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tothelasthoursofmylife · 2 years

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“There was someone in the woods.”

Countryside, England, United Kingdom – February 1846

~Cloudia~

Cloudia opened her eyes and saw the slate grey sky high above and gnarly treetops at the edges of her vision. It took her a moment to recall how had she ended up here: the hunt, the frightened horse, the fall.

Alarmed, Cloudia sat up and inspected her head. She had landed hard on the ground but she felt fine; the sudden movement had neither made her dizzy nor did she even have a headache. And when she touched the back of her head, her fingers came away wet, not from blood but from water. Cloudia stared at her hand.

I had expected a broken bone, maybe two, or, at least, a concussion or sprain, but I was thrown off a horse and my greatest misfortune was falling into a puddle – not even face-first! It must be my lucky day.

“How do you feel, Lady Phantomhive?” asked an oddly familiar voice, and Cloudia froze. She had not noticed that someone else was with her. She looked up from her hand and stared at Milton Salisbury. He was dressed all in black, and the colour washed him out and gave him a deathly pallor; he looked as if he was here to lead her to the underworld. There was no need, of course, and Milton simply knelt next to her, worry etched into his hazel eyes and a bag next to him on the ground. Still, she could not stop that image from appearing in her mind.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” Cloudia said.

Milton smiled and although it was only a faint smile, it was full of warmth, and Cloudia relaxed a little when she saw it. He was certainly not Death despite his appearance. “I’m glad to hear that,” Milton said softly. “I saw Domino without you, and I quickly restrained him and went to look for you. He never dismounts people without a reason and is not easily spooked; I feared something terrible must have occurred. Can you remember what happened?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what happened exactly. He got frightened by something and then threw me off. I didn’t see what scared him. I…” Cloudia replied before she halted and her eyes widened. “Did you call me ‘Lady Phantomhive’?”

Milton’s smile became strained, and he gazed bashfully down while Cloudia checked her hair. The wig was still in place at least. As her brain worked to find out how he had figured it out, she remembered the odd, lingering look he had given her in the parlour right after spotting her. “You knew all along who I am, didn’t you?” asked Cloudia.

Milton took a deep breath and raised his head. “I did.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How?”

“I’ve met you and your cousin at the Layton Gallery’s reception,” Milton said, his voice still soft and sincere. “And I never forget a face.” He clutched his hands together. “It is a wonderful disguise, I have to say, Lady Phantomhive. You played the part well too. Most would be fooled. However, your and your cousin’s faces are very distinct to me. You don’t even have the exact same eyes; yours are very faintly green. The green is barely noticeable because the blue is so dark and vivid but it is there.”

Cloudia frowned. “I didn’t even notice the flecks of green until I was staring very intently at my face one day.”

Milton blushed. “The light must have caught your eyes in the right angle at the gallery, and my mind always latches on other people’s faces…” He exhaled and tightened the grip on his hands. “Most of the time, I don’t even consciously notice such details at first. You and your cousin stood next to each other at the reception; I suppose it was easier for me to register the difference like that. When I saw you inside, it took me a second to understand why I instantly knew you were you and not your cousin.”

“It is fine,” Cloudia reassured him and then considered him with a raised eyebrow. Something had felt off about Milton ever since she had first met him; even now, she could not quite place what exactly was “off” about him, but she was determined to find out. “If you knew I’m not Keegan, why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Why should I?” Milton replied, surprising her. “I may have unintentionally uncovered your secret, Lady Phantomhive, but it is still yours. My knowledge of it does not give me the right to tell it to others and expose you. Another person’s secret is not mine to share.”

Cloudia smiled at him. From what she knew about secrets from Cecelia, they were best wielded like knives, not quietly kept. “You don’t even want to know why?”

“I don’t want to pry,” said Milton. “From what I know about Keegan Morrow, however, I suppose he did not want to come, and you went in his stead.”

Cloudia chuckled. “That’s it, exactly. It really is that obvious when you know, isn’t it?” She shook her head and then grabbed a strand of the false red-blond hair. “I guess, I could have come as myself, but men become so stiff and annoying when a female hunter rides amongst them even if it is not something extraordinary. Also, Bentley specifically invited Keegan because of his tracking skills, not because you needed another member for the hunting party. I doubt they would have been welcoming if they had known about the change from the start.”

Cloudia looked at Milton, waited for him to reply, but he had suddenly become very quiet; she wondered what she had said wrong. When it became clear that he did not want to say anything right now, Cloudia stood up and brushed the dirt off her clothes. She flexed her joints and checked once again if she was bruised somewhere or had sprained something by running her hands over her body but she was perfectly fine.

That had truly been a lucky fall.

Cloudia gazed back up and saw Milton taking his jacket from the ground and shaking it out. She hadn’t even noticed that he had folded it up and used it as a cushion for her. The fall might not have rattled her body but it had certainly shaken up her mind so that she kept overlooking such obvious things.

“Is the hunt over yet?” Cloudia asked.

Milton shook his head.

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, as I’m all right, would you mind leading me to Domino? I have a hunt to win after all.”

“If that’s what you want, I will help you,” Milton said and stood up but did not put on his jacket yet; instead, he let it hang loosely from his left hand and picked up his bag. “Domino is quite a bit away. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring him here.”

“It’s not your fault animals don’t like you,” Cloudia assured him. “That you managed to bind him to a tree is already enough.”

The ghost of a smile flickered over Milton’s face right before he turned to go; Cloudia almost missed it. She was about to follow him when he suddenly halted and looked around. A moment later, she heard wood cracking and steps in the distance. If it had been anyone from the Disaster Trio, he would have had his horse with him, but the steps were not accompanied by the sounds of hooves.

“Mary Louise has seen the bandits vanish into the direction where the Beaumont and Croft estates are.”

Could it be…?

Cloudia hurried towards Milton. “We should go,” she said and reached for his right hand. Her fingers only brushed the wet hem of his shirt though because Milton flinched and recoiled as soon as she came too close. With her hand still hovering in the empty space where his had been a second ago, Cloudia blinked at him.

“I’m sorry, Lady Phantomhive. I…” Milton breathed while he shrugged on his jacket and wrapped his arms around himself. He held his bag tight. “I must have startled you.”

“Not at all,” Cloudia said and let her hand sink. “It’s my fault for taking your hand without asking first. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. In his black clothes and with his arms around himself, Milton looked so very frail and vulnerable like a child lost in an unknown place, and Cloudia wondered yet again why he was here. Bentley, Beaumont, and Flanagan were seemingly his friends – though she wondered how they knew one another as they were not even the same age; Milton looked several years younger than them – and Milton experienced in hunts, but a hunt did not appear to be the right place for him to be right now. Cloudia opened her mouth to ask him that question when she spotted a shadow between the trees – right behind where Milton was standing.

“Milton,” Cloudia called out and reached for his arm – damned it was; this was an emergency – right when a shot rang through the air.

***

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

~Cedric~

June 22

Just after midnight

Cedric thought, while he was getting dragged through the château, that if he were to die now of hunger, exhaustion, and sleep-deprivation, he would not mind much. His last death had been thoroughly unpleasant, he had been all alone, and –

He quickly banished that memory to the deepest corners of his mind before the biting cold of that day could run out of the recollection and take hold of him again, drag him back down into the dark. Now, Cedric was warm and he was not alone. He squeezed Cloudia’s hand and he was thankful that she walked ahead of him and could not see him smiling.

A while later, they arrived in the kitchen. Cedric could not tell how long it had taken them but he knew that the time had undoubtedly been too short when Cloudia sat him down on a chair and let go of his hand to rummage in the cupboards. He curled his hand, the feeling of her skin still lingered on his, and he forced himself to stay awake and watch her. Cloudia was doing something, and he wanted to spectate; she intended to say something, and he wanted to listen. She was here, and he wanted to be awake to have the most of her.

And this very thought startled me awake.

Like pushing my head into icy water but pulling myself back. A mind once clouded, now clear.

My heart beat faster in my chest with knowledge and with fear.

Cloudia found a kettle, filled it with water, and put it on a stove. While the water boiled, she procured a chopping board, some bread, and various other food items: lettuce and tomatoes, cheese and cucumbers. “I’m going to make you some tea and sandwiches. I’m sorry; we don’t have time for anything more,” said Cloudia and began to slice the bread. Cedric nodded blissfully.

“How was meeting the Clockmaker?” she asked and went on to cut the tomatoes. She was frighteningly fast at this.

“Good. Jacques is the worst walking partner and Florentin irritating but it was… good,” Cedric replied, doing his best to make his voice sound normal and not deranged.

“His name is Florentin?” She had now moved on to the cucumbers.

“Yes. Florentin Chastain.”

“Did you warn him? Do you think he will be able to keep himself safe from Townsend?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because he is like me.”

The knife got stuck in the board, and the kettle cried in the back. Cloudia hurried to take it off the stove and then stared at Cedric. “He is like you? Do you mean the Clockmaker is a…?”

“A Grim Reaper, yes,” said Cedric. Talking normally and getting the right words out instead of the wrong, damning ones was surprisingly easy even though he was currently running on wistful adrenaline and would likely fold in on himself the instant it faded away. Apparently, he still had enough sense of self-preservation. “I was very surprised too,” continued Cedric. The words flowed out of him. “He is a very old Grim Reaper who left the Dispatch a long time ago. Florentin said some people have a special ‘affinity’ to us, and the Marquis is one of them. One day, he found him, and Florentin begrudgingly became his friend.”

Cloudia nodded at his words while finishing the tea and handing him a cup and the first-finished sandwich. Cedric gratefully took both, though a little jolt ran through him when their hands briefly touched. It seemed he didn’t have this part fully under control yet. At least, she didn’t seem to have noticed.

“I talked to Aurèle about Anaïs and her faeries,” Cloudia told him and assembled the next sandwich. Cedric bit into the first one and nearly cried when he sunk his teeth into the soft bread, felt the crunch of the lettuce and cucumbers, tasted the juiciness of the tomatoes and the savouriness of the cheese. Never had a sandwich tasted better; Cedric didn’t know if it was because he had barely eaten anything yesterday or because Cloudia had made it.

