nights ago. Because the timeline and other details do not fit, Milton can be ruled out as the killer though.
Cedric's unreasonable paranoia was triggered by Cecelia who told him about (baseless) rumours that Milton (or possibly Wentworth, per Cedric's own "deductions") is a weapons smuggler. Additionally, Cedric theorises that Wentworth may be working with Nicodemus Townsend. Milton had to come to France because he needs to fix some company-related problems; for that, he has to see someone in Paris. Cedric thinks Wentworth may have fabricated an issue to lure Milton to Paris where he would hand him over to Townsend as Milton can possibly open the Queen's box.
While I worry that Townsend could somehow learn about Milton's talent (the chances are low though), I doubt Wentworth would ever do such a thing. Milton is also not easy prey for anyone to catch (except under certain circumstances) which helps to contain my worry.
Cloudia let her pen hover over the page, turned it around in her hand, and ultimately set it down. This was everything she had gathered so far. Still, no matter how long she pored over her notes, her mind was blank. She sighed and leaned back, tilting her head to stare at the ceiling.
She had to think of something. But every idea came out porous, and before Cloudia could dwell on it, it fell through her fingers. She groaned and rubbed her eyes.
Why can't I think of anything? Cloudia thought. Then, as if he was standing right next to her, a memory of Milton resurfaced to answer her: "If it is a mystery you are busying yourself with and at which you are stuck… at times, it is best to take a short break and think of anything else, do anything else. Sometimes thinking too intensely is the problem: It often blocks your mind. Letting your mind wander to different places, you may be able to think of possibilities you have not considered before."
Cloudia sat up. Milton was right. She was torturing herself over this problem so much that her mind was now too blocked and tired to form any passable thought or theory.
She needed a break.
But Cedric had still not returned and everyone was asleep at this hour. Cloudia had no idea what to do, but she did know that she would only go crazy if she stayed in her room, sitting at her desk.
Taking a deep breath, she stood up and left her room.
~Cedric~
For a split second, Cedric thought that this was the end. This was how he would die a second time. Annoyed and exhausted in a forest and mauled to death by an angry wild boar. The female Grim Reaper would collect Jacques' soul and register his passing, and with a pang of cold Cedric realised that he did not know what would become of him afterwards.
And then, Cedric tightened his hold on Jacques and stepped sideways, the boar running past them by a hairbreadth.
His heart pounded in his ears.
It was impossible to outrun a wild boar. One could only try to step aside at the right moment or climb on a tree or boulder beforehand – or hope a boar would never charge at them.
There was no boulder. No time to climb trees. Cedric had no strength and nerves left to dodge another attack.
Thus, when the wild boar mother charged at him and Jacques again, Cedric was frozen in place.
And right before she could ram into them, he teleported.
Shivering, Cedric collapsed face-first into a patch of dirt, about 150 metres away from the château. He heard Jacques fall to the ground next to him.
I officially hated that boy.
Holding lecture after lecture about plants and animals and then not retreating for his life upon seeing a wild boar! I had to talk to his father and tell him that, if he wanted to teach the children about nature, he could not forget to tell them about what to do when actually coming into contact with the wild! Memorising a plant's scientific name would not save you from its poison. A wild boar would not show you mercy because you could list all its subspecies!
Cedric stayed on the ground for twenty or thirty minutes – it was surprisingly cool and comfortable – before he heaved himself to his feet. He brushed some dirt from his face and clothes as he looked down at Jacques. Without Cedric's Grim Reaper abilities, they would not have left that boar encounter unscathed. Of course, Jacques could not know about that. That he had fainted after that sudden supernatural transport was, thus, a huge relief. Cedric could simply lie that Jacques had lost consciousness when seeing the wild boar running towards them and that Cedric had brought him to safety – and all the way to the château. Adrenaline would have gifted him with that strength. Cedric nodded at himself and then picked up Jacques like a sack of potatoes. Thankfully, he was quite light and Cedric only grunted a little as he carried him the last bit to the château.
