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tothelasthoursofmylife · 3 years

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“To bring order to a disordered world was the detective’s job.”

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

~Cedric~

The rain howled unforgivingly outside, scratched against the stone and glass beneath a steel grey sky. Cedric tensed whenever they passed a window with its curtains drawn back and his eyes darted to Milton. Thankfully, after his episode in the library, he seemed to be doing better, though he still looked deathly pale. Nonetheless, Cedric wished his chessboard was only half as heavy as it was so that he could go and cover all windows, damping the storm with the thick curtains.

They had decided to go to Cedric’s room first to put away the bothersome chessboard before continuing to the kitchen, and Cedric did his best to divert Milton’s thoughts from the rainstorm by constantly enquiring where they were now and how long it would still take to get to their destination. This seemed to work fine, and without Milton suddenly stopping and staring into who-knew-where and with his notebook navigating the château’s puzzling corridors went surprisingly easy. Still, Cedric let out a relieved sigh when they finally arrived at his room.

“Wait here,” he said to Milton. “I’ll quickly put away the chessboard and be right back.”

Milton nodded, and Cedric hurried into his room.

With Milton waiting outside, there was no time to lose. Just in and out. Even the few seconds it took to drop the board on a bureau and hurry out of the room unnerved me.

“I’m back!” Cedric announced and pulled his door into its lock. “You’re still fine, Milton?”

Milton smiled at him. “Yes, I am, Kristopher.”

“Good. For a moment, I feared you had a breakdown and recovered from it in the thirty-six seconds I was away and now have more ‘underlying’ pain because of it.” Cedric paused. “This did not happen, did it?”

“I assure you it didn’t, Kristopher. I have no reason to lie to you.”

Cedric looked at Milton and a sudden wave of exhaustion came over him, but he ignored it. He could not go to sleep right now. “That’s good. How do we get to the kitchen from here?”

Skilfully, Milton thumbed through his notebook without any loose papers tumbling out and planned their route.

“I wondered,” said Cedric while he was watching Milton going through his intelligible notes, “How do you cope with the rain when you’re travelling, by the way?”

Milton looked up. “Hm?”

“As you are travelling that often – haven’t you said you were on the road for over a year? – I wondered how you manage your ‘phantom pain’ then.”

“I… I have actually learned to endure rain fairly well,” Milton replied, looking at the notebook in his hands and fumbling with the edge of a page. “Normally, I cope fairly well, though the ‘pain’ has become a little more intense a few years ago… Still, it only becomes hard when the rain lasts as long as it does now. Bram then insists to leave and travel to a place where it doesn’t rain – as long as it does not disrupt any of our plans, of course, though Bram often insists to move regardless.”

“So, it’s like you’re being chased by the rain?”

Milton tilted his head. “I have never thought of it like that, but I would say yes.”

“Rain really does not seem to like you,” said Cedric half-absentmindedly as his eyes caught sight of a chandelier above him and yawned.

“H-hm,” murmured Milton and turned his own attention back to his preliminary floorplan. “We have to go left to the stairs first,” he said, and Cedric nodded. Of course, he knew the way to the kitchen from here – it was one of the few ways he knew in this wretched place – but he wanted to give Milton something to do and…

From the hall downstairs, Milton surely would not have to consult his notebook anymore, right?

The more time I spent with him the more convinced I became that Milton was indeed innocent. Odd, but innocent. Ideally, neither he nor Wentworth should turn out to be criminals, but if I had to pick one to be the bad one, I would choose Wentworth right now. Still, it was only a tendency, nothing definite set in stone.

I had to be sure it was Wentworth. I had to be sure it wasn’t Milton.

And even if Milton knowing half the way to the kitchen by heart meant nothing but that last night’s events had not been a fragment of my imagination and acute sleep deprivation, I had to consider everything I got, no matter how scarce it was.

Cedric smiled. “Then let’s get to those stairs, shall we?”

***

~Cloudia~

Nadia Allemand’s tailor shop was nestled between a shoemaker and a coiffeur and stuck out even in the heavy rain because of the fence which had been hastily put together to signal villagers not to enter blocking its entrance. The last time Cloudia had been there, “Crime scene: do not enter” had been written across the fence, but the words had already been washed to unrecognisability. She and Kamden removed the fence and leaned it against the shoemaker shop’s façade. Yvette stepped forward and unlocked the shop and everyone followed her inside.

Carefully tip-toeing around the objects on the ground, Cloudia headed to the closest lamp and ignited it, and with the rising, growing flame, more and more of the shop was revealed and the shadows against the walls grew longer and longer.

Everything was like when she and Cedric had first inspected the tailor shop two days ago: Fabrics had been thrown onto the ground. The pens and papers on the table were in disarray, taken out of their cases and torn from their pads. Scissors and measuring tapes and needles were laying on the ground. Even without the vaguely human-shaped area on the ground where nothing lay, Cloudia knew that the disorder had been created after the murder, not before or during it.

If a thief had broken into the tailor shop, he would not have pulled out the fabrics from their rolls as it was obvious they would not have been hiding anything; rather, if at all, something might have been hidden inside the rod in the middle of the rolls, but the rolls were still secured to their stand. And while the seemingly frantic state of the shop might suggest that the culprit had been in a hurry, had been running against time, the thin fabrics weren’t torn. The old pencils weren’t broken on the ground. The pad containing nothing but sketches and notes might have lain in one piece on the ground, and not systematically shred to pieces. Also, nothing had been taken according to the inventory notes.

Cloudia walked upstairs to the little flat Nadia had shared with her friend Armelle Peletier – to the little flat, touched only by a sheer layer of dust, but vastly untouched by the disorder. Quickly and carefully, Cloudia opened cupboards, wardrobes, drawers, looked under beds and opened and examined jars in the kitchen. She found money and heirloom jewellery far too easily for them to have been overlooked by a thief. After putting everything back, Cloudia headed back down. Halfway down, she stopped on the stairs to look down at the scene beneath her.

The vaguely human-shaped area was like a beacon in her eyes. If the chaos had not been created by a hurried thief trying to find anything of value before being detected, you might suggest that it would have come from a brawl, from Nadia fighting back against her attacker. But no piece of furniture was knocked over. No piece bore any fighting marks or even looked out of place. The paper wouldn’t have been torn from the pads, the fabrics would not have stayed as pristine as they had, and Nadia wouldn’t have perfectly fallen onto the only empty space on the ground.

Whoever had staged the crime scene had done such a poor job with it. Still, it was so very interesting and so very odd: It looked like the work of an amateur, not of a stranger who wandered the lands and regularly murdered people he didn’t know; and it was so different from the other crime scenes which had no signs of disorder and chaos – staged or not. As if the culprit had got bored with trying to cover their marks or had admitted their own incapability of faking a crime scene and decided not to bother anymore.

Or, it was as if this first murder had been committed by one person, and the others by another. The different murder weapon (the needles) and general location (inside) hinted towards that too.

And then there was the other thing that bothered me, something I had noticed at all four crime scenes: Here, despite the disorder, there were no real indications of a fight, and there had been none at the church and in the forest too. The victims hadn’t fought back which meant that they had been surprised.

Or had known their murderer.

But according to Antoine, the only connection between Marius and Dominique was that Dominique had been friends with Gustave. Dominique and Marius had never had a proper talk beyond “hello” and “how are you doing?” And neither Gustave, Marius, nor Dominique had ever been associated with Nadia in any manner.

Cloudia climbed down the rest of the steps. “Grégoire, have you got a clear picture of the crime scene? Maryse?”

Kamden looked up from a drawer he had been inspecting, craned his head to her, and nodded.

“Good. Have you found anything interesting?”