“He said that the Marquis can see ‘invisible things’ too,” Cloudia resumed and then hesitated. “Anaïs calls Milton a ‘faerie,’” she said slowly. “For the Marquis, the ‘invisible things’ he sees are apparently Grim Reapers, but Milton is most definitely human – what if while Anaïs sees ‘invisible things’ too, she can see something else than what the Marquis does? It does not necessarily have to be actual faeries. Undertaker, did you notice anything ‘strange’ about Milton? Did he feel in any way ‘odd’ to you?”

Cedric shook his head. “He’s human,” he said and took the second sandwich Cloudia handed him. He had already obliterated the first. “But…” Cedric grimaced. “But my conversation with Florentin showed me that there are many things about my own world that I don’t know.” He hesitated before he continued. “How about you, Countess? Did you ever notice anything ‘odd’ about Milton?’

Cloudia craned her head to Cedric and frowned. “Why should I have noticed anything otherworldly about Milton?”

“Because… because Florentin told me the Phantomhives also have this affinity ‘to a certain extent.’ You’ve known Milton for years; did you never detect any supernatural strangeness coming from him?”

She turned back to the chopping board. “No,” Cloudia said after a while. “From the moment I met him, I did feel something was off about Milton, but it’s something mundane as I found out.”

Cedric blinked at her. He wished she would continue, wished he could see her face. However, she simply continued with the third sandwich, and he decided to let the matter go – for now. One day Cloudia would tell him about her history with Milton; he was sure of it. He only needed to be patient.

“We could try to get Milton to the workshop,” suggested Cedric. “He would love it there and I doubt we could ever get Florentin to the château. That man is a hermit.”

“We could try that,” said Cloudia, and Cedric beamed. “We need to talk more about this later when we have the time. Now we need to focus on the Nanteuil-la-Forêt murders.”

“Right, you said you’ve solved the mystery,” Cedric replied and took another bite of his sandwich. It was so heavenly; if he had to choose a food to eat for the rest of his life, he would choose Cloudia’s sandwiches.

Cloudia glanced at him and grinned. Cedric ate his sandwich a bit faster. “I did solve it,” she declared proudly. “I’m not going to tell you the solution immediately because I need to check some things first.” She put the third and fourth finished sandwiches on a plate before she quickly put everything back and cleaned the knife and the board.

“I will tell you one thing though – and ask you something too,” Cloudia said when she was done. She leaned against the counter and looked at Cedric who was finishing his third sandwich. “Nothing that happened is a coincidence,” Cloudia began. “And if you despaired or longed until you nearly broke apart and still no one in the light answered, what would you do if someone from the dark were to come to you and promise you everything you have been wishing for? Would you agree, no matter the cost?”

Cedric’s eyes widened. “Countess, you cannot mean someone in that village made a deal with a devil…”

“Oh, I do.” Cloudia pushed herself away from the counter and walked to the door.

Cedric stood up and stared at her. “Countess, I would have noticed if there was a devil in Nanteuil-la-Forêt…”

She turned to him and smiled. “No, you are mistaken, Undertaker. ‘Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.’ Now, pack up the last sandwich and come – we need to prevent a murder.”

***

~Cloudia~

June 22

About 1:00

Cloudia bound the horse to a tree. Like when she had come to Nanteuil-la-Forêt with Kamden, she had got a horse and a wagon in which Cedric could rest. He had been strangely cheerful during the entire ride while eating his sandwich, but then, Cedric was always happy when he got to eat something, and he must have been starving considering how quickly he had eaten the previous ones in the kitchen. Now, Cedric was standing by the wagon and looking around in every direction but hers.

“I’m done, let’s go,” Cloudia announced, and his attention snapped back to her. Cedric lingered a bit by the wagon, and she could not make out his expression in the dark. Sighing, Cloudia turned around and started walking. “If you’re too tired,” she said, “you can sleep a bit in the wagon and I will get you later.”

“No, I’m fine,” Cedric replied firmly and trotted after her.

“We need to hurry, are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said even firmer, and it sounded so silly it made her chuckle. “Also, how do you plan to prevent the next murder, Countess?”

“I know who the next victim will be,” said Cloudia and walked faster. She heard Cedric trying to catch up with her.

“And who?” Cedric asked between two heavy breaths.

“Corentin Tonnelier.”

“I have absolutely no idea who that is.”

“The farmer.”

“That doesn’t make this better! Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Because I currently only have a theory,” Cloudia told him. “A water-tight theory but I want it to be iron-clad. And for that, we need to check something first.”

“And before that, we need to try and prevent that murder,” replied Cedric.

“Exactly.”

Cloudia hurried ahead, but when she stopped hearing Cedric’s steps behind her, she frowned and turned around, wondering whether he had needed a pause and didn’t have the energy to tell or had even collapsed. She wanted to call out to him when she heard Cedric’s voice in her head.

I sense a Grim Reaper nearby.

Cloudia’s eyes widened and she touched her skull pendant necklace. This means I was too late.

This means he was fated to die today. You could not have done anything to save him. Nobody could have, Cedric answered.

Where are you? Cloudia asked.

Hiding behind some trees. I’ve seen that Grim Reaper when Jacques and I went to Florentin, and she might have seen me then too. I will stay behind until I am sure she is gone and then slowly head to the village. If I do not sense or see her in the forest or the village, I will come to you. If something happens, please call me to you.

She frowned at his words. They needed to have an in-depth talk about his journey to the Clockmaker later. Very well.

Do I need to find the farm? Where will I be able to find you? Cedric wanted to know.

The location is hard to determine as I don’t know anyone. I will tell you when I get there. Take care.

Take care came the answer, and Cloudia let go of the necklace and ran to Nanteuil-la-Forêt.

***

~Cedric~

June 22

About 1:15

Cedric slumped against a tree after ending his conversation with Cloudia. He hated, hated, hated the fact that he had to leave her alone even if he knew he had no choice. The female Grim Reaper could not find him, not alone and most definitely not with Cloudia.

Cedric sighed. The next moment he was tackled to the ground.

He struggled against his assailant but their grip on his shoulders was firm, and when he looked up and into their face, he stopped, sucking in his breath.

Long black hair in a braid. Tanned skin.

Dark-rimmed glasses.

Chartreuse eyes.

It was her, the female Grim Reaper.

She smiled broadly and said “hello” and something else in French.

“I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re saying,” Cedric replied. He kicked against her with both his feet and all his remaining strength. She lost her grip on him and staggered back, yelling out in surprise. Cedric was about to stand up when he spotted what he assumed to be her Death Scythe on the ground. She went to take it, and he kicked her back again. He quickly grabbed the Scythe, jumped to his feet, and brought some distance between them.

“What do you want from me?” Cedric asked, holding the Death Scythe in front of him like a shield. “And is this a leaf blower? How can you even cut anything with that?”

“It is a blower vac,” the woman replied annoyed in accented English. “Leaf blowers simply propel air out of a nozzle; blower vacs can also suck in air and have metal blades inside them. My Death Scythe sucks in Cinematic Records and cuts them with the blade inside.”

Cedric stared at her. “This thing shreds Cinematic Records? What did Cinematic Records do to you? How was this approved?” He shook his head. “No, before you become horrifically bureaucratic in your retelling of how you managed to get your Scythe modified like that, you need to answer my first question: What do you want from me?”

“I want to find out why some foreign Reaper has been wandering around this forest,” the woman said and narrowed her eyes. “I noticed you yesterday when you were close to my glade, and now here you are again.”

Damn. When I had put so much effort into my glade phobia lie.

“You could have approached me normally and asked!” Cedric replied. “There was no need to tackle me. Do you have no manners? What is your name?”

She crossed her arms and raised her chin. “Anastasie Faucher,” she said. “What is yours?”

“Edmund Oxley,” Cedric said without thinking. Before he and Cloudia had left the house, they had got changed – especially in his case, this had been essential. Cloudia had also quickly braided and pinned up his hair so that he could conceal it under a cap. Cedric had given his best not to grin like an idiot while she had run her fingers through his hair – just like he was doing his best not to grin at the memory now. The cap had thankfully not fallen off when Anastasie had attacked him, and with his conspicuous hair covered, Cedric hoped the lie would not fall apart that easily. “I was sent here for a special mission.”

“And this mission entails…?” asked Anastasie.

“It is a special and highly classified mission,” Cedric added. “Unless you manage to get special clearance from both your branch and mine, I cannot tell you anything about it.”

She tilted her head slightly and studied him through narrowed eyes. “Things have been weird in this forest and the village. This place has never seen such a string of murders, and the Nanteuillats’ behaviour is also out of the ordinary – some of them have been lurking in the forest doing something with several crates. I can see how all this could warrant a specialised investigation, but why was it entrusted to you? Someone from the British branch?”

Cedric shrugged. “I apologise, Miss Faucher, but if I were to tell you anything the brass would eat me alive. How do you think they like their steaks? I hope they eat me well-done.”

Anastasie stared at him. “What kind of an idiot are you?”

“One with special clearance.” Cedric waved the blower vac about. “Now, I will return your highly questionable Death Scythe and we will part ways. I wish you the best, Miss Faucher,” he said and handed her the Scythe.

Anastasie took it and held it tight. “Good luck on your… special mission, Mr Oxley,” she said and then vanished, presumably to her tent on the glade.

Cedric sighed and rubbed his forehead. What a bothersome ordeal this had been, though Anastasie had given him a very interesting piece of information; he could not wait to tell Cloudia. As if on cue, Cloudia spoke to him through the skull necklace: Find me by the townhall. Cedric straightened up when he heard her message. He was about to blindly walk to Nanteuil-la-Forêt when he got his senses back.

He looked around. He could neither see nor sense Anastasie anywhere, but he was not sure if she believed his story or not; she could watch him from somewhere outside his radius. Cedric inspected his surroundings one more time before he teleported.

***

~Cloudia~

June 22

About 1:30

The village was quiet when Cloudia arrived, but somewhere there was a dead body to be found. If it had not been found already. She had figured out how the victims were chosen. However, as Cloudia had told Cedric, it was not easy to determine the location of the crime. Where could Corentin be? She had not even had the chance to interrogate him about Ruben’s death, and all she knew about him from Aurèle was that he was a farmer and apparently very grumpy.