Cedric left Jacques with a couple of servants. He explained the situation to them until he remembered that none of them spoke English. He hit himself in the head and then waved them goodbye before he climbed up the stairs to his room on shaky legs. Cedric was finally back in the château. His entire body ached – and his heart ached to see Cloudia. He had not spoken to her in over twenty-four hours and their last conversation had ended with him hitting his head twice and then passing out.
With great effort, Cedric fumbled open the door to his room and fell, with considerably less effort, onto the carpet. He laid down on the side and raised his hand to hold the skull pendant. Cedric would have called Cloudia if his sanity had not returned to him at that moment.
How could he face her like he was now? Dirty, sweaty, hungry, and lying miserably on the ground? At the very least, Cedric had to take a bath and change his clothes before he could call her.
Groaning, he let go of the pendant and sat up. The room spun for a few seconds, and when it had stopped, Cedric pulled himself up by grabbing onto the sofa. He kicked the door closed and then dragged himself into the bathroom. He filled the bathtub with warm water and took off his mud-caked clothes and threw them on the ground.
Cedric nearly fell asleep after gliding into the warm water but kept himself awake by digging his fingers into his palm.
From nearly dying in a wild boar attack to almost drowning in a bathtub. What an eventful day.
And although Cedric did not fall asleep inside the tub, he stayed there for as long as he could before he turned completely wrinkly. He then struggled to get out, dried himself, and got dressed. The bath had woken Cedric up a little but not quite enough and now, he was blindly taking out clothes from his wardrobe, hoping that they somewhat fit together and he would not end up looking as much a clown as he felt.
Fully, and hopefully also passably, dressed, Cedric lifted his hand to the skull pendant and he was about to call Cloudia when his stomach let out a noise more horrifying than the mother boar's combat cry.
Maybe I should eat something before I collapsed.
If only this building was not such a death-trap.
Sighing, Cedric started his odyssey to the kitchen.
~Cloudia~
It was fantastically boring to wander through the château on your own. Besides the ridiculous layout, it was, after all, a perfectly normal building, and after coming across the 50th pretty vase with intricate flower arrangement, it became a bit monotonous.
Unfortunately, this meant that nothing in her surroundings was eye-catching enough to divert Cloudia's attention from the Nanteuil-la-Forêt murders. She was still combing through the facts over and over again in her head. And no matter how often she pushed those thoughts away, they kept returning. It was maddening. Sighing, Cloudia turned another corner and decided to visit Lisa and Newman in the servants' tract. Lisa would definitely agree to play poker or any other card game with her; that could distract her. Cloudia looked around to make out any detail that could help her find the right way – and then realised that she was in the wing where all her cousins had been lodged.
Itching to ask Aurèle a few more questions, Cloudia walked eagerly towards his room before she stopped herself.
No, no, no! I was here to get away from thinking about the case, not to talk even more about it.
Cloudia clenched her teeth and quickly walked the other way. She was almost by the stairs when she heard chuckling from one of the rooms. If she remembered correctly, it was Arnaud's room. Cloudia carefully opened the door and caught Arnaud and Anaïs running around the room in their night clothes, giggling and laughing. They stopped the instant they noticed Cloudia.
"Claudette!" exclaimed Anaïs and looked a bit embarrassed to the side.
Cloudia stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. "It's all right. I often got up after being brought to bed too. Do you mind if I join you for a while?"
"Not at all," said Arnaud. Cloudia smiled at him and sat down on a sofa. "Thanks."
A mumble came from the blanket pile next to her and then Gérard emerged from it. He could barely open his eyes as he reached out to Cloudia, mumbling her name. Cloudia took him into her arms and he fell asleep as soon as his head touched her chest. She raised an eyebrow at Anaïs.
"He always wants to stay up late too," Anaïs explained. "Of course, he's only three and can't stay awake for as long as Arnaud or I can. We always carry him back to bed afterwards, don't worry."