“Mlle Maryse found these,” Kamden said, and gestured to Lisa who was standing at the other end of the room. Catching her cue, she held up a bag that was slightly opened to reveal the needles inside. “Sewing needles,” Kamden continued. “You said Mme Allemand was killed with needles?”

“Yes. Dozens have been run into her body,” Cloudia replied and walked to Lisa. From the corner of her eye, she saw Yvette watching them intently.

“Mlle Maryse found the needles in a cabinet,” said Kamden while Lisa handed the bag to Cloudia. “Do you think they could be the same ones that were used to kill Mme Allemand?”

“The bag doeslook too big to hold only so few items, but I cannot tell if they are the same needles. We would have to compare them later when we inspect the bodies.”

Kamden glanced at Lisa. “If… if they are the same ones… Mlle Maryse found the bag in a cabinet, but inside a box which, judging from its décor, must have originally contained tea. It wasn’t an easy find, and she had to open the box with a picklock.”

“A picklock?”

He nodded. “Yes. It was a locked box. A locked tea box.”

“Not a place anyone would expect a bag of sewing needles to be,” said Cloudia with sparkling eyes and handed the bag back to Lisa.

“What does this mean?” Yvette asked.

Kamden and Cloudia looked at each other, and she grinned. “This means that I would love to talk to Mme Peletier next.”

***

~Cedric~

Milton did need his notebook all the way to the kitchen.

This was a relief, of course. But then… what if he usually knew his way there and was only temporarily disoriented because of the rain? What if he was only pretending not to know?

Cedric shook his head and opened the kitchen door. His tiredness and hunger were starting to mess with his head, and he hoped to find anyone in the kitchen he could ask – or rather, could ask through Milton – if they could prepare them some food. But when he stepped inside, Cedric had to notice with a sinking heart that no one was there.

Typical. Maybe there would be some leftovers from lunch somewhere, at least?

“Milton, apparently, we have to get ourselves some food on our own,” said Cedric with a sigh and walked towards the icebox when he saw, from the corner of his eye, Milton putting his notebook on one of the counters and heading to a cupboard.

Cedric turned around and hurried to prevent Milton from opening the cupboard. “Hey! What are you doing?”

“Uh… helping to find something to eat?” Milton replied and let down his hand.

“Oh, no, no, no. I will get us something. You will sit down and rest,” said Cedric and gently took Milton’s arm to lead him to a small stool.

“But I want to help, and you said ‘we have to get ourselves some food on our own.’”

“I did, but I did not mean that youwould have to rummage around and chop something or so. I meant ‘we’ in ‘oh, we need to get food,’ not in ‘oh, we both have to prepare something.’” Carefully, Cedric made Milton sit down on the stool.

“I could still help though,” protested Milton, but Cedric only shook his head. “Just let me do this. What did you say earlier? It’s a ‘remnant from the time before I became a duke.’ I was once a commoner, after all. Before becoming a baron, you were a lord. That’s the title of a baron’s child, isn’t it, my pampered friend?”

“No… no, it isn’t,” Milton said, and Cedric let go of his arm. “The children of a baron have no title. They are only styled ‘The Honourable’ as a courtesy. Father was the younger son of a baron and, thus, styled ‘The Honourable.’ I was only ever a ‘Mr’ though until Father became Baron. And I was certainly never pampered.”

Cedric groaned. “All this is unnecessarily confusing. Anyway, whether you grew up pampered or not, you’re unwell todayand I won’t, by all Heavens, let you go anywhere near a knife. Or, to be very frank with you, Milton, I am not even sure if I would ever let you go near a knife.”

Milton fumbled with his sleeves. “Yes... that would be the most sensible decision. I will just sit here then.”

“Perfect,” said Cedric and went to the icebox, wishing for leftovers, but was only met with single ingredients.

Cooking from scratch it was then.

“Any lunch wishes, Milton?” Cedric asked and started to look through the kitchen to see what was there.

“I… I think it would be best to look first what ingredients are available and what you can cook from them. I do not want to make a wish, you make it your goal to fulfil it, and then get disappointed or frustrated when you cannot do it,” Milton replied, smiling.

“You are consideration personified I forgot,” said Cedric, and Milton turned red. He got flustered so easily, it was almost endearing, but mostly it was amusing.

Much to Cedric’s relief, the kitchen had basically everything. He was not a terrible cook, but if Denis wasn’t restocking the kitchen’s inventory so diligently and there were only a few ingredients available, the number of dishes Cedric was able to cook would fall dramatically; and he didn’t want to resort to throwing everything into a stew. He wanted to cook something a little more elaborate. Something with a fancy name. Something to impress Milton.

On the small but fine list of dishes Cedric could cook, there was only one that fulfilled all three criteria. He could only hope it would turn out well today.

There was usually a fifty-fifty probability of me ruining the dish, but that was mostly because I often lost track of time and left it on the stove for too long. This time, I would be especially attentive though, so all should go well.

“How about kedgeree?” asked Cedric.

“Oh! I haven’t had it in years,” Milton said, tightly clenched his hands together, and smiled brightly. There was a shine in his eyes that Cedric knew all too well – though he usually knew it from someone else.

“That’s perfect then,” Cedric replied happily and headed to where he saw the rice being stored.

“But, Kristopher, don’t you think it will take too long to cook? You are hungry – wouldn’t it be better to prepare something quick? Or you’ll have to wait an hour or more until you can finally eat.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Milton. I want to eat, but I would rather eat something ‘proper’ before the Lady gives me a lecture later.” Cedric filled two cups of rice into a pot he had found in a cupboard and carried it to a countertop. “Oh, and, by the way, Milton, if it’s itching you to tell me all the things you know about kedgeree, go ahead.”

Milton chuckled. “Did I give myself away?”

“You forget I spent a lot of time with someone like you,” Cedric said and stopped in his movement for a moment before he picked up his pace again. Quickly, quickly. Gathering the fish, milk, water, a pan…

“Oh, where to start?” began Milton. “The history of kedgeree is a very interesting one as it’s not simply an Indian dish. It is the British adaptation or version of khichdi which is a traditional Indian dish, though it is also very popular amongst Muslims and attracted the attention and curiosity of Europeans and North Africans after the Silk Road was ‘reopened’ in the 13th, 14th century. Back then, Europeans were fairly eager to learn about Indian traditions and customs. This changed with the Age of Discovery. The West began to look down on India. In regards to khichdi, Afanasy Nikitin, one of the first Europeans to travel to India, compared the dish to horse feed in his book A Journey Beyond the Three Seas. While the East India Company still possesses this attitude, it also knows that handling affairs in a different country is easier when you are familiar with its customs.”

“That’s interesting,” Cedric said absentmindedly while he added a few cups of water to the pot with the rice before transferring it from the countertop to the stove. His focus had to be on cooking after all, not on Milton’s story.

“The so-called ‘nabobs’ – a Hindustani word which was used to refer to officials or governors under the Mughal Empire before – from the East India Company…,” Milton continued, but then he abruptly halted when Cedric put the lid on the pot, turned on the stove, and then casually proceeded to prepare the fish for poaching. “Kristopher?”

“Yes, Milton?”

“Uhm, I don’t want to offend you or overstep, not only but especially because you are the one who is putting effort into cooking, so I ask this as kindly as possible and hope not to hurt your feelings, and if I do, I sincerely apologise in advance and afterwards I will apologise again even if you said I should not, but I do believe it would be appropriate in this context and��” Milton took a deep breath. “Kristopher… could it be that you forgot to wash the rice?”

Cedric turned away from the fish and blinked at Milton in bewilderment. “You wash rice?”

They looked at each other for one long moment before Milton said, astonishingly succeeding to sound both close to tears and perfectly polite at once, “Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe… Maybe if you are too tired or too hungry yourself, Kristopher, to prepare something… I… I would be fine with sandwiches, Kristopher.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed just to eat a sandwich or a dozen,” meant Cedric. “However, there’s still the Lady… Us eating sandwiches – and, I suggest, healthy portions of biscuits as well, perhaps even cake if we can find some – would require you to lie to her if she asks.”