Corentin also liked to complain. Did he only complain about his inept employee or did he complain a lot in general?

It was time to make a guess and hope for the best.

Cloudia took a deep breath and then hurried into the direction of the townhall. The streets were eerily quiet as she ran along them. The houses were dark, not a single candle on a windowsill in sight. No soul to be seen outside. It felt like walking through a ghost town.

But the windows of the townhall were brightly lit.

Cloudia grinned when she skittered to a halt one street away from the townhall. She straightened her clothes and walked in only a slight hurry to the building. The door had been left ajar, and when Cloudia looked inside, there was no one to be seen. She rounded the townhall and eventually found Yvette, Alain, and Mathieu behind it; a frightened-looking Hector was with them. Cloudia let her gaze wander over the scene from afar. Corentin had, apparently, not been hanged from the roof like Dominique or been nailed to the façade. The others must be standing right around his corpse.

“There you are,” Cloudia said when she approached them, and everyone looked up and craned their heads to her; Hector flinched. “I decided to patrol the village and when I saw the townhall alight, I came here.”

Mathieu nodded and narrowed his eyes. His head was slowly adopting the same colour as the flame in Alain’s lantern. “Where is the detective? This is the sixth corpse already!”

Cloudia wanted to grind her teeth together but smiled instead. “He is on his way, though he has been delayed. Vidocq sent me ahead, so please treat me as if I were him.” She knelt and scrutinised the body – middle-aged and wearing dirty farmer’s clothes; it must be Corentin Tonnelier, indeed. The victim’s eyes and mouth were wide open as if he had screamed or attempted to before he was killed. There had been no sign on the others having even tried to make a sound.

Corentin’s attempt had been futile though. Not because no one had heard him and come to his rescue but because the culprit had ripped out his oesophagus.

Cloudia put on gloves as she asked, “Who is that? Who found him and when?”

“The victim’s name is Corentin Tonnelier,” said Alain, and Cloudia grinned internally. “He works as a farmer. Élève Officier Monteil” – Hector flinched and quickly straightened again when he heard his name – “found his body about thirty minutes ago when he was patrolling the village. He immediately informed us at the townhall. Mayor Guilloux, his daughter, and I have been staying there since the beginning of the murders, and we quickly followed Élève Officier Monteil to the garden. Then you arrived.”

Cloudia nodded and did a brief cursory search of Corentin before she pocketed her gloves again and stood up. “I wished I had been a bit earlier,” she remarked. “I came as fast as I could and it was still not enough; I apologise for that.” Cloudia touched her necklace, and she hoped it looked like a sorrowful gesture. Find me by the townhall, she told Cedric and then let her hand fall to the side. She turned to Alain. “Please be so kind and get the body transported to the hospital, M Descombes. Détective Vidocq will arrive soon, and we would like to examine not only M Tonnelier’s body in the deadhouse but all the other victims as well. Although I and my colleague Grégoire Fouille sent Vidocq detailed reports, he still wants to see the bodies himself too.”

Alain bowed his head. “I will arrange this at once,” he said and went inside the building. Cloudia turned to Mathieu and Yvette. “Again, I want to apologise that we have not come far yet, though we do our best. Please retreat for the night; we will call for you if we need your help.”

Mathieu harrumphed. “Very well, M Gauthier. Yvette, let us go and leave them to do their work for once,” he said and walked to the townhall with no other word. Yvette followed him with a moment’s hesitation; if her father had said nothing, she likely would have wanted to stay. For the first time, Cloudia was thankful to Mathieu. At the same time as father and daughter entered the townhall, Alain and two other clerks emerged from it. They brought something to carry the body on. Carefully, they lifted Corentin on the cloth and then moved him to the hospital. Cloudia gazed after them for a while before she directed her attention to Hector.

“Élève Officier Monteil,” she said, and Hector flinched again. “You seem very upset, and I do not want to bother you for long but what can you tell me about when you discovered the body?”

Hector swallowed and then nodded. “I will tell you all I know,” he replied, his voice shaking. “But it’s not much. I… I’ve been patrolling Nanteuil-la-Forêt all alone. I started with the curfew’s beginning at ten o’clock and then slowly walked through the village. I found M Tonnelier at the end of my first round. He’s the only… person I have seen all night. I informed everyone at the townhall straightaway. That’s all. I’ve been with the corpse all the time expect for the one or two minutes when I knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer.”

“You only had to wait about two minutes?”

Hector nodded again. “Yes. I looked at my pocket watch and to where the body was lying while I waited.”

Cloudia smiled. “Thank you, Officier Monteil.” Right afterwards, she spotted a figure hurrying towards them. Even from afar and in the dim moonlight, Cloudia could see Cedric’s striking chartreuse eyes and the light glinting on his glasses.

Breathing heavily, Cedric arrived by her side. He put his hands on his thighs and gasped for air. “Officier Monteil,” said Cloudia. “This is Détective Vidocq. He is currently unable to talk to you but there is no need anyway. Please return to the barracks and if they are too far and you cannot go there yet in your state, stay in the townhall. We will take care of everything. Do not fret.”

Hector nodded stiffly. “Good luck – and thanks,” he said before he went to the townhall. Cloudia touched Cedric’s arm and stepped a bit closer to whisper to him in English: “It’s time for us to go to the deadhouse.”

***

June 22

About 2:10

Cedric slumped with a sigh into one of the chairs. Laurent and his colleagues had finally brought in all six bodies to the deadhouse, placed them in order, provided two chairs, and left them alone in the deadhouse. The six tables in a row had filled the capacity of the room, and there were only very narrow passages between them. One more body and nobody could walk in the deadhouse anymore. Corentin was the last one though; Cloudia would make sure of it.

“Countess,” Cedric cried. “My feet and legs are killing me. Please be quick: Why are we squeezed into this dinghy room with a bunch of corpses?”

“They are the victims in this case,” explained Cloudia and glanced over the six bodies which were all covered by white clothes. “Nadia Allemand, Dominique Duhamel, Gustave Beaubois, Marius Beaubois, Ruben Fournier, and Corentin Tonnelier. I told you Corentin would be the next one and I was right.”

“Good for you, Countess, but you still haven’t told me how you knew he would be the next one. Is it finally ‘later’?”

“Yes.”

“Or do I…” Cedric stared at her. “Did you say yes?”

“Yes, my tired Reaper, I did,” Cloudia said, smiling. “But I need you to confirm my theory first.” She took a deep breath. “It is time for your method, Undertaker.”

She wouldn’t have thought it possible but his eyes widened a bit more. “But, Countess, you hate my method! You say it’s ‘lazy.’”

“Yes, I do, but we have spent far too much time in this place, and there is no other way of finding evidence for confirmation and we need to wrap up this matter now,” replied Cloudia. “We are in a hurry and I don’t like what’s happening here. This has to end now; Corentin needs to be the last. Please could you check the victims’ Cinematic Records for me? Only the part when they were killed.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to tell me before I look into their Cinematic Records what your theory is?” asked Cedric. “I don’t know what to look for otherwise after all.”

She shook her head. “No, when you view their Records, you will instantly know what I’m looking for. Trust me.”

Cedric took a deep breath and stood up. “Very well, Countess. I don’t ever want to hear a single negative word about my method again though. It is a very good method and saves us a lot of time and energy.”

“We could start using it for emergencies only,” she said. “As we do now. I’m not going to become lenient because we are overusing your method.”

“It would take a lot more effort than using my method a few times to turn you lenient, Countess,” retorted Cedric with a smile and then retrieved his Death Scythe. It was always a wondrous sight: The Scythe came out of nowhere, slipping through a crack between worlds and space right into his hand with a flourish. Even in the narrow deadhouse with the pallid light, Cloudia could not help but stare in awe as the Death Scythe appeared and the blade and the skeleton’s bones reflected the light.

Cloudia kept her eyes on Cedric and the Scythe as he approached Nadia’s corpse. Carefully, he cut the body and looked at something she could not see. He had explained to her once that when he cut people with his Death Scythe, their lives would emerge from them in the form of film strips. They were like a long row of daguerreotypes, Cedric had told her, but Cloudia still wondered what they looked like exactly. She wished she could see Cinematic Records; at least she could see Cedric’s reactions to them, and right before he finished with Nadia and went to Dominique, he frowned. The frown deepened with every body and when he was done with all six, Cedric gazed at her, his eyes wide with confusion, and Cloudia knew she had been right.

With a grin on her face, she began to explain.

***

June 22

About 3:20

The sun was slowly creeping out of its sleeping chamber and into the sky as Cloudia and Cedric drove on the horse-driven wagon back to the château. Cloudia yawned and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep herself awake. Only a little bit more and she could return to her room and fall into her bed. After she had told Cedric her deduction, they quickly ended their “inspection” of the bodies and said their goodbyes. It had been a long day and night for both of them, and though Cedric did his best to report to Cloudia about his wandering with Jacques and the attack by and fantastic escape from a wild boar trying to protect her offspring, every other word was slurred by sleep and fatigue. While Cloudia wanted nothing more than to wrap up the case now, storm into a building and announce her findings, she knew it was an impossibility in their current state.

When Cloudia and Cedric finally arrived at the château, the building lit up by the mild morning sun, there were no servants who could help them with the wagon and the horse. With the last of their strengths, Cloudia and Cedric sorted out everything on their own and lead-footedly heaved themselves to their rooms. They were close together, and when it was time for them to part ways, Cloudia wished Cedric a good sleep. She wanted to turn around but he surprisingly took her arm. She looked at him, scrutinised him through tired eyes. Her mind was too exhausted to make anything out of his behaviour or the expression on his face.

“Countess,” Cedric began. Despite his exhaustion, he still said the word definitely and firmly. “I… I…”

Cloudia smiled weakly and patted his arm. “Undertaker,” she whispered. “It can…”

“It can wait until later, I know,” he said and sighed. “I hate this.”

She wanted to close her eyes but knew she might fall asleep here and now if she did. “I know.”

Cedric sighed again before he let go of her arm. Instead, he took her hand and looked at her, his green eyes steady and awake despite the dark rings under them. “Sleep well, Countess,” he whispered and squeezed her hand.