"He's so little, and it's almost midnight. Next time, simply don't take him out of his bed," said Cloudia and grabbed the blanket to cover Gérard.
Arnaud nodded. "We won't get him next time, we promise."
"Why have you come here, Claudette?" asked Anaïs and sat down next to Cloudia.
"I wanted to clear my head a bit and wandered around the château without paying much attention to where I was going," Cloudia replied. "I was about to visit Lisa and Newman when I heard your laughter. Perhaps, you should be more careful with that if you don't want to be lectured."
"You're right but we had so much fun and couldn't help ourselves." Anaïs smiled at Arnaud. "Right?"
He nodded. "Yes. We've been playing various games. We began with jeu de la barbichette; Anaïs' kept losing."
"Well, you keep looking funnily at me! I just have to laugh."
"You need to train not to laugh. If you play with someone else, you'll be hit again and again. That's not good," Arnaud said softly before he turned back to Cloudia. "Afterwards, we continued with escargot."
"And now we're playing tag," said Anaïs. "Do you want to play too, Claudette?"
Cloudia shook her head. "No. I'm at an unfair advantage with my age. You can keep playing while I bring Gérard to bed," she said and stood up, carefully cradling the boy in her arms. Gérard was not heavy by any means but Cloudia had never carried a child before and she slightly feared he could break in her grip; small children looked so fragile after all. Slowly, Cloudia left the room and went to the one Gérard shared with his sister while Arnaud and Anaïs resumed chasing each other behind her. She placed Gérard in his little bed and drew the blanket over him. There was a small stuffed animal, a rabbit, next to the bed and Cloudia laid it next to Gérard; maybe, he would appreciate its presence. Then, she quietly left the room and returned to Arnaud's.
Cloudia opened the door and saw Anaïs tapping Arnaud's back and saying "I've got you!" before she backed away giggling, and tried to outrun him. The sight made Cloudia stop on the doorsill, staring at the children playing while her mind put together all the pieces and realisation dawned upon her.
Of course. Of course!
It had to be like that. But could it really be true?
I needed to walk through this theory. I needed to talk through it.
I needed…
Cloudia reached for her skull pendant, excitement blooming in her chest. "I think I'll leave you alone now," she said. She could barely hear her own words over her pounding heart. Arnaud and Anaïs stopped in their tracks.
"That's fine. Good night, Claudette," he said.
"Good night, Claudette," she said. "Will you go see Duke Kristopher now?"
Cloudia stared at Anaïs. "He's here?"
Anaïs smiled. "Yes. He and Jacques arrived early – almost an hour ago, I think. Did nobody tell you?"
"No," said Cloudia, shaking her head. "I left my room over an hour ago; if someone went to tell me, they could not have found me." She took a step back. "Thank you for telling me. I'll go now – good night," she hastily added, left the room and closed the door in one swift motion.
Tightening her grip on the pendant, Cloudia turned around on her heels and hurried to the stairs. Undertaker, she thought. Where are you?
She waited for a few heartbeats before she asked again. Twice, she called; twice, Cedric did not reply. With a frown, Cloudia descended the stairs and grabbed her skirts with her free hand to move even faster.
She was in a hurry. Her body was overflowing with joy and she had to share her findings before the excitement overtook her, and while Cedric was here – finally back here at the château – he was unreachable. How could he do that to her? Why was he not answering? With long strides, Cloudia rushed to Cedric's room in record time. However, when she flung open the door, he was nowhere to be seen. Neither in the anteroom nor the bedroom; the dirty clothes cast aside in the bathroom at least indicated that Cedric had been here. Cloudia tried to call Cedric again as she hastened to the kitchen – still, no answer.
Why did he have to be unreachable now?
With a slight flutter in her heart, Cloudia halted momentarily.
No, Cedric was not quite unreachable. She might be unable to call him, but she could reach out to his presence through the necklace. Cedric had told her all about it when he had explained how he could find her at the Witch's Castle a few months back.