“I don’t like to lie, Kristopher.”

Cedric looked at Milton, and his next words were only a moment too late, only a second too hesitant. “I won’t force you to do something you don’t want to do, Milton.”

“That is very kind of you, but…” A little shaky smile appeared on Milton’s lips. “But it’s not a lie when I simply mention your kitchen skills, not what we have eaten today,” he said, and Cedric automatically looked at him in surprise.

“Wonderful!” Cedric quickly exclaimed and turned off the stove, hoping that Milton had not caught him. “I will go ahead and make some sandwiches now,” he added and ran off to find some bread – and, hopefully, some pastries on the way as well.

Coming to think of it… I could not remember having anything sweet after Anaïs’ tea party. No wonder I was so tired.

“Any preferences, Milton?” Cedric called before he pedalled back. “Right. ‘Let’s see first what’s there!’ I’ll let you know and ask then.”

Cedric rummaged in a cupboard and found, to his delight, some bread and a box of biscuits. Humming, he put his findings on a countertop and then headed to the icebox to get some toppings. And while he gathered all he needed, he saw from the corner of his eye Milton fumbling nervously with his sleeves as if he wanted to say something, but still weighted out if he should. Cedric was just about to ask him what was bothering him – could it be that he had forgotten something crucial again? – when Milton’s pent-up words burst out of him on his own. “Do you really believe that Lady Cloudia would be upset if she were to learn that you did not have a ‘proper’ meal for lunch?”

Cedric turned to Milton, staring at him. “Huh?”

“We had a similar conversation before,” it tumbled out of Milton who had turned red in embarrassment. “When we played chess, and you wanted me to tell Lady Cloudia that you were able to deduce that I use people as anchors when it rains because you thought she wouldn’t believe you if you told her yourself.” He looked down at his hands. “And now lunch. I mean she would definitely be glad that you have eaten anything at all. So, uh… I mean… I myself am thoroughly… uh… But you, eh… You cannot possibly think that she truly…” Milton buried his face in his hands. “I am so sorry, Kristopher. I did not intend to offend. Please forget that I’ve even talked at all.”

Cedric scrutinised Milton before he said, “It’s all right, Milton.”

Still, part of me could only wonder what he had wanted to say. “You cannot possibly think that she truly” – what?

***

~Cloudia~

Armelle Peletier had been visiting a friend the night Nadia died. She and the friend had talked over tea and biscuits and had promptly forgotten the time. One hour had turned into two, and before they had known it, it had been night. That was a common occurrence as Armelle and her friend often met up to have conversations that would stretch out into the night, though every other time, Armelle could return to a warm home and be greeted by Nadia.

This time, however, when Armelle had returned home, Nadia was already dead.

From what Yvette had told me, the two women had been very close. They had lived together for decades and had never got married to anyone. I could only wonder how hard it must be for Armelle to have lost someone so dear to her. Knowing this, it was even more awe-striking that she had been able to act so calmly and appropriately.

As the tailor’s shop was closed off, Armelle was staying with the friend she had been with that night, Sylvie Fabron, and her family. The house of the Fabron family was quite small and currently inhabited by eight, and on another day, it would have been easy for only Cloudia to go inside to speak to Armelle, but the rain showed no sign to stop soon or, at least, to become weaker. Having no other options, Cloudia, Yvette, Kamden, and Lisa had to squeeze into the already overstuffed building.

And we had thought that it had been bad at the Duhamel apartment or in Denis’ wagon.

“I’m sorry. It’s not an ideal situation, Détective Gauthier,” said Sylvie, a tall woman with a friendly face and flaxen hair.

“There’s not much anyone can do. Still, thanks for welcoming us,” Cloudia replied and glanced over at Sylvie’s curious children who could barely be restrained by their father. There was not much distance between her and them, and Cloudia was not in the mood to be hounded by children today, so she was quite grateful for the husband’s gallant efforts. Lisa huffed behind her, apparently not as grateful about it as she was. “And it’s simply ‘M Gauthier.’ I am not a detective, only the assistant of one,” Cloudia told Sylvie.

“Right, right.” Sylvie looked over to her family. “Margot,” she called. “Stop jumping on the sofa.” With an apologetic smile, she turned back to Cloudia and the others.

“Don’t worry about that. We will try to keep this quick. We don’t want to impose on you for too long. Where’s Mme Peletier?”

“In the children’s bedroom. She thought it would be better if you and she could talk in private.”

“That’s very sensible of her. Where is this bedroom?”

“I’ll show you to it,” said Sylvie and squeezed herself in-between Kamden and Cloudia to walk ahead.

“You will stay here,” Cloudia said to Yvette, Kamden, and Lisa who could not understand a single word and just looked darkly ahead. “Don’t get hounded by the children,” she added, whispering, and then went to go after Sylvie when Yvette said, “Wait, M Gauthier.”

Cloudia turned around. “Yes, Mlle Guilloux?”

“May I come with you?” Yvette asked. “I know you said we should stay here and wait, but considering that Mme Armelle is not at her best right now, I think it would be better if I came too. After all, she does not know you, and I believe it would be beneficial if there were someone she does know. As support.”

Cloudia tilted her head, pondering about it for a moment. “Very well. You may come.”

“Thank you,” said Yvette, and together they followed Sylvie into a narrow corridor and then to the children’s bedroom.

“Armelle,” Sylvie said and opened the squeaky door. “M Gauthier and Yvette are here to talk to you about Nadia. It won’t take long.”

Sylvie stepped away from the door, allowing Cloudia and Yvette to go inside, and Cloudia could take a look into the room – a small place furnished almost exclusively with beds – and at Armelle Peletier who sat on one of these beds with perfect posture and no single strand of her grey hair out of place. She looked calm and composed – on the surface at least. Still, looking at Armelle now, Cloudia could not understand why Yvette had called her “scattered” earlier.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting,” Armelle said with a steady voice and looked at Cloudia and Yvette with hard blue eyes. There was a hint of fury in their hardness, and now Cloudia understood what was driving Armelle to be as composed and collected as she was.

Truly, she was far from “scattered.”

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Sylvie told her and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Armelle turned to Cloudia. “M Gauthier, isn’t it? The assistant of the detective from Paris.”

“Indeed.” Cloudia bowed her head. “It is nice to meet you, Mme Peletier. My sincerest condolences.”

The old woman’s face hardened at her words. “You do not have to give me your condolences. It is enough if you find the person who killed Nadia.”

“Mme Armelle,” Yvette suddenly said. “How are you feeling?”

“I am perfectly fine considering the circumstances, Mlle Guilloux,” Armelle answered her, a slight edge to her words that caught Cloudia’s curiosity. Armelle looked intently at Cloudia. “I do not want to hold you up for too long. You have more places to go, I suppose, and this one is a circus packed into a matchbox.”

“At the very least, it is warm,” Cloudia replied with a smile on her lips. “This is always a valuable aspect, especially when the weather is as ghastly as it is now.”

“It is not particularly warm though,” huffed Armelle. “I am a bit cold and uncomfortable right now which could be because I am old or because the warmth that fills this house is mostly generated by the people residing inside it. They are all in the living room. Thus, it is much colder here.”

Cloudia nodded. “Thinking about it, you are right: It does feel colder for me too. I guess it is as ghastly inside as it is outside.”

“I guess so too. Your situation will most likely not improve until you have finished for today and returned to the place where you are currently staying.”

“That seems likely,” said Cloudia and kept her gaze on Armelle, even when she saw from the corner of her eye that Yvette was watching her with a frown on her face. “Now, Mme Peletier, I want to ask you a few questions. Did Mme Nadia Allemand have any enemies here?”