“Sleep well, Undertaker,” Cloudia returned and squeezed his hand too.

They stood there for a moment longer, hand in hand, looking at each other, before they finally separated and went to bed.

***

~Cedric~

June 22

About 11:15

I slept without dreaming. When I woke up hours later, I was rested but it did not feel like any time had passed at all. In one moment, I had fallen into my bed still dressed as “Alexandre Vidocq”; in the next, the bright midday sun was pushing against the thick curtains. I had even woken up in the exact same position I had fallen asleep in. I usually moved around a lot in my sleep. This time, I must have been too exhausted.

Today was to be the last day we would occupy ourselves with the Nanteuil-la-Forêt murders. After everything was wrapped up, we would finally hunt down Nicodemus Townsend. Cloudia had said that when we were in the deadhouse.

Cloudia.

With a jolt, I sat up straight and stared ahead.

My heart beat loudly in my chest as everything came back to me: Her and me in the kitchen. The relief, joy, and longing I had felt watching her – and the realisation that had come with it.

That I was in love with Cloudia Phantomhive.

I leaned my head against the headboard, looked up into the canopy of my bed.

How strange it was to think that – “I was in love with Cloudia Phantomhive.” Odd words in my mind, but every word felt true and right.

How and when had this happened? I searched in my memories and I wished I could look into my own Cinematic Record to help me pinpoint a moment – even though I knew there could not have been a single one; there had not been a single one. There had been no flood, just small steady waves that shaped the shore without my knowledge. A change buried in my consciousness until the constant separation and distance had worn me thin and I could finally see the treacherous sea and what it had created.

With a groan, Cedric let himself fall into his bed and buried himself in the sheets.

What was I doing?

I had a long day ahead. Cloudia had to wrap up her investigation, and I had to help her. I could not stay here and hide forever.

And I could certainly not admit to her what I had finally admitted to myself. Not now because it would only take away part of her focus. Not later because what right did I have when I had been so dishonest?

To her, to me, to everyone.

After all, the reason “why” had never truly been a mystery to me; I had only wished it to be.

There was a knock on the door. Cedric tried to wrestle himself free but the blankets were too tangled and he could not get out. Defeated, he called out to whoever was outside to come in. If it was Cloudia, he could at least die of mortification here and now and his problem would be solved. Instead of Cloudia, Newman entered though.

“Duke Kristopher,” he said. Cedric could hear him hurry to his bed; his heavy steps were still loud and clear despite Cedric’s cocooned state. “Give me a moment, Your Grace. I will free you forthwith.”

Newman pulled skilfully on the blankets and sheets. The movements made Cedric roll around a bit and before he could protest, he was already free and staring up at the butler’s friendly face. “Thank you, Alfred,” said Cedric and sat himself up while Newman provisionally folded the sheets and blankets and placed them to the side.

“You are welcome, Your Grace,” Newman replied and briefly bowed his head. “Lady Cloudia sent me to ready you for luncheon.”

Hearing her name made his heartbeat quicken, and Cedric dug his fingers into the mattress as he said, “Then, we should hurry. She does not like to be kept waiting.”

***

June 22

About 11:50

While washing myself and getting dressed, I prepared myself again and again to face Cloudia. I rinsed my hair and told myself it would be fine to see her despite my realisation. I talked to Alfred and told myself that I could converse like that with Cloudia too: normally, casually like we always did. Cloudia never had to know and everything would be fine.

I told myself all that, and by the time I said goodbye to Alfred and left my room, I believed I was ready. Nothing could go wrong; nothing would give me away.

I had been wrong.

Right when I turned around after closing the door behind me, I saw her waiting for me – and seeing her knocked the air out of my lungs. Cloudia was wearing a simple but beautiful deep blue dress that matched her eyes and made them stand out. Her hair was braided and wound like a wreath around her head. She usually wore her hair like that; she was often dressed in blue. Still, I could not help but think that she had never looked more beautiful. If I had any poems in my repertoire or if I could remember the nonsense Romeo told Juliet, I feared I would even start reciting literature.

I had no idea I was staring at Cloudia until she raised an eyebrow and told me to come, lunch was waiting for us. I nodded and followed her to the dining room. Despite the fog in my head, I knew that this would not be easy at all.

***

June 22

About 12:30

I proved myself right, to my embarrassment. Cloudia kept trying to talk to me throughout lunch, and I could only nod as I was unable to hear a single word she said; I focused all my attention on preventing myself from staring at her. It was difficult to avoid looking at her without seeming suspicious. At least, I could stuff myself with food to excuse why I was not speaking. How convenient the torture of barely having eaten anything lately had become.

Somehow, I managed to get through lunch like that, and afterwards, we went to the kitchen to fetch some biscuits and tea which we would have while we formulated a plan. Cloudia stood by the doorsill while I – I had insisted to do this on my own, and I was rather proud of myself that I had been able to do so – rummaged through the shelves and boiled water to make tea. She continued to talk to me, and I nodded here and there because I was incapable of anything else. I wanted to hear what she was saying; I wanted to memorise all her words, but, alas, my idiotic brain could only focus on how lovely her voice sounded and not on what she was saying.

And when we finally headed to Cloudia’s room – to her room where I had been numerous times before; now the thought of going there made me feel oddly warm and nervous – I was still useless as a conversationalist.

Having arrived in the room, Cedric set up the table. The nervosity made his movements shaky, and if he did not do everything slowly and carefully, he feared making a horrible mess. It did not help that Cloudia had already sat down and was now watching him; her gaze buried itself in him and weighed him down. When Cedric was finished, he settled into the armchair that was the farthest away from Cloudia’s seat. He took a biscuit and slowly began to eat it.

For a while, neither of them spoke a single word which made Cedric nervous but he could not do anything but take absurdly small bites of his biscuit and stare at the wall behind Cloudia.

The wall bore a pretty wallpaper, wine red with a floral pattern. Leaves and blossoms alternated on the paper, were tangled in one another. If Jacques were here, he could explain in excruciating detail which plants were depicted; on his own, Cedric could not identify a single flower, though this might also be because of the fog in his head. He was not that hopeless when it came to botany but, apparently, he had become hopeless when it came to speaking to Cloudia.

Behind him, a grandfather clock ticked steadily. The sound was usually faint, a background noise easily filtered out, but now it was loud and reverberated through the room. While Cedric listened to the clock’s steady tick tack, he remembered the grandfather clock at Florentin’s workshop and how, lately, he had come to dislike these machines…

“What is going on with you?” Cloudia asked suddenly, making Cedric jump in his seat.

“Hm?” he replied and kept nibbling on his biscuit.

Narrowing her eyes, Cloudia stood up and strode to him. “You’ve been behaving very oddly since lunch and you’re going to tell me why,” she said, grabbing his biscuit with one hand and pushing away the plate with the other. “I’m not going to sit around and tolerate this nonsense. Not on any other day, and definitely not today.” Cloudia crossed her arms and scowled down at Cedric. “Please enlighten me: Why are you so quiet and dismissive?”

Having her stare at me like that, with fury and with question, it hit me what an idiot I was. My brain must have corroded with my self-admission. What was I even doing? Staring at her like a lovesick fool and ignoring her? This was Cloudia. Beautiful, lovely, intelligent Cloudia who I had been aching to spend some time with for days because I could not imagine any better pastime than to be with her. I had felt the same for her yesterday as I did today, as I would tomorrow and forever. Nothing had changed in its fundaments.

How could even part of me dare to upset everything? To upset her?

And with a pang, I realised the same must have happened to her before. I did not know what had happened two years ago but from what Cecelia had told me, Cloudia and Milton must have been friends until he proposed to her without making sure that it would not deteriorate their existing relationship. It had, and now, while they were cordial, a certain awkwardness always hung between them. One wrong step and nothing had been the same again.

I had no right to confess; I would not do what he had done.

But I had started to withdraw.

Just like he had.

How could I make her go through that again?

Cedric looked up at Cloudia, keeping his gaze steady on hers. “I’m sorry,” he said firmly. “I shouldn’t have ignored you. It is just that I… that I am a bit embarrassed about something and I didn’t know how to tell you about it.”

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “Embarrassed about what?”

“Yesterday…” he started before he caught himself. “This morning, when we went down to Nanteuil-la-Forêt, I told you there’s another Grim Reaper nearby and we separated.” Cedric gulped; he hoped covering one mortifying fact with another would ensure that Cloudia wouldn’t suspect there to be more to the matter. “I hid but she did not only see me, she even approached me, and I was too tired to get away on time.”

Cloudia also did not have to know that Anastasie had been able to tackle me to the ground with no effort at all.

Cloudia’s eyes widened in alarm. “What did she want from you? What did you tell her?”

“She wanted to know what I’m doing here as she noticed me before too. I thought I was able to avoid her without getting noticed myself but I was wrong,” Cedric said. “I told her I was on a secret mission and unable to share any details. I also gave her a false name – but not too false. If she asks around, she will find an ‘Edmund Oxley’ in the British branch. Thankfully, my hair was hidden under my cap, or my masquerade would be blown very quickly. While it’s known that I dislike Edmund, I am certainly not the only one who does. If you met him, Countess, you would know what I’m talking about; he’s a rather unpleasant fellow.”

Cloudia sighed and let her arms fall loose to her sides. “This is not ideal but as long as she does not look too closely at everything, this should do. My hands are bound in these matters anyway. I hope you knew what you were doing; you could get compromised, Undertaker,” she said. Cedric’s ears perked up a little at how she had said his name. It might be the butterflies soaring through his body but had her voice sounded a fraction softer when she had landed on his name?

No, it must be the cerebral corrosion.

“I did,” Cedric replied. “I promise, Countess, all will be well.”

“I hope you are right,” she said with another sigh. “I feared there would be a Grim Reaper here – how could there not be one with all those bodies? Still, I never anticipated she would find and even talk to you.”

“Rest assured, Countess, it’s going to be all right,” he repeated. “And there’s one good thing that came out of the French Reaper speaking to me.”

“And that is?”

Cedric grinned. “She was stunned that a British Grim Reaper had been sent on a secret mission but not that one had been sent at all. Apparently, the villagers have been doing something with ‘several crates’ in the forest.”