I had never attempted that before; I never had to. And I hoped it worked as well for me as it had worked for him.
Cloudia tightened her grip on the skull pendant and closed her eyes, concentrated on the necklace's twin that Cedric always carried with him, focused on their connection which allowed them to communicate over great distances. The connection, the invisible thread that seemed to run between the pendants, forever linking one to the other.
She fixated on that connection until she finally felt the thread, felt it pulled tautly. Cloudia opened her eyes and let the thread pull her to Cedric.
Cloudia found Cedric slumped against a wall multiple turns and corridors away from the kitchen. She felt a pang in her heart when she saw him despite his ridiculous attire – red vest to a green shirt and striped blue-black trousers – and she knelt next to his sleeping body. The journey through the forest and back and the meeting with the Clockmaker must have been more taxing than Cloudia had imagined.
She gently shook Cedric by his shoulders. To her surprise, his eyes fluttered open upon the first shake and he stared at her for a moment as if he could not comprehend where he was and what he was seeing.
"Have I died again?" Cedric asked hoarsely, and Cloudia chuckled. "No, you fell asleep on the way to the kitchen."
"That would have been my second guess," he replied, nodding surprisingly energetically despite his state.
Cloudia pulled him to his feet and did not let go of his hand afterwards. "Let's get you something to eat," she said. "And then we'll go down to Nanteuil-la-Forêt."
Cedric slowly blinked at her. "Why?"
Cloudia could not hold it back anymore; she grinned brightly as she squeezed Cedric's hand. She was shaking with euphoria and her heart was taking leaps in her chest when she said, "Undertaker. I need you to check something for me. I've solved the mystery of the murders."
England, United Kingdom – May 1843
~Cloudia~
Cloudia watched Clifford brush away the loose hair from the cut before he removed the cloth from around Oscar's shoulders. They had spent the night at an inn in a nearby village. It had been too late to drive back to the townhouse by the time Oscar had been released, and Clifford had insisted for Cloudia to rest. And because he had helped her although he knew better, she had agreed. They had received quite a few stares because of Oscar's ragged look, but now, after a thorough bath, a trim, and a haircut, he looked rather handsome.
Maybe if the same people spotted him leaving the inn, they would gape and look twice to make sure that it was indeed the man they saw entering the building as a dishevelled Neanderthal the night before. Oscar had made quite the transformation – cleaned up, even his sunken cheeks did not look as prominent anymore –, though he would certainly look even better in a few weeks or months after he had got enough food and sleep and sun again.
Clifford excused himself to enquire about carriage availabilities, and Cloudia was alone again with Oscar.
"You are staring," he said.
"I'm sorry," Cloudia replied. "I am only surprised at what wonders a bath and a haircut can do."
"Clifford is a master at his craft," said Oscar and stood up to check himself in a mirror and adjust his clothes. Cloudia had bought him a suit beforehand, though it ended up a bit too small; the size discrepancy was at least neither very dramatic nor visible. "I had even better baths before though. The butler employed at my household is one of the very best. I hope it does not need much explanation why Clifford shall never know of what I've said."
Cloudia smiled. "My lips are sealed."
"Very good."
"I am surprised that you did not try to escape," Cloudia remarked.
Oscar turned around and levelled his sharp blue eyes at her. "Of course, I did not." He paused before he continued, "I tend to hold my promises. And we made a deal."
"Indeed, we did."
"I intend to uphold my end of the bargain and will, thus, neither escape nor betray you. However, I will have to leave now."
Cloudia blinked at him. "Excuse me? What do you mean you 'have to leave now'?"
"There is somewhere I have to be."
"Now? Right after you were released from the asylum? Where would you need to be?"
"I'm afraid I cannot tell you."
"And I'm afraid I cannot let you go." She sat up straighter and hardened her gaze as she looked up at him. "You are a convict, Captain Livingstone. A notorious criminal who was only allowed to live under special orders. Only a select few people know and can know that you are still alive. To the world at large, you were privately executed an hour ago. I cannot have you freely running around. If you tell me where you have to be, I can accompany you though."