“We are a very close-knit group here. Nadia could be a fairly prickly person – and she could certainly be more than a little hot-headed at times – but I don’t think anyone from here could have made an attempt on her life.”

“Are you sure? The needles used to stab Nadia have been kept in a locked box – a locked tea box to be specific. You must have heard of the stranger that has been sighted in Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Do you think a complete stranger would have been able to find it?”

Armelle huffed again. “Didn’t you find it?” she returned, and Cloudia could not help herself but smile at her words. “What else do you want to know?”

“Did you notice anything odd, weird, out of place in one way or another around the time of Mme Allemand’s death? Or possibly at the crime scene after you found her body?”

For a second, Armelle’s eyes softened with sadness before they hardened yet again. “Nothing is ever perfect,” she said. “Our life here was – is – far from perfect, but this is not out of the ordinary. As to the shop… It is not mine, so I cannot tell you what was off there and what was not.”

“I see.” Cloudia sat down on one of the beds and it creaked under her weight. “The other victims,” she began. “Dominique Duhamel, Gustave and Marius Beaubois. Was Mme Allemand connected to any of them? Did she know any of them better? Did you, Mme Peletier?”

“What do you think, M Gauthier?” returned Armelle. “What business could we have with those children? We are fellow villagers and see each other here and there; I was often served by Dominique when I went to his parents’ bakery and he was helping out. There is not much to exchange between them and us. It is not as if we had any common interests. Nadia certainly never cared for woodwork. All she cared for was tailoring and…” She trailed off and briefly looked away.

Cloudia’s gaze softened. “Thank you, Mme Peletier. That would be all.”

***

~Cedric~

He had told Milton to continue his little lecture on kedgeree even if that’s not what they would be eating anymore. And so, Milton talked and talked while Cedric cut bread, buttered slices, arranged different fillings with absurd care. Just because he did not make a “fancy” meal anymore did not mean that he could be lax preparing the sandwiches. Even though he was tired. Even though he usually threw everything he could find between two slices of bread and called it a day.

Milton’s words were white noise to Cedric, but now and then, a word or phrase would reach him clearly: East India Company, Stephana Malcolm, adapting. Milton finished his talk before Cedric could complete his meticulously and artistically arranged sandwiches. For a moment, it was perfectly silent in the kitchen except for the knife’s chopping noises as Cedric quickly cut up a cucumber. All this lasted less than ten minutes, and when Cedric turned around, he let out a joyful, “Voilà!”, hoping for a smile, maybe even an appreciative clap, but Milton did not react to his exclamation at all. Instead, he was staring at his arms like that day when Cedric found him in the library, and Cedric’s heart sank.

Just like then, it rained now. Just like then, Cedric stepped forward and said, “Milton? Are you all right?”

Just like then, Milton flinched. But this time, he could steady himself sooner, could shake himself free sooner from whatever had befallen him. “I am…,” he began and then bit on his lip. “I did not mean to ignore you, Kristopher. I was lost in thought,” Milton continued with an apologetic smile on his lips. He looked a bit paler than before Cedric had turned his attention to the sandwiches. He had been so ghostly pale before, Cedric was surprised Milton had not become translucent.

In fact, I always surprised that he was not translucent. His presence was so faint; he could just as well be an actual ghost.

But he was also so alive – full of bright smiles, shining eyes, and nervous energy – that you only tripped over that thought, never dwelt on it for too long.

And maybe that’s what was unnerving me now: That there seemed nothing “left” of what made Milton Milton. That his life seemed dampened, and he looked so lost and faint that the thought of him as a ghost could catch on and linger.

“What did you say? I was unable to catch your words,” Milton added.

“I’m done with the sandwiches,” said Cedric dully. “But, say, Milton, are you fine?”

“Of course, I am. I am always fine,” he replied and stood up. Briefly, Milton brushed over his trousers, and when he looked up, his gaze gentled at the sight of the expression on Cedric’s face. “I am perfectly well physically, Kristopher. I told you.” He walked to the countertop where the plates of sandwiches rested. “They look delectable, Kristopher. Do you want to eat here or somewhere else?”

“It’s only that you do not seem ‘fine,’” Cedric said before he could contain himself, and Milton stared at him, seeming just as startled and surprised as Cedric was of himself. “I do not want to be inquisitive, but please tell me if something is amiss. Not that I think that you are lying; after all, you said that you do not like to lie. It’s just that I suspect that you may be downplaying the severity of your state not to make me or anyone else worry. The last thing I want is to have you collapse on me as I would have to carry you through this godforsaken château to your room – and it is something I simply cannot do.”

Cedric took a deep breath, and he did not know if the words kept pouring out of him because he was tired or because of something else, “Milton, I do not appreciate it if someone does not tell me about the state of their health.”

Milton looked at him, his eyes wide, and Cedric cursed at himself for having been unable to keep the words from surfacing, to keep them away from Milton. Milton with his current fixation on “reading” people – a fixation Cedric had figured out.

What was wrong with me? I might not always pay the best attention, but I was not that scatter-brained or easy.

I rubbed my eyes. Sleep. I needed sleep. Food and sleep.

“I see,” said Milton finally before Cedric could sort himself out and try to take his words back. “I know you said that I should cease to apologise constantly, but I do believe that I should apologise now: Because you are right.”

Cedric stared at him, and Milton leaned against the countertop. “I reiterate that I am physically fine as I am ‘ailed’ with nothing but simple ‘phantom pain.’ Still, I have to admit that I was not quite truthful when it came to its intensity.” He dug his fingers into the stone. “This will sound silly – I know it does – but the reason why I withheld this from you is that I do not wish her to know. You are doing your best to accommodate my presence, but I know that I am a burden, an outsider here. I know that Lady Cloudia is not quite at peace with the fact that she has brought me into this situation although I had my say in this too. I do not want her to know that I am doing worse than I told her I do so that I will not burden her any further. Not when she seems to be preoccupied with something else. Not after I…” Shakily, Milton ran a hand through his hair. “I do not believe that you will run to tell her all I am telling you now. Still, at the same time, I wanted to keep this with me so that I could ensure that it would never reach her one way or the other, though I now realise how unfair all this is to you, Kristopher, as you have been so friendly to agree to spend the day with me in this miserable state of mine. For this, I apologise.

“The truth is, Kristopher, that my ‘ghost pain’ has been significantly more intense than usual in the last few days. As I told you before, commonly, it is fairly moderate; I have learned to live with it even if I have not overcome it. Now, however, it is different, and I am doing my best to contain myself. It seems that I am not doing a particularly good job at it though.” He put a hand on his chest above his heart and the other still held vice-like onto the countertop. “I feel… heavy in a way I rarely do. Something inside me feels heavy in a way that only happens on days of great distress. The source of this is not always clearly identifiable. This time, it is. I suppose those ‘unforeseen problems’ I have told you about are vexing me more than I want to admit – and this reflects itself in the heightened intensity of my ‘memory pain.’” Milton’s fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt and the expression in his eyes was one Cedric could not quite define, though it still managed to make his heart heavy with empathy. “I only hope that I am not too late,” said Milton which such a low voice that, if had there been a single noise in the kitchen, Cedric would have never been able to hear his words.

Milton shook his head and stepped away from the countertop. His movement was still shaky, though he stood firmly and solidly. “I hope you can forgive me that I have not been fully truthful to you in this case, Kristopher. You shouldn’t have had to lay out your discomfort about this to me like that.” Then, a little smile spread across his lips. “Now, do you want to eat here or somewhere else?”