Cloudia stared at him, and Cedric could see the gears rattling in her brain. “Crates you say?” she said more to herself than to him. It took a load off Cedric’s mind to see her like that, quizzing out a solution to a problem. She was back to normal, and he hated himself for having shaken her up earlier. “We will look into this later,” Cloudia stated and turned to walk back to her seat, putting the half-eaten biscuit onto the table. Right before taking the first step towards the sofa, she craned her head back to Cedric though, and his heart started to beat faster in his chest. “This encounter with the female Grim Reaper is the only thing that was bothering you, right?”

Cedric wanted to simply nod, but he feared she would interpret his silent confirmation as him being distrustful of his own voice – and she would be correct. “Yes,” he forced himself to say, keeping his voice normal and steady. “This was everything.”

Cloudia’s eyes lingered on him for a bit longer before she walked back to her seat. “Very well. Let us start planning then.”

***

~Cloudia~

June 22

About 15:00

The barracks where the gendarmes stayed were at the edge of Nanteuil-la-Forêt. An odd choice if someone asked Cloudia. After all, wouldn’t a more central position be more beneficial? The officers would need about the same time to get to any corner of Nanteuil-la-Foret if their headquarters were in the village’s heart. But then, the village likely never had any major incidents that required fast responses until now.

Cloudia still thought the barracks’ placement to be poor; at least, this made it easier to talk to Hector without anyone noticing them – if Hector was there.

Cedric and I had decided to seek out Hector first. From what we had gathered, he was not involved in the murders. Although Hector was not a very competent officer, he was nevertheless one – and we would need any help we could get to dismantle what was happening in the village.

As we walked to the barracks, I glanced at Cedric. He had behaved very oddly after waking up, and while he had later explained himself, become normal again, and reassured me the incident with the female Grim Reaper was all that had bothered him, I still had the feeling that he was not telling me everything.

They had walked through the forest to get to the barracks and when they finally came in sight, Cloudia stopped Cedric by taking his arm and instructed him to become invisible and quickly survey the area. They needed to be sure that Hector was there and that no one else was around who could listen to their conversation. Cedric nodded, and Cloudia noted that the movement was a little stiff, before he vanished before her eyes and presumably walked to the barracks. She looked through the woods at the barracks and the path Cedric was likely taking.

Perhaps, saying that Cedric had become “normal” again was too generous. He had “normalised” his behaviour but flecks of strangeness still clung at the edge of all his words and movements. What could have occurred? Had something graver happened when he faced the French Grim Reaper? Or was something else entirely the cause for Cedric’s odd behaviour? I could not think of anything and it bothered me. Right now, the Cedric who was around me was not quite the one I knew and it unsettled me. The him that was not quite him. Anaïs might have called him a “changeling” if she had noticed anything off about him.

I wanted to confront Cedric about his behaviour and its cause again but he had already given me an answer. An incomplete one, but an answer nonetheless. I feared Cedric might avoid answering, avoid me, if I enquired for more. It must be rather serious that it had shaken him up so much and that he did not want to tell me.

I gritted my teeth. Whatever it was, I hoped it would pass completely soon. This was too bothersome for my liking.

Cedric came into her view again a metre away from her. Cloudia bit back a remark; the Cedric she knew would have appeared behind her to spook her.

“Hector’s all alone in the barracks and no one else is around,” Cedric said. “We should hurry before someone comes. Hector also looks like he is about to lose it.”

Cloudia nodded. “Let’s go then.”

Five minutes later, Cloudia and Cedric were standing in front of the barracks. Inside the forest, it had been relatively cool; now, the sun was shining brightly and intensely on Cloudia. She was glad to be wearing a cap with a rim wide enough to shield her eyes; beneath it, her hair was sticking damply to her scalp though. Cloudia knocked and heard a muffled shriek before Hector opened the door.

“Détective Vidocq, M Gauthier, how can I help you?” asked Hector. Cedric was right, he did look rather frayed. He had already looked dreadful at the townhall standing next to Corentin’s corpse; he did not seem to fare any better now: There were dark rings under Hector’s eyes which kept darting around restlessly. However, considering that neither his uniform nor his hair was dishevelled, he still seemed devoted to doing his job, even if it brought him to his limits.

Cloudia smiled. “Officier Monteil, could we come in? The detective and I have something urgent to discuss with you.”

***

June 22

About 15:45

After discussing everything with Hector, Cloudia and Cedric discreetly returned to the forest. When Cloudia thought they were far away enough from the village, she took Cedric’s arm. She was about to tell him to teleport them back to the château –

Cloudia dropped her hand and whirled around when she heard footsteps.

“Who is there?” Cloudia demanded, ready to pull out her gun if necessary.

“It’s just me, M Gauthier!” she heard a familiar voice. A moment later, Enzo Chauveau stumbled out from between some trees, his hands raised high. His eyes widened when he spotted Cedric. “And you must be Détective Vidocq! I’m so very pleased to finally meet you! I can’t believe that I met both of you here!”

Cloudia forced a smile onto her face. The “cursed house” was quite a bit away from the barracks but also at the edge of Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Apparently, Enzo and Gaspard did not only like to explore the area around their hideout but also around all of the village. An idea prickled at the back of her head, and Cloudia’s smile turned from a forced one into a genuine one. “Hello, M Chauveau,” she said politely. “I apologise for my partner not saying anything…”

“His voice! I know!” replied Enzo, grinning brightly. “I know all about you two. Well, at least, all about you the rest of the village knows too. I’ve been asking around.”

What a surprise that Enzo had not been eliminated yet.

Enzo turned to Cedric. “Détective Vidocq, I respect and understand why you dislike talking in front of people. And I do not need to hear your voice to know your greatness; I feel honoured enough by simply standing near you,” he told him, and Cedric nodded slowly. Cloudia was glad that he could not understand what Enzo was saying.

“The detective and I are on a secret mission. No one can know we are here,” whispered Cloudia and Enzo’s eyes began to glitter. “Could you be a little quieter?”

“Of course,” Enzo murmured back.

Cloudia smiled. “Thank you. M Chauveau, if I remember correctly, our interview was cut short yesterday.”

“Please call me ‘Enzo,’” he replied excitedly before he caught himself and added, “If you prefer that, M Gauthier.”

“Of course. Enzo, what can you tell me about your friend Dominique Duhamel?” asked Cloudia. It was not necessary anymore to enquire about this aspect of the case but she could never know what Enzo might know, and she also needed a natural start to their conversation.

“Dominique is, as you already know, the baker’s son,” said Enzo. “He, Gaspard, and I have been friends since we were little. Therefore, when he started behaving oddly before his death, I immediately noticed. Gaspard” – he rolled his eyes – “keeps telling me I imagined that but I did not! Sure, I want life to be a bit more exciting in Nanteuil-la-Forêt; however, I do not live my life making up lies and untruths in my mind! I want real mysteries, not false ones. Gaspard knows that; I don’t know why he insists that I’m wrong. I swear, detectives, I am right! Before his death, Dominique suddenly became very secretive with his notebook and nervous. He usually never shied away from showing others his notebook. He liked to create clothes and would pencil his designs into it and present them to Gaspard and me and anyone else. Dominique was very enthusiastic about clothes and proud of what he was doing. He would even make his own clothes and brag about them at any given opportunity. He was not shy or secretive in any way, M Gauthier, Détective Vidocq. Dominique only became that way shortly before he was murdered.”

“And do you have any idea why?”

Enzo shook his head. “I investigated a bit,” he said and then turned a bit red. “I know I should not have because Dominique is my friend but the situation was too odd and I could not help myself! Finally, a mystery to solve.” Enzo’s shoulders sagged. “Only I could not find out anything at all.”

“Could Dominique’s change in behaviour be related to his infatuation with Nicolette Royer?” prompted Cloudia, and Enzo shook his head again. “No. Dominique has been in love with her for years. It’s very obvious. He has also written a million poems about her which he never gave her.”

“Maybe he could have been fighting the courage to finally give her one?”

“He would…” Enzo stopped. “Nicolette’s father did begin to talk about slowly looking for someone who would marry his daughter right before Dominique’s behaviour changed. But his family has not much money, and Dominique was never interested in the family business and is, thus, unsuited to continue it. Dominique quit as Mme Allemand’s apprentice months ago and he had not bothered to find anything new afterwards. Dominique was always a bit lazy and the end of his apprenticeship greatly angered him. Alas, without money and a secure job, Dominique would have never been accepted by M l’Abbé.”

Cloudia nodded. “Thank you. This has been very insightful.” She looked around and glanced at Cedric staring blankly into the distance. “This is quite far away from the heart of the village,” Cloudia remarked. “And you and your friends’ hideout is at the village’s edge too. Am I right in my assumption that you like exploring the forest?”

Enzo nodded enthusiastically. “I do! I don’t go very far as my mother would turn part of me into a broom and chase the rest of me with it through the house but still. Forests are interesting places; I’ve found quite a lot of interesting things wandering around, though never a human skull. It would be marvellous if I stumbled over an ancient corpse.” He sighed. “My wish has not come true though. The only corpses here are too fresh and too familiar for my liking.”

Cloudia inched closer to him. She could see Cedric directing his attention to her and Enzo from the corner of her eye. “Enzo, by any chance, did you see any odd crates in the area?” she asked conspiratorially.

Enzo’s eyes lit up instantaneously. “From afar at night but only once. It was on the 14th. I snuck out at night – that was only a week ago; it is amazing how much can change in such a short period – and spotted a group of people in the dark walking into the forest. I discreetly followed them; I was so excited! I don’t think I ever went that deep into the woods and my heart beat so quickly and loudly that I feared they might hear it but they never did!” Enzo smiled triumphantly. “I saw crates too; they were taking out what was inside them but I don’t know what it was. I was too far away and it was too dark. I eventually went back home because I did not want them to notice me. I tried to find those crates the next day with Gaspard but they were all gone and the old sceptic did not want to believe me, of course. He said I was only dreaming. But it was not a dream! I swear, M Gauthier, Détective Vidocq! It was my dream to witness such happenings but it was not a dream I had asleep in my bed!”