"I cannot allow you to do that," replied Oscar. "This is a very urgent matter – and long overdue. I have to go there. It is not a questionable place, but nevertheless not one where I can take you. Maybe one day, but not now."
Cloudia raised an eyebrow. "This seems to be very important to you but I cannot let you go."
"You have my word that I will be inconspicuous. I will not draw anyone's attention to me. No one who is not trustworthy will learn about my survival. Furthermore, you cannot be with me all the time anyway. And where am I supposed to live from now on? With you at Phantomhive Manor? I doubt you or anyone else will want that. Especially considering that you have family who cannot find out about me. You cannot hide me away in your home," he said. "You will have to leave me alone and trust me for this partnership to work."
"I know that but I've only met you yesterday. I cannot trust someone I don't even know for twenty-four hours," Cloudia replied. "You are also not 'any' man I know for less than a day. You are the Yard Ripper, Scotland Yard's prime investigator who turned into a serial killer. I pledged for you to be spared to Her Majesty and Police Commissioners Rowan and Mayne. You are my responsibility; whatever you do, I will have to bear the consequences. I have to learn to trust you to some degree at least, but I can only do this with time. And I didn't get that time and opportunity so far. I hope you can understand my concerns and reluctance."
"I do," Oscar stated. "I do not wish to start our partnership by burdening you even more than I already do with my mere existence. Still, this is something I have to do. I promise you that I will do nothing that will taint your reputation. I promise to return in a week and meet up with you in a place of your choice – the manor, the townhouse, or wherever else you wish. I promise that if I don't uphold this, I will allow you to kill me on the spot if you find me."
"If I find you," she stressed. "I cannot allow this. I'm sorry. Perhaps this can be postponed?
He looked at her. "Then, I will redeem the favour you owe me."
Cloudia's eyes widened. "I thought you needed my help with something."
"I can let go of it for this."
She stared at him and considered this strange man standing before her.
What could it be so important to him that he would give up his part of the bargain so readily? I had researched everything about Oscar before I went to the Queen, before I went to the asylum, but I had no idea what it could be.
Part of me knew that I should still not accept this. Favour or not, I could not let the Yard Ripper run loose for a week before I could properly evaluate and get to know him. But he was so very serious about this matter…
"Five days," Cloudia said. "I give you five days to do whatever you want – have – to do. After those five days, you will meet me at my townhouse in London even if you were unable to do what you wanted. If you don't arrive on May 14th at the townhouse, I will do what you've said: hunt you down and kill you when I find you.
"And when you return," she added, "I want to know what all this was about."
There was a change in Oscar's face, and Cloudia had to look twice to register that he was smiling. Not maliciously or mockingly, but genuinely – and nervously. There was even a bit of uncertainty in his beautiful blue eyes as if he did not know whether this "duty" or whatever it was he had to do would be successful. It was such an unguarded display of emotions, and Cloudia knew that she had to thoroughly memorise it; she would likely never witness such a look again on Oscar's face.
"I thank you, Mylady. I will tell you what you want to know when we meet again," Oscar said before, impossibly, a gentleness crept into his voice that startled Cloudia as he continued, "And there's someone I want you to meet."
This was a bit of a recap chapter and I hope I did not miss anything important... We are (almost) at the end of the Nanteuil-la-Foret investigations! They went on for MUCH longer than initially planned and I hope it's not been too boring! Very excited for you to read what's going to come next in this arc :))
The next chapter (batch of chapters?) "Nebulous" (and the ones that will follow it) need(s) a bit more extensive extra research and more meticulous planning. I hope I won't take too long, but it could take a while until everything is set enough for me before I can type everything out. (Not that you're not used to long waiting times for updates... Sorry!)
I hope you liked this chapter and bye until next time^^
And thanks to everyone to commented last time :) I'll keep uploading here then^^