***

~Cloudia~

After Cloudia and Yvette had said goodbye to Armelle, Cloudia had to help Kamden wrestle free from little Margot, who was apparently the biggest troublemaker of her family and who had jumped at an unwitting Kamden to get a piggyback ride. Then, she, Kamden, Lisa, and Yvette left the little house of the Fabrons and headed to the church where Dominique had been hanged.

According to Yvette, they were halfway there when a figure came running towards them through the pouring rain. Even if this turnout would have been wholly unsatisfying and boring, Cloudia wished for the mysterious runner to be the culprit and was ready to attack them if it was needed. After all, no matter if it was boring or unsatisfying, it would mean that she could finally get out of this damned rain and back to the château to focus on what she had come for in the first place.

All for the sake of this investigation. I just hoped that I – or Kamden or Lisa for that matter – would not get sick afterwards.

The figure halted in front of them and then proceed to gasp for air like a fish on land. When the person had finally caught themselves and straightened up, Cloudia could vaguely make out that it was a man.

“Élève Officier Hector Monteil,” he introduced himself, and Cloudia frowned. Considering the state of the village, she had thought that, for some reason, Nanteuil-la-Forêt had been deemed too unremarkable to need a brigade from the Gendarmerie nationale.

“Officier Monteil, I wondered where you have been,” said Yvette to Cloudia’s surprise.

“M Descombes told me you would be at the inn or the bakery or the Beaubois’ home, but you were always already gone by the time I arrived. I wandered around to try to find you, only this rain makes it very hard to find anything at all…,” Hector replied, and Cloudia had to strain to make out what he was saying against the rain and wind.

“Maybe we should continue talking at the church,” she suggested. To her delight, everyone agreed and they hurried to get to the double chapel which rose darkly from the ground in the heavy rain, a ghastly transformed dark building reaching to the sky.

At the door, they were greeted by a clergyman who told them to wait until the priest would come to them. Then, he ran off to get them some towels and blankets which Cloudia greatly appreciated.

Cloudia pulled off her hood and shook off the rain from her clothes as best as she could, wondering if she could ever feel truly dry again or if the feeling of wetness would follow her from now on. She turned to Hector.

“Élève Officier Monteil,” she said. “Now that we can see each other well and don’t have to yell to understand the other’s words, I would like to introduce myself: Jean Gauthier, assistant of the Parisian detective Alexandre Vidocq. Very pleased to meet you.”

Hector shook his reddish-blond hair in an attempt to dry it, but they only stayed up wildly from his head now. In the candlelight of the church, he looked remarkably young – he seemed to be barely older than Cloudia –, and his messy hair only highlighted his youth. “Élève Officier Hector Monteil,” he returned. “M Descombes told me all about you. I’m sorry that I could not be with you yesterday. Mme Allard’s cat was stuck on a tree, and she asked me for help. Only I’ve never been the best climber, though I am working on it, and the cat was not very cooperative. Then, I went to the townhall to speak to M Descombes, but he was busy and I had to wait for quite some time until I found out that you were already here and when I went to find you, I got lost…”

Cloudia blinked at him in disbelief and then forced a smile on her lips. “Officier Monteil, do not worry about this. Rather, I’m quite surprised that you are stationed here in the first place. Neither Mlle Guilloux nor M Descombes ever mentioned you to me.” She looked at Yvette.

“I am very sorry, M Gauthier,” she said. “I did not think you needed to know of Officier Monteil as he has only come here a week ago and has, to be honest, not contributed much to the situation.”

“Is that true, Officier Monteil?”

“Yes,” Hector said sheepishly. “I haven’t been here for very long and am still getting used to everything.”

The clergyman from earlier returned with the promised and towels and blankets which he distributed to everyone. Cloudia rubbed herself dry as best as she could, but the towel was quickly completely soaked, and she ended up in a half-damp, half-dry state. At least, it was still an improvement.

“There are usually six gendarmes in a village,” Cloudia said to Hector and handed the towel to the clergyman before she wrapped herself in the blanket. “Where are the others?”

Hector smiled uneasily. “The day after I came here, my superiors were called in as reinforcements for a large-scale incident that is going on in a nearby town.”

“And they simply left you here alone?”

“Yes. They said ‘Nothing ever happens here, Hector. You will be fine.’”

Well, at least, this was another indicator that the murderer might not be an outsider at all. It couldn’t be that much of a coincidence for a stranger to come into Nanteuil-la-Forêt to kill its inhabitants a few days after all of the village’s competent police officers had left.

On the other hand, Hector was a stranger to the village. And while it did not seem like he was capable of committing murder and definitely not multiple ones without getting caught immediately, I did not want to rule out this possibility. Even the most outrageous things could be true, and appearances could be deceiving.

“Very well,” said Cloudia slowly. The others handed their towels to the clergyman as well, and as soon as he had all he left. “Officier Monteil, what were you doing when Mme Allemand died? When the others did?”

Hector scratched his head. “Mme Peletier found the corpse and went to the townhall. M Descombes tried to wake me up in the barracks, but I’ve always been a very heavy sleeper and did not find out that anything happened until I went to see M Descombes in the morning. And when M Duhamel’s corpse was found, I was exploring the forest because I wanted to become familiar with my new surroundings and got lost… M Descombes was quite surprised that I was alive by the time I found my way back as he and everyone else assumed that I had been killed as well with the murderer potentially raising their victim count every night or something. And, as I said, I was helping Mme Allard with her cat when M Gustave Beaubois’ body was discovered.”

Cloudia was spared from having to smile through another response when a tall man with brown hair and a beard approached them. He was completely clad in black.

“Good afternoon,” the man said. “I am Marcel Royer, the priest of Nanteuil-la-Forêt’s church. I already know Yvette and Officier Monteil, but who are you?” The question seemed to be directed at Lisa, Kamden, and Cloudia, but Marcel only looked at Kamden who tensed up a bit.

“Grégoire Fouille,” he stammered, and Cloudia stepped forward. “Good afternoon, M l'Abbé. I’m Jean Gauthier, Détective Vidocq’s assistant. My colleague, M Fouille, is also from the Parisian police, and Mlle Ledoux here is his assistant.”

Marcel lowered his head as a greeting. “I welcome you here. I am beyond grateful that you are here and hopeful that you will find the person who killed Dominique and dared to defile this sacred place. If you may follow me.” He walked down the corridor, and Cloudia went to walk beside him, the others following in their wake.

“I cannot show you where Dominique’s body was found because of the rain,” Marcel told Cloudia. “But I will show you the access to the roof.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “While we go there, I have a few questions for you.”

“I am in your service, M Gauthier.”

“Dominique Duhamel, does he have any kind of connection to the church?”

“He and his parents attend church every Sunday, but everyone else does too. His mother was also good friends with my late wife Béatrice, so our families were always close.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Marcel nodded. “My wife and Solange would often help out in the church, and Dominique would accompany his mother now and then. A very nice boy. And so were Gustave and Marius. They regularly assisted their father to deliver wood or to mend a few things here and there.”

“So, does this mean that they spent a lot of time here?”

“Yes,” said Marcel. “Especially Dominique. He would come here whenever he could.”

“Was there someone in this church – a clergyman or a churchgoer – that did not get along with M Duhamel? Or someone he did not get along with?” Cloudia continued as they walked to the ambulatory and, from there, up a narrow staircase, passing by various clergymen on the way down.

“I do not believe that there was anyone he did not get along with.” The priest looked at Cloudia. “Are you insinuating that Dominique was murdered by one of us? I know every single resident of Nanteuil-la-Forêt. They are all good, fine people. I would stake my life for them all. The sinner in our midst is not one of us: It is this man that has come to our village and brought chaos with him.”

“But even friends quarrel,” Cloudia interjected. “You all may get along wonderfully most of the time, but has there been no instance when one of you was upset at another?”