“Calm down. Secret mission, Enzo,” said Cloudia, and he immediately quieted. “Could you make out who was there with the crates?”

“No,” Enzo whispered. “It was very dark and they were all mummed, had put on hats and wrapped scarfs around their faces. They must have been very hot.”

Cloudia exhaled. Of course, things could never be easy. “Thank you, Enzo. This was immensely helpful,” she said, and he beamed. “But this knowledge is also very dangerous. Especially considering that you told someone about what you saw. Gaspard Baudet might not believe you but if he tells someone about it who knows about that nightly escapade, your life will be threatened,” Cloudia continued gravely, and Enzo’s face fell. “However, do not worry: It is our duty to protect key witnesses and hinder murderers. Nothing will happen to you.”

***

June 22

About 16:50

Taking Enzo to the château might not be the best decision I had ever made but it was better than leaving him in Nanteuil-la-Forêt and allowing him to be killed. He was not next-in-line; still, an exception could be made in his case.

I explained to him that the Charbonneaus – Enzo did not have to know that the Duponts were currently staying in their home – were kindly housing “Vidocq” and me. His eyes turned large as plates when he heard that; apparently, he had never even seen the château up-close. Enzo bounced the rest of the way and even walked ahead of us.

I seized that moment and quickly explained everything to Cedric via the skull pendants. He had been looking very puzzled ever since I had invited Enzo to come with us. After I told him everything, Cedric still looked confused but at least not to the same degree.

When we arrived, I told some servants to please take Enzo inside and keep him in a guest room. It was important to keep him safe, though, for everyone’s sake, he should not be allowed to leave his room. The servants nodded understandingly, likely because they, as Dupont servants, were used to such strange demands. Enzo happily waved Cedric and me goodbye before he was whisked away.

Cloudia took a deep breath and took off her cap when she stepped over the château’s threshold. It was good to be back. Their short trip to Nanteuil-la-Forêt had been more exhausting than expected, and Cedric also sighed in relief next to her.

“I can finally taaaalk,” he said and ripped the cap off his head. “I do hate being ‘Alexandre Vidocq.’”

“We could have some language lessons,” suggested Cloudia and climbed the stairs.

“In French? Countess, we will end this nonsense today – half the nonsense at least – and then we will leave France,” replied Cedric and followed her. “Why should I bother to learn French now? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

She shrugged. “You can never know. We might have to have another adventure in France.”

Cedric groaned. “I hope not. Or if this happens again, I hope it’s not an adventure filled with annoying villagers and forest wanderings.”

“I will tell Her Majesty to only send me to cities from now on.”

“Finally a sensible suggestion.”

Cloudia smiled, both at his words and the fact that Cedric seemed to be better now. She wanted to reply something but cut herself off when Anaïs skittered along the corridor, Arnaud hurried right after her. “Try to catch me, Arnau–” called Anaïs, giggling, but halted in both speech and movement when she saw Cloudia and Cedric. “Claudette! Duke Kristopher!” she exclaimed. “You’re back!”

Arnaud came to a halt a few metres away from Anaïs. “Welcome back,” he said with a smile on his face.

“Well, thank you,” replied Cloudia. “You’re playing tag again? I haven’t been able to thank you yet: Seeing you play yesterday was the right ingredient to bring everything together. Thanks.

Anaïs’ eyes glowed. It was almost a pity that she and Enzo would not meet; they would get along very well. “You’re welcome, Claudette! I do not know what you are talking about but because Arnaud and I did help you…” She grinned impishly. “…you could tell us all about it?”

Cloudia chuckled. “Later, when I’m completely done with this case.”

Anaïs beamed. “Thank you, Claudette! I can’t wait.”

“Me too,” mumbled Cedric before he looked around and frowned. “Is it only you two playing?”

Arnaud nodded. “Yes. Gérard is taking a nap, and we can hardly ask Aurèle to play tag with us; he is too fast. We wanted to ask Jacques…”

“… but we couldn’t find him,” Anaïs finished. “I guess he’s still tired from yesterday and hid himself with a pile of books in the darkest, farthest corner of the library.”

“My brother often does that,” added Arnaud. “I assume Jacques saw a lot of interesting plants in the forest and became eager to look all of them up.”

Cedric put his hands on his face and groaned. “You cannot even fathom how many ‘interesting’ plants he saw.”

Arnaud smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Duke Kristopher. He can easily get carried away.”

Cedric let his hands fall. “It is all right, Arnaud. You do not have to apologise for your older brother.”

Cloudia nodded. “He is right,” she said softly. “And now we won’t bother you any further. We will see you later.” The children briefly said goodbye to them before they ran off again. Cloudia and Cedric went up one more floor and then headed to Cloudia’s room.

She opened the door, and to her surprise, Kamden was waiting inside. He got up from his seat and walked towards her.

“Did something happen?” asked Cloudia.

Kamden shook his head, and she sighed in relief. “No,” he said. “I’ve simply been worried. You were not at breakfast and Miss Lisa said you were still sleeping deeply… and I only briefly saw you at lunch but I could not ask with the others around. And then you rushed away and…”

Cloudia took his hands and squeezed them. “Kam, I’m fine. We had a late night, the Duke and I, and needed to sleep longer as compensation. We still have another long day and night ahead of us.”

Kamden tightened his grip on her and took a deep breath before he gazed directly into her eyes. “Then, let me help.”

Cloudia opened her mouth to speak when someone said behind her, “Me too.” Startled, she craned her head and watched her cousin step in front of her and lean against the doorsill. “I have no idea what exactly is happening,” Aurèle continued. “However, if this concerns what is going on in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, you might need as many people as you can.” He scowled at Cedric. “I don’t doubt your… your abilities, Claudette, but two people might not be enough.” Kamden nodded firmly at his words.

Cloudia let go of Kamden and eased one of her loose hairstreaks back. “You are right,” she said. “I planned to ask Lisa and Newman but we might need even more people for this.” Her gaze hardened. “I’ll go to the servants’ tract. Duke, get the biscuits and the tea – we have more planning to do.”

***

June 22

About 20:00

Rendezvous had been at nineteen o’clock. Hector was an hour late.

Cloudia looked at the sun slowly setting in the distance. Earlier, she had told Hector to meet her at the edge of the village opposite where the barracks were. At nineteen sharp, Cloudia had arrived with Kamden, who had insisted to accompany her. They had waited for an hour to give Hector enough time to come; after all, there could have been delays on the road. But there was still no sight of Hector and they were running out of time.

“It seems like he won’t be coming anymore,” said Cloudia and began to walk back to the château. Kamden immediately followed her.

Cloudia cradled the skull pendant in her hand. They got Hector, she thought.

***

~Cedric~

June 22

About 19:00

With a sigh, Cedric fell into an armchair and fixed his eyes on the clock on the wall. Cloudia and Kamden must have arrived at the meeting point by now which meant that he could relax for the next hour.

And I did need that pause. Cloudia had questioned Enzo about the place where he had seen the crates and he had described it to her as best as he could – and then she had instructed me to go and search that area for clues. I had excused myself to the bathroom and teleported to the forest where I had spent the better part of the last hour combing through the area in question. I had stared at far too many trees and turned over far too many stones for my liking until I was sure that there was really nothing left except for places where the grass was flattened. They couldn’t have got rid of that like everything else, but this was enough: Enzo had not been dreaming and Anastasie had not lied to me as a test. The crates had been there.

The question now was: What had been inside them?

“There you are,” said Aurèle and diverted Cedric’s attention from the clock. Except for Arnaud maybe, Cedric could not say he was particularly fond of the Beauchene brothers, but at least it was not Jacques. He had seen and heard enough of him for a week. “I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom,” Aurèle continued, and Cedric stiffened. “You took rather long. Do you have any… uhm, digestive problems?”

“I neither want to bother nor disgust you with any details,” replied Cedric dryly, and Aurèle nodded.

“Why were you searching for me?” Cedric asked.

“I wasn’t searching for you. I saw you go into the bathroom before Claudette and Bonham left the château; I only wanted to make sure you were not doing nothing while the rest of us were preparing for later.” Aurèle narrowed his eyes at Cedric, and Cedric forced himself not to let out a bitter chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Aurèle, the Countess gave me the least strenuous tasks because I only got to sleep eight hours today and not much in the last few days. I would be useless if I fell asleep in the middle of everything after all,” said Cedric. “Though, I suppose, it would make quite the picture. If this were to happen, I hope I would fall asleep in a perplexing position; that would be a marvellous distraction.”

Aurèle huffed. “You would be ‘dead weight’ if that’s the correct term.”

“It is.”

“If you got so little sleep, shouldn’t you be sleeping now?”

Cedric shook his head. “My current task is to wait an hour. If the Countess and Emyr have returned by then, I will take a nap immediately. If not, I will have to run an errand.” He nodded to the seats next to him. “Would you like to keep me company until then?”

Aurèle crossed his arms and was quiet for a while. Cedric partially wanted him to refuse, but he also did have a few questions for him. Aurèle eventually sat down on the sofa opposite Cedric and took out a cloth roll of knives and a sharpening stone. “I can do this here too,” he said and set everything up on the side table in front of him. “I also do not want you to fall asleep in the middle of waiting and cause Claudette unnecessary problems.”

“I didn’t know you were such a considerate person,” remarked Cedric, and Aurèle glared at him.

“The Countess told me you talked about Anaïs calling Milton a faerie,” he said when Aurèle took the first knife. “And I wondered if you could answer me a few questions.”

Aurèle looked up from the knife and narrowed his eyes. “And what do you want to know?”

“What do you think those ‘faeries’ she can see are?”

“I do not know,” answered Aurèle. “I told my cousin that faerie lore is very varying, and there are a lot of explanations for the origin of faeries. Anaïs could refer to actual faeries; Claudette thinks she might only call the Baron a faerie because he reminds her of one.”

“I wondered that too: whether Anaïs means actual faeries or whether she uses the word to refer to something else,” Cedric said. “What different kinds of explanations for the origin of faeries are there?”