“Not that I recall. Even if there were quarrels, I highly doubt they would have led to such bloodshed,” Marcel stated and came to a halt. Cloudia and the others stopped too. The staircase had led them to the second floor, not to an attic, and did not go any farther, and Cloudia could not spot another. She had no idea how she could reach the roof from here to hang a man.

“Please stay away,” Marcel ordered before he walked to one of the walls of the double chapel and looked at them – or, rather, he talked to them all but only looked at Cloudia. “This church was built in the 12th century, but, in the 17thcentury, when Baron Lambert de Charbonneau let his château be built in this area, he offered to renovate it. My predecessor accepted this generous offer. However, the Baron did not only let the church be cleaned and restored, he also commissioned a few additions to be made.” Marcel raised his hand to a torch holder and turned it. Immediately, a piece of the upper part of the wall moved to the side and created an opening that, though it was situated higher than the windows, could be easily reached by climbing on a chair or table. The opening was also large enough for an adult – or two – to fit through. The howl of the rain that had been kept out relatively well by the stones fully reached them now, filling the church with noise. “The Baron was said to be a paranoid man,” Marcel continued, “and had this mechanism installed as the last escape as, from here, you can reach a small landing and climb down the wall from there. You can also step on the landing and climb upwards to the roof. This is the easiest way to access it.”

Cloudia stepped forward, not caring whether she got hit by stray rain. “Very interesting,” she said, keeping the excitement out of her voice as much as possible. “Who knows of this?”

Marcel turned the torch holder back into its old position and the piece of the wall slid back into place. Only a wet area on the ground indicated that there had ever been an opening. “Not many. I and two more clergymen. This may be the easiest way to get to the roof, but there was never a need to use it. There was never a need to escape from here. And when we have to do repairs on the roof, it is easier to simply use ladders as it is a chore to get the materials through such an opening.”

“When so few people know about this secret opening, why do you think that the culprit used it to hang Dominique Duhamel?” Cloudia wanted to know.

“I live in a house from where I can see the church,” Marcel informed her. “The night Dominique died I could not find sleep and decided to read my Bible and make further preparations for the service that day. This has been a common occurrence since my wife passed two years ago and I have become quite accustomed to being awake at such late hours. I believe them to be very calming hours due to the silence and peace they bring. Only they did not that night, but I would not know that until later. Anyway, I have the best view of the church from my study – and I am always fascinated by its appearance at night: Its outline set aglow by moon- and starlight.

“The night Dominique died, I often looked over to the church, marvelled at its quiet beauty, and not once did I see a person climbing the roof with a ladder. Thus, the culprit must have taken the Baron’s route. It is the only other way to access the roof.”

“Could you not have simply missed the murderer hanging M Duhamel’s body?”

Marcel shook his head. “No, I could not. I… I was the one who spotted Dominique’s body. One moment there was nothing unusual about the church, I turned my attention to my Bible, and when I looked up again and out of the window, he was hanging there. I would have noticed it if there had been a ladder involved. There had been no time for the culprit to set it up and put it away.”

“These two clergymen who also know about the Baron’s route, do you think they could have committed this crime?” asked Cloudia. “Beside them being ‘good, fine people,’ of course.”

The priest looked at her. “They are both elder men. I doubt they would have the strength to carry Dominique’s body up a roof.”

“I see.”

“Also, it may be possible that the stranger found the mechanism by chance. It is not particularly well-hid and easy to handle after all. Only I don’t know when this could have happened,” Marcel said. “I have not seen him at the church at all.”

Cloudia let her eye wander through the second storey of the church, noted everything. “Thank you very much for your cooperation, M l'Abbé. This was all very interesting and insightful.”

***

Marcel guided them back downstairs and just as they passed the altar, the sight of it making Cloudia smile involuntarily, they were approached by a very beautiful girl with auburn hair and a lovely smile. “Papa,” the girl said to Marcel and kissed him on the cheek.

“Mlle Ledoux, M Gauthier, M Fouille,” Marcel said, turning to them but only fixing his eyes on Kamden. “May I introduce you to my daughter Nicolette?”

“Hello, Mlle Nicolette,” said Cloudia, smiling, and Nicolette curtsied to them all. “Good afternoon. I almost thought I missed you,” she said sweetly. “I was very eager to meet you to give you my thanks for helping us when you do not have to and to wish you luck for your investigation.”

“Thank you. We greatly appreciate your luck wishes,” Cloudia replied, and Nicolette beamed at her words. “You’re welcome, M…”

“Gauthier.”

“M Gauthier! I also hope that you all can stay after the storm has passed and the matter has been settled. Nanteuil-la-Forêt is usually such a lovely place, and it would not be right and a shame if you only carried bad memories from here to Paris. No one should be left with bad memories only.”

She smiled at Lisa and Kamden, and Kamden took a small step back, clearly overwhelmed by being watched by both Royers. “We… we will try,” he replied, and Lisa only crossed her arms in front of her.

“I hope you will find the time,” Nicolette said and then turned to Hector. “Officier Hector, how are you? Do you still feel sore after falling down the tree?”

“No, I’m feeling great again,” Hector told her and stood upright.

“That is wonderful to hear!” Nicolette curtsied again. “I apologise for not being able to talk longer, but you must be incredibly busy and I do not wish to delay you – and I promised Antonin to help him with something. Good luck again and until another time,” she said and gave her father another kiss on the cheek before she walked to one of the transepts.

“Your daughter is quite friendly,” Cloudia remarked. “She reminds me a little of someone I know. Is she, by any chance, like this to everyone she meets?”

“Yes, since the day she was born,” Marcel said and led them down the nave. “My wife and I always marvelled where she got that energy from. She has always been a ray of sunshine and never afraid to talk to anyone. Nicolette is friendly to everyone in Nanteuil-la-Forêt; there is no one she dislikes and no one who dislikes her.

“Here, we must say goodbye,” he said when they reached the door where the clergyman that had brought them the blankets took them back. “I wish you the best for your investigation. If you need my help again, please feel free to come to me.”

“Thank you, M l'Abbé,” Cloudia replied. “And goodbye.”

With a nod, the priest walked down the nave again and the clergyman followed him, leaving them alone by the door. At this moment, the bell chimed five, and Cloudia cursed under her breath. “Grégoire, Maryse,” she said, turning her gaze to Kamden and Lisa. “As I said before and as it was agreed on, it is time for us to split up. Mlle Guilloux and I will head to the inn to see whether Maxime has returned to it. In the meantime, you will go on ahead to the hospital to inspect the bodies. Is that still all right with you?”

Cloudia could see that Kamden was a little weary of the thought of leaving her alone, but he nodded anyway and said, “Of course, Jean. Just take care.”

She smiled at him. “I will.” She looked at Hector. “Officier Monteil, do you know how to get to the hospital from here?”

Hector scratched his head. “Hm, yes, I do.”

“Can you bring Maryse and Grégoire there?” He nodded. “Fantastic. Thanks. Let us meet in about two hours at the hospital.”

***

~Cedric~

It had taken me a moment until I had been able to shake myself partially free from the trance-like state I had entered when Milton started to speak. Afterwards, I had told him that a place “with proper chairs and a table” would be good, and we had gone off to find a drawing room.

Now, we were sitting in the salon where he, Cecelia, and I had talked and drunk days before. Milton was praising my sandwiches and I… I was eating silently, nodding now and then, my head too clouded to reply anything, to contribute anything to the conversation.

“Did I upset you?” said Milton, tearing Cedric out of his messy, tangled thoughts. And as he was transported back to the here and now, Cedric realised for the first time that they had already eaten all the sandwiches and that, apparently, Milton had brewed a pot of tea. A cup of it, untouched and certainly cold, was in front of him on the table.

Good Heavens, how deep in thought had I been?!

“Hm?”