“In Christianity, faeries are ‘demoted angels,’ angels that were between Heaven and Hell when God ordered for the gate to Heaven to be closed,” explained Aurèle while scraping the knife on the stone. “Or they were, uh, outcast angels who were neither ‘good enough’ for Heaven nor ‘bad enough’ for Hell. In the 17th century, due to Puritanism, the idea that faeries are demons became popular. Some people also believe faeries might be, uhm, demoted pagan deities or elementals that personify forces of nature; the latter idea has become popular lately. The belief that faeries are old and outcast deities or angels can also be found in other cultures. For example, the Persian peris are said to be unable to enter paradise due to their mischievousness although they are angelic beings. Most cultures, religions, and mythologies portray faeries as – how to say that? – entities that even if they are more benevolent than malicious are mischievous tricksters and hold morals foreign to humans. This contrasts with their outer appearance: Faeries are often strikingly beautiful. The, eh, humanoid ones, at least.” Aurèle put down the now-sharpened knife and took another. “Apart from the theories that faeries are angels, demons, deities, or other powerful entities, there is one which says that faeries are spirits of the dead.”

Cedric stared at Aurèle, a cold shudder ran down his spine. “Spirits of the dead?”

“Yes. Some believe that, like ghosts, faeries are the spirits of those who had ‘unfinished lives.’ Their natures differ, of course. Children who were unable to, uhm, ‘pass on’ after death and turned into ghosts are said to become ‘faerie-like’ over time.

“There are also many connections between faeries and death in general,” added Aurèle, “as the dead and faeries are believed to live in the same place: the underground kingdom. Faerie kings like the Irish Finvarra or the Welsh Arawn are, therefore, often referred to as ‘Kings or Lords of the Dead,’ or even gods of the dead or underworld. Faeries are also thought to be, uh, ‘harbingers of death’ or death omens. For example, if a Scottish bodach appears as a ‘dark, grey man’ in front of you, as a bodach glas, it’s a sign that something horrible will happen soon. Some think faeries can even summon the dead.”

Cedric wanted to reply something when Cloudia’s voice suddenly filled his head: They got Hector. In one fluid motion, Cedric stood up and glanced at the clock. It was just past eight; he had not realised an hour had passed already.

“I have to run my errand now,” Cedric told Aurèle. “I need to find Batteux and instruct him to go to a village and get the officers from Nanteuil-la-Forêt that are currently there.”

Aurèle frowned. “Should I come with you? You can’t speak French after all.”

Cedric shook his head and dug out a piece of paper from his pocket. “There is no need: The Countess wrote a note for Batteux that I have to deliver.” He waved it around as he left the room. “And you really are quite considerate, Aurèle!” he said right before he walked over the threshold and hurried away.

***

June 22

About 20:40

“I hope Hector wasn’t murdered,” said Cloudia when she entered her room, Cedric followed her. Batteux had left half an hour ago, and while Cedric could have gone to bed after delivering the note, he had decided to wait for Cloudia and Kamden’s return.

“The poor man does not deserve to have his life ended like that. I also don’t want any more unnecessary corpses,” Cloudia continued. She put her hat on a table and took out the pins that fastened her braid to her head, letting it fall to her shoulder. Cloudia went to her wardrobe and flung open its doors. “Batteux needs about two hours to get to the village. If everything goes well, he should return with Hector’s colleagues sometime after midnight. As planned, we will head to Nanteuil-la-Forêt at 22 o’clock.”

Cedric sat down on a sofa and watched Cloudia shuffle through her clothes. “You should go and sleep a little now,” she said and retrieved the bag with her special corset. Cloudia had told Cedric once that when she was twelve, she commissioned her tailor to create a unique corset for her that would double as underwear and protective gear; Wilbur had regularly re-made the corset in the years that followed.

“I will,” said Cedric. “But I wanted to talk to you about something first.”

Cloudia put the bag on a chair and continued to look through her wardrobe. “What is it?”

“I asked Aurèle about the origins and natures of faeries,” he told her. “There are many stories about where faeries come from and what they actually are. Some think they are demons or demoted angels. Others believe they are spirits of the air – or the spirits of the dead.”

Cloudia halted in her movement. “Milton is not a ghost, Undertaker,” she replied sharply.

“But what if Anaïs can both see the dead and the dying?”

Cloudia whirled around, and Cedric was taken aback by the sudden movement. “Milton is not dead,” she said firmly. “Milton is not dying.”

“Think about it, Countess. Milton is human; he is neither a Grim Reaper nor a ghost or a demon. Still, Anaïs calls him a ‘faerie,’ and she did make him wear those clothes that made him look like a ghost to her tea party. What if…” said Cedric but cut himself off when he saw the look in Cloudia’s eyes. She took a step towards him.

“Milton is not going to die anytime soon,” Cloudia declared. “He is safe in Paris with Wentworth doing paperwork. And unless Townsend somehow tracks him down there and figures out the one thing that could convince Milton to come with him, he will never get his hands on him by sheer force, do you understand me, Undertaker? I need no list, no record, to tell you that Milton is not going to die.”

Cedric looked at her. “Countess,” he said softly. “What if it is not Townsend? Are you sure Milton’s ‘phantom pain’ is only that?”

Cloudia closed her eyes. “He is not going to die, Undertaker.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because…” Cloudia pinched her nose. “Undertaker, I don’t want to have this conversation now. I cannot and will not entertain such thoughts now.” She opened her eyes and levelled her gaze at Cedric. Her eyes were steady and full of certainty but there was also something else that flickered in them for a mere second. Something that made Cedric’s heart ache and wish he had never addressed this topic – fear. “Milton is neither going to die nor is he dying,” stressed Cloudia. “You should go and take that nap now, Undertaker. I will see you in an hour.”

***

~Cloudia~

June 22

About 22:30

The sun had set hours ago; faint moonlight broke through the thin clouds and let the plaque reading “MAIRIE” shine eerily and kissed the clockhands with silver. The hot day had darkened to a warm night, and Cloudia welcomed the gentle, cooling breeze that rushed through the air and played with the rim of her cap and the hem of her jacket as she gazed up at the townhall. Cedric waited patiently beside her; Cloudia’s gaze lingered a moment longer on the building’s façade: the beige, spotty walls, the red bricks framing doors and windows and the clock that slowly but surely crept to midnight.

Hopefully, she would see this place for the last time tonight.

I had planned everything with great care. Aurèle and Kamden, Lisa and Newman must have arrived at their positions by now. Batteux was still on his way back, hopefully with the reinforcements that could clean everything up when I was done.

Everything was in its place; everything would go perfectly.

One did not need luck if one had certainty.

Cloudia squared her shoulders and straightened her back before she nodded at Cedric. He returned the nod and went to enter the townhall first; Cloudia closely followed him.

Earlier, she had asked Alain to collect everyone connected to the victims and the murders at the townhall. Solange and Basile, Aurore and Ferdinand (little Antoine had been left with Sylvie), Armelle, Xavier, Serge, Marcel, Violaine and Maxime, alongside Yvette, Mathieu, and Alain, were now gathered in the assembly hall. Cloudia had not asked for Gaspard as Enzo would have been searched for then too, and not for Marc as well as he was still so young and did not have to be present. However, she had requested Nicolette and noted with surprise that she had not come with her father. Marcel likely did not want his daughter to learn more of this business than she had to; Cloudia could not fault him for that.

“Thank you for coming,” Cloudia said and let her eyes travel over the crowd and saw a sea of worried, scared, pale faces but also expectant, neutral, and angry ones. She wanted to smile in excitement but chose not to; it was not mannerly to lay out deductions for a serial murder investigation while beaming like a lighthouse. “In the last week, Nanteuil-la-Forêt has been plagued by great tragedy and horror ever since a stranger came to the village. He arrived on the morning of June 16 and was nowhere to be found by the afternoon. Each night from that day on until now, someone has died: Nadia Allemand, Dominique Duhamel, Gustave Beaubois, Marius Beaubois, Ruben Fournier, and Corentin Tonnelier. Tonight, this chain will break because Détective Alexandre Vidocq solved the case.” Theatrically, Cloudia pointed at Cedric who slightly bowed his head to the gathered mass.

“This took you long enough,” grumbled Mathieu from the first row. “Now, where is the stranger? It does not matter how he killed everyone; it only matters that he is found and thrown into jail!”

“Patience is a virtue, Mayor Guilloux. All will become clear when I present the detective’s deduction,” Cloudia replied calmly. “First, let me briefly recount what we know:

“The first night, Mme Allemand was murdered in her tailor shop. She had been killed with a blow to the back of her head, and her killer also acupunctured her body with needles. The second night, Dominique was stabbed in the heart and hung on the church’s roof. The third night, Gustave was stabbed in the woods, and his brother Marius followed the next night: His head was smashed with a hammer and his corpse was left in the fountain. The fifth night, Ruben was stabbed and subsequently buried in the cemetery. Last night, M Tonnelier was found dead in the townhall’s garden.” Cloudia’s gaze hardened. “The places where they were found, how they were killed – none of them was without purpose. Dominique was hung on the church’s roof for a reason; Ruben was buried for a reason. The needles with which Mme Allemand’s skin was punctured were her own: She kept them securely in an old locked tea box. A mere stranger, a wanderer who has simply decided to go through Nanteuil-la-Forêt, could not have known about the needles, would not have killed those six people and arranged their bodies as they were.”

“Are you trying to tell us that the culprit is not a stranger but a villager?” asked Xavier, his eyes wide with horror. Armelle who sat next to him pressed her lips thinly together. Marcel paled, though he had already been pale from the beginning.

“Yes,” said Cloudia, and the room erupted in panic and protests. She raised a hand to silence them. “I know it is hard to imagine someone you have known all your life – a relative, a friend, a neighbour – could be a murderer but people are rarely what they seem to be on the surface.”

“Still it is unthinkable that one of us would commit such atrocious acts,” Alain remarked and looked around.

“One of you did not commit those atrocious acts,” corrected Cloudia. “Multiple did.”

Yet again, the assembly hall was filled with gasps and wild chatter, and Cloudia held up her hand anew and waited until it died down. “Rest assured though,” she said. “All but one is already dead.”