Milton tugged on his sleeves. “You have been so silent ever since our conversation in the kitchen. I wondered if I greatly upset you with what I said and…”

“No, it’s not that. I…” Cedric sighed and sacked against the back of his armchair. “I may be more tired than I thought…”

“Oh no,” said Milton and jumped up from his seat. “Come, I’ll bring you back to your room.” He walked to Cedric and held out his hand.

“You’re not doing well yourself either, Milton,” Cedric remarked, blinking at Milton’s hand.

“Well, I have my notebook to navigate us through the château, and I believe I can do it as long as I concentrate on you and don’t let my thoughts wander elsewhere.”

Cedric took Milton’s hand and let himself be helped very carefully out of the armchair. “Oh,” Milton said, and then assisted Cedric to half-sit on the armrest. “I forgot that we need to bring back the crockery.” He shifted from one leg to the other. “I’ll ring Batteux. I guess you are incapable of going back to the kitchen before we head to your room and I don’t want to leave you alone while I bring everything back on my own. Wait here.”

Cedric nodded, not wanting to do anything anymore. Milton went to a row of bells that were placed on one of the salon’s walls and which were directly connected to the servants’ quarters. A few moments later, Batteux appeared, and Milton talked to him before he came and helped Cedric to stand up again. Milton grabbed his notebook, but right in front of the door, he realised that none of his hands was free – with one he held his notebook, with the other he steadied Cedric –, and Batteux had to come to open the door for them.

“What an odd pair we are,” Cedric mused as they walked through the corridors. “We are barely functioning on our own, but still go through it all together.”

Milton smiled at his words. “We surely are.”

“We must look like two drunk, weaving men.”

“Possibly,” replied Milton. “Kristopher, do you mind standing up on your own for a moment? I need to check something.”

“Sure,” Cedric said, and as soon as Milton let go of him, he noticed the full extent of his sleep deprivation. Standing perfectly upright in one moment, nearly falling over in the next. If the wall had not been there to catch him, Cedric would have surely fallen face-first into the ground – and how embarrassing that would have been in front of Milton.

Milton had been on the verge of fainting multiple times today, and even he could still stand properly. Maybe I should have drunk that tea. The caffeine in it would have helped, at least, a bit.

“Give me a few more moments,” said Milton and thumbed through his notes. Cedric pushed himself away from the wall but kept one hand on it. He braced himself from removing it and standing fully on his own when he heard familiar voices in the distance. Familiar children’s voices. And while Cedric did not know what they were saying, it did not sound as if Anaïs, Arnaud, and Gerard were particularly happy.

What could trouble them so much?

Soon, Cedric did not only hear the children’s voices, but could also see them walking in their direction, and the second they spotted Cedric and Milton as well, Anaïs, waving her hands and hurrying towards them, exclaimed, “Duke Kristopher! Baron Milton!”

Milton looked up from his notebook and smiled at the children. “Hello,” he said. “What do you have there?” he added when Arnaud and Gerard joined them. Only then did Cedric notice that Arnaud was carrying a large golden birdcage. It was an intricately manufactured beast of a cage, albeit not one designed for a living animal: Inside the cage resided a bird figure. Or, at least, it would have “resided” in there had it not been lying on the cage’s ground as if it was dead.

Arnaud held up the cage with a sombre look on his face. “We found this clock amongst Baron de Charbonneau’s possessions. It is so beautiful and can even sing, so we were quite fascinated by it and jumped along with the melody… but then we brushed against the clock. It fell and isn’t working anymore. We tried to fix it, but only managed to let the bird fall too…”

Anaïs nodded, and Gerard whimpered. She took his hand and squeezed it. “Our parents will be very cross with us if they find out. This must be a very expensive and valuable piece. I’ve not seen anything like it before.”

“This is a clock?” asked Cedric while he rubbed his eyes and fought back a yawn.

“It is,” Arnaud replied and turned the cage so that Cedric could see the clock-face on one of its sides.

“That’s one weird clock, don’t you think, Milton?” Cedric turned to Milton who was scrutinising the birdcage, his eyes glowing with fascination and excitement.

“A Jaquet-Droz,” sighed Milton and put his notebook under his arm before asking Arnaud, “May I?”

Arnaud nodded and handed Milton the clock. “I’ve read about them,” Milton said without taking his eyes off the cage. “But I have never imagined that, one day, I would hold one of Jaquet-Droz’s singing birdcage clocks.”

Anaïs tilted her head. “Jaquet-Droz?”

“Pierre Jaquet-Droz, a mechanic and watchmaker who built the first singing bird boxes or cages. He and his partner Jean-Frédéric Leschot were pioneers and geniuses in the art of automata and…” A bright smile spread across Milton’s face, a smile that could wipe all shadows away. “And I am holding one of their creations.”

Arnaud and Anaïs exchanged nervous glances. “So you’re saying that it is a very, veryexpensive and important clock?” she said.

“Yes, but it’s not unfixable.” Milton looked up from the clock, and his eyes shone with such vitality that Cedric could not believe that this was the same person as the one who had broken down in the library and had looked so sad and lost in the kitchen. Hell, even that he was the same person as the one he had met at that party and who had travelled with him here from Dover. Then, Milton’s smile became a little shaky, a little sheepish as he asked, “May I try my hand on it?”

Arnaud blinked at him. “Are you saying you can fix it, Lord Milton?”

“I… I…” Milton gazed down at the cage in his hands. “I can try. I have some tools in my room.” He turned to Cedric. “But I have to bring Kristopher to his room first.”

“We can go to your room first, Milton,” Cedric told him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I may be sleepy, but I also want to see this curious clock running – if you can do it.”

Milton took a deep breath. “If that’s what you want, Kristopher. Arnaud, may you be so kind and carry the clock again?”

Arnaud nodded and took it from Milton, and Milton went to steady Cedric who was quite thankful not to have to stand on his own anymore even if he did not say so. With the children guiding them through the château, their little journey to Milton’s room went relatively quickly. It might have gone even quicker if Cedric had not been actively fighting not to fall asleep here and now and if his limbs had not felt as heavy as they did. Still, he did not regret that he had not taken Milton’s offer to help him back to his own room first. After all, he did want to see the clock run and hear the bird sing, albeit not as much as he wanted to learn whether Milton could truly repair it.

To satisfy my own curiosity, I told myself. Not Cecelia’s,I kept telling myself.

Gerard and Anaïs walked ahead, and Anaïs told Cedric and Milton about what else they had done today besides accidentally damaging an ornate birdcage clock. Now and then, Arnaud and even Gerard chipped in, and Cedric was grateful they did as it did not only help to distract Milton – though the appearance of a Jaquet-Droz had sufficiently taken his mind off the persevering rain – but also kept Cedric awake.

When they finally reached Milton’s room, Anaïs opened the door and bolted inside, dragging little Gerard after her. Arnaud halted at the doorsill, waited for Cedric and Milton, and only went inside when they caught up. Right after they stepped into the room, Milton loosened his grip on Cedric and asked him something, but Cedric did not hear his question because, as soon as he had taken a look at Milton’s room, his sleepiness had fallen away.

He felt wide awake. His mind was racing, captivated by the fact that Milton’s room was disturbingly untouched.

#Watchdog of the Queen #IT'S HERE #IT IS HERE #main chapters #kuroshitsuji #cloudia phantomhive #undertaker #fanfiction

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gorderos-blog · 6 years

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Element of Embarrassment: Chapter 1

As a follow-up to my post regarding the rediscovering of an old work of mine from when I was a teen, this is the first chapter. This is a reminder to all my fellow writers to remain humble because this is pretty much how we all started. No matter what success we may enjoy in the future, things like this will always remain in our past and loom in our present nightmares.

The following work is one chapter of the unedited mess that was Element of Chaos. Let us give it a Viking funeral, going down in the fires of internet backlash and flame wars.

Element of Chaos: Book I: Gales of Destruction

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The Relak, a fierce predator spanning the length of a man's body and almost as tall, covered in thin strands of hair and scales, flattened nose, and long, spear-like tail, in a last-ditch, desperate attempt, thrusted itself forward at Armel. Armel tried to side-step the leader of the savage pack that had attacked him and his commander, but felt the beast wrap its tail around his leg and send Armel to the ground. The Relak immediately lunged for Armel's throat, its long teeth mere inches away, protruding the length of a man's middle finger. As the Relak's jaws closed in towards Armel, it quickly jerked back and roared in a blood-curtling, pain-filled scream, then fell backwards, dead, an arrow sticking out of its barely exposed underbelly.

Past the image of the arrow, far back in the depths of the forest, stood Maximillion, commander of King Pegasus's Royal Guard. He began to walk towards Armel, already spitting his usual string of lectures. Under Maximillion's wrinkling brow, Armel could almost swear that he saw a smile, as if Maximillion enjoyed giving these lectures, even if he didn't let on. Their relationship was a strange one, indeed. When Armel had first been admitted into the opening ranks of the Guard, Maximillion was already an officer that was known for his harsh methods of training. If anyone so much as spat in the wrong direction, Maximillion would punish the offender by challenging them to a one versus one duel until the soldier was begging for his life. Armel was one of the poor souls that ended up in the arena with Maximillion more often than anyone under his jurisdiction, more often than not for questioning the authority of his superior.

"One of these days, I won't be here to save your worthless ass." Maximillion said calmly as he retrieved his arrow from the corpse of the Relak. "This makes what, the third time in the past week?"

"If I would've known that you'd be purposely trying to kill me today, I would've been more prepared." Armel snorted.

Maximillion helped Armel to his feet and set off back towards their campsite. "Quit using your bull-shit excuses. You'll be dead in days if you don't believe that everything in this world has the potential of killing you. You either learn to defend from the unexpected assassin, or you become his default target."

"It doesn't help that this is only the first assignment I've been given since King Pegasus promoted me." Retorted Armel, knowing that this would more than likely annoy Maximillion.

Surprisingly, Maximillion said nothing to this. They continued to walk towards the campsite in awkward silence, hearing nothing but the heavy winds and rushing stream beside them. Then Armel felt something wrong. It was subtle, and very sudden. The earth under their feet began to rock back and forth, just enough to notice. Both Armel and Maximillion stopped in their tracks and looked around, seeing wild birds flying off in a single direction and more Relaks fleeing after them. The shaking gradually became stronger, and more violent.

"Move!" Shouted Maximillion as he bolted forward. Armel followed suit, diving out of the way as a series of trees began to fall where they had just been. Armel rolled onto his feet and proceeded to run after Maximillion to a nearby clearing. Behind them came more falling trees and the pained roars of beasts that inhabited the forest, undoubtedly being crushed by what they called home. All the duo could do was run and hope that nothing was going to come after them in this panic.

The shaking worsened even more and caused Armel to stumble a bit, but not fall. However, Maximillion tripped and fell on his side as a grunt escaped him. Armel stopped to try and help his friend up and saw they were directly under a set of trees that could fall at any moment. As Armel grabbed Maximillion's outstretched arm and pulled, Maximillion's eyes widened and he yelled in agony. "M-my dagger!" He yelled and pointed at his side. All that could be seen was the golden hilt and blood gushing from the wound. Maximillion was desperately trying to get himself up, but couldn't bring up his right leg without immediately slamming it back down to the ground. Armel did all he could think to do. Despite Maximillion's agonized screams and pleas, Armel began to drag him towards the clearing that was too close to just give up on.

They reached the clearing, leaving a trail of Maximillion's blood as they went, and not a moment too late. Armel immediately went into overdrive trying to figure out what to do with his potentially dying commander. He himself had no training in mending wounds, but Alexus, another member of the Royal Guard that had been dispatched with them did. Alexus was left at the campsite when Maximillion took Armel to train. He wasn't too far away from where they were currently, but trying to get there now would be just as dangerous as waiting for whatever was happening to be over. It would be even more dangerous when the quake subsided. The Relaks would undoubtedly return and smell the fresh blood of the commander.

Minutes passed as the quake seemed to be back down to a quiet rumble. If there were ever a chance to go, it was now. "You're not dying today, old man." Armel said to Maximillion as he pulled the commander up to his feet. Maximillion leaned heavily on Armel and they began to walk at a crawling pace. It was obvious how hard Maximillion was trying not to double over or fall again, all while trying not to make a sound. They continued like this for a while, only stopping so Maximillion could readjust himself on Armel's shoulder.

As if following the quake, a dark cloud covered the sky, bringing with it the sounds of thunder and flashes of lightning. First it was a light drizzle, then a violent downpour that angled itself with the wind. Lighting began striking close to Armel, too close for him to not be concerned for both of their lives now. Never before had he seen such a violent change in weather, nor any quakes for that matter. At this rate, if the wound didn't kill Maximillion, being exposed to this for too long would. They were close to the campsite, and if they hurried, they could make it before this storm could cause too much harm, but it would come at the cost of potentially causing Maximillion to pass out.

Then came the worst possible thing that could in this situation. Over the howling of the wind, the thunder, and the torrential downpour, Armel heard a violent roar, then the rustling of bushes beside him. A Relak lunged out and barely missed Armel's left side, landing in front of them. Its eyesight was suffering from the rain, as was Armel's. Oddly, it seemed to be the only one that was after them. Armel leaned Maximillion against the trunk of a tree that seemed sturdy enough and drew his sword and shield. The beast and Armel stared at each other, each waiting for the other to make the next move. The Relak sneered and lunged after Armel, raising its tail in anticipation for the kill. Armel rushed towards the Relak, shield ready to take the blow from the tail and sword ready to counterattack.

The Relak unexpectedly jumped into the shield with its full weight, forcing Armel stumbling back, then it lunged again with its mouth wide open. Armel bashed the creature's skull with his shield and swung at its body. The blade connected with the creature's back, but merely bounced off of its scaled body, leaving a small indent on its skin, but it was otherwise unaffected. The shield, however, caused the Relak to roar again and lose its balance. The Relak fell on its side, soft underbelly exposed. Taking advantage of the situation, Armel swung his blade again, but the creature managed to roll back onto its feet before the blade could connect. The creature darted behind Armel and charged. Armel spun around, but was knocked on his back when the Relak connected with him. Armel's sword fell to the ground, too far to reach to defend himself. With all of his strength, Armel struggled and managed to force the creature off of him.

Maximillion couldn't help but watch all of this, wondering if his pupil even had the slightest possiblity of coming out of this alive. He slowly sank down, sliding along the trunk of the tree until he was fully sitting down. Watching the struggle, Maximillion grabbed the hilt of the dagger in his side. He let out a scream as he pulled at it with all his might. His hand shook violently, he tensed up, closed his eyes, and made one last pull at it until the dagger dislodged from his body. The Relak had managed to completely cut Armel off from his sword as it played with its prey, Armel, tiring him out.

As loud as he could, Maximillion shouted "Armel!" and threw the dagger at him. Armel saw the dagger fall to the ground and slide at his feet. The Relak made a dive at Armel, caught him in the chest, and pinned him down again. With the thought of his dying friend, Armel grabbed the dagger that was now at his side and thrusted it into the Ralek's stomach. The creature writhed, screamed, and slowly lost strength as Armel repeatedly stabbed the creature as hard as he could. A final, faint roar escaped from the Relak's mouth, and its body fell limp at Armel's side.

#writing #bad writing #embarassing #embarassed #terrible writing #xen'schet #element of embarrassment

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