Just as she had finished her sentence, Mathieu bolted to the stage and watched her through narrowed eyes. “Speak! Who were the so-called murderers in our midst!” he demanded. Cloudia stared down at him with icy eyes, and he quieted and recoiled from the stage.

She then looked up and into the mass. “Nadia Allemand was killed by Dominique Duhamel,” Cloudia stated, her voice firm and clear. In the back, it seemed as if Solange was about to faint; Basile held on tight to his wife. “Dominique was stabbed by Gustave Beaubois, and Gustave was murdered by his brother Marius,” continued Cloudia. All colour left Aurore’s and Fernand’s faces at her words. “Ruben Fournier took Marius’ life.” Xavier sucked in the air. “Ruben fell victim to Corentin Tonnelier.”

Right on time, the backdoor swung open and Kamden entered, a bound and gagged but struggling man in tow. Kamden’s whole body was tense, though he relaxed a little when he saw Cloudia. With some effort, he hauled the man to the stage where he let him go and went to stand next to Cedric. The man immediately tried to run but Cloudia kicked him to the ground. A muffled groan slipped out of his mouth. “And this man, townhall clerk Philippe Passereau, killed M Tonnelier.” She glanced down at him. “He should truly be more grateful though,” Cloudia remarked. “After all, if we had not caught and bound him, someone would have murdered him tonight.”

Fernand jumped up from his chair, his throat red from anger; a startling contrast to the ghostly hue he had adopted only a moment ago. “What in the world is going on here?” he exclaimed. “What is the explanation for all this?”

“Right.” Still pale-faced but with a determination Cloudia had never seen on her before, Solange stood as well. “Why would Dominique murder Nadia? Why would any of them murder one another?”

“Each person killed the previous person in the chain for personal reasons and those reasons are reflected in the methods and places they chose,” explained Cloudia. “Dominique killed Mme Allemand and displayed her in her shop like a pincushion because of his failed apprenticeship. He upset the tailor shop to make it seem like a failed burglary, though he neglected to take anything to make the lie more believable. Gustave stabbed Dominique in the heart because they were in love with the same girl and hung him from the church because that girl was Nicolette Royer, the head priest’s daughter. Marius got rid of Gustave to get his hands on their family’s woodcutting business; that’s why he killed him in the woods. Gustave’s neck was twisted to make him look up empty-eyed, presumably to underline how Marius stole his brother’s future. To avenge his best friend, Ruben angrily smashed Marius’ head. He put him in the fountain because Marius was a known thief and used to steal the coin inside it; Marius had also taken the contents of Gustave’s pockets after killing him. M Tonnelier murdered Ruben because Ruben was a lousy apprentice who could never use the fertiliser correctly – Ruben was buried so that he would eventually become fertiliser himself.” Cloudia turned her gaze to Philippe on the ground; he had stopped squirming and was now glaring at her. “M Passereau killed M Tonnelier by the townhall and ripped out his oesophagus because the farmer would complain at any given time. As M Passereau works at the townhall, he was often the recipient of his tirades.”

I had deduced everyone’s motives after seeing Anaïs and Arnaud play – except for Philippe’s. There had been no time to look thoroughly into Corentin and find out who could hold a grudge against him. Cedric, when going through Corentin’s Cinematic Record, saw his killer though, and after describing him to Aurèle, he recognised him as Philippe Passereau and could tell us all about his hate for Corentin. Earlier, Aurèle and Kamden had paid him a short visit.

Cloudia returned her eyes to the assembled group. Because of the secretive nature of the Watchdog duty, she had never been able to present any of her deductions like that: grandly in front of the wronged crowd. She had only ever been able to tell them to the Queen in her drawing room, to the Police Commissioners of Scotland Yard in their dinghy office, or to Oscar, Cecelia, and Barrington in the Aristocrats’ Bureau – though this did not quite count; after all, they contributed to the solving as well. Now, although Cloudia was aware that the circumstances were horrifying, her skin still prickled with excitement and ecstasy as she continued, “Dominique, Gustave, Marius, Ruben, M Tonnelier, and M Passereau all had their reasons to kill. Still, none of them did until now: In a place as small as Nanteuil-la-Forêt, one cannot easily commit a crime as everyone knows everyone. It is nearly impossible to kill and hide forever undetected. However, what would happen if there was someone, a stranger who just arrived at the village, who could take all the blame for you?

“They all took this unique opportunity to get rid of a person they despised. The stranger’s arrival was only part of the ignitor though: M l’Abbé has begun looking for suitors for his daughter. Dominique knew he would only pick one who could provide for her. With his failed apprenticeship and lack of interest in the bakery, he was left with nothing. He wanted to propose but needed money. Ruben, while he undoubtedly hated Marius for killing Gustave, would have never blindly killed him – but Ruben’s aunt is terribly sick and his family cannot afford the surgery she needs. The six culprits have not come together by chance, each of them independently seizing the opportunity to kill as soon as a scapegoat arrived in the village. No, for that, the chain was too orderly, the deaths too orderly: None of the victims fought back. They all accepted to die even though such apathy was against their natures.

“All six culprits were approached by someone who organised the chain of murders, a mastermind who brought them all together by offering them what they desired: money and revenge, a future and a way to rid oneself of pent-up frustration. They only had to ‘win’ the game: After committing a murder, they would become the next victim. The next night they would have to outrun the next murderer, and when they were found they had to surrender without a fight and head to the location chosen for their death. I suppose they were threatened that their family would be eliminated if they tried to fight back. Or were they threatened with something else, Yvette Guilloux?”

A gasp ran through the crowd, and Mathieu was about to protest when Cloudia continued and cut everyone off. Her eyes were fixed on Yvette who still sat quietly and indifferently in the front row as she spoke, “It would have been easy for you as the ‘village’s princess’ to approach people for your plan and to convince others to stay quiet about what is happening in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, though some who were not let in on the secret have noticed a strangeness in the village. Because of your position, you could also accompany us to our investigations to ensure no one would say too much or even confess.

“Of course, not only the culprits were involved in your plan: Maxime Guilbert and his wife were as well.” The atmosphere tensed further as the others glanced at the Guilberts. “I was at the hospital: Do you feel any remorse for locking away your best friend and denying her parents entry? Forcing them to pretend to run the local inn? Did you promise them to cover Marie-Claire’s medical costs like you did Ruben?”

Silence set in the assembly hall for a moment before it was punctured by a laugh. In one fluid motion, Yvette rose from her seat and took a step to the stage. With a smile on her face and crossed arms, she looked up at Cloudia. “Détective Vidocq, M Gauthier,” she said sweetly, “you have been correct in every aspect so far.”

Mathieu’s face turned red. “Yvette, why…”

“Why I would do such a thing?” asked Yvette coldly, cutting him off and craning her head to him. “Dear papa, because I could. When you would sit inside the townhall all day, I would be outside with the people. You have been the mayor and I have been the mayor’s daughter for over a decade.” She threw an amused smile to Cloudia. “I was the village’s princess for over a decade. No one knows this village and its citizens like I do. Not that you cared as you never cared for me at all, dear papa. You did not care about what I could do because you never let me do anything. Me, your useless only daughter. Only good to be married off to the next-best old fart,” Yvette spat out.

“Everyone got the opportunity to have their wish fulfilled,” Cloudia said. “And so did you, didn’t you, Yvette? Though this was not a matter of self-fulfilment; there has always been someone else with you in the background. The money you promised, in particular, could not possibly be your own – it belongs to the stranger you met lurking in the woods around Nanteuil-la-Forêt one day. A stranger may not have committed the murders but a stranger did come to the village. A stranger who offered you all you wanted and for whom you lured away the gendarmes and orchestrated this chain of murders to distract me from looking for him.” Swiftly, Cloudia took out her gun and levelled it at Yvette. “Now tell me, where is Nicodemus Townsend?”

Yvette smiled widely. “Townsend told me all about his mission: to advocate for justice, to gain power, to bring about a revolution,” she said with an eerie calmness. “And all he had to do to fulfil his goal was to steal a box and find someone to open it. Of course, because of the box’s importance and considering its owner, this could not be a simple endeavour. The British Queen, Townsend told me, sent her dog after him. He always said it was a man; he never even considered an alternative. But the day you arrived at the townhall, you and the detective, so proud and sharp, I knew – I knew. How I laughed afterwards!

“Aren’t men so very foolish, Miss Watchdog?” asked Yvette in perfect English.

Cloudia stared at Yvette and she noticed Cedric stiffen and Kamden flinch behind her. Yvette laughed. “Emmanuel Charbonneau is a simpleton,” she continued in English and rolled her eyes. “You smile and bat your eyes at the right times, and he gives you all you want. I only had to ask once and he agreed to teach me. ‘So that we would have our own secret language.’” She grimaced and then glanced at Cedric. “‘Embarrassing voice’? This could be true, but considering how blankly he has been staring holes into the air, I would say our Parisian detective does not speak a single word of French. This is truly embarrassing considering your disguise. But then you never planned to stay and use it for long, didn’t you? Frankly, I expected a bit more from the feared Queen’s Watchdog and her companions.”

“Frankly, I expected you capable of answering simple questions,” replied Cloudia, switching to English too. She was still firmly holding her gun, the barrel pointed at Yvette. “Where is Townsend?”

“Where Jacques Beauchene is, of course.”

A knife soared through the air and over the seated crowd. It missed Yvette by a hair’s breadth and landed clattering on the naked stone ground. A moment later, Aurèle stormed angrily into the assembly hall through the backdoor, another knife ready. “What did you do to my brother?”

Yvette smiled calmly. “It is good to see you, Aurèle. It has been so long. Why did you and your cousins not pay us a visit like you always do when you visit the Charbonneaus? Oh, right, you are not visiting; you are staying all alone in their château. When the Charbonneaus left two weeks ago, it was hardly surprising. But when someone spotted your brother in the woods a few days ago, it certainly was. Especially considering that you seem to be with Miss Watchdog!” Yvette clasped her hands over her chest theatrically. “Rest assured, Aurèle. Nothing will happen to Jacques. I simply met him earlier today in the forest and started a conversation. He was so very kind to agree to come with me; I took him to Townsend and now Jacques is taking him to the Clockmaker. Someone saw Jacques and faux Vidocq return to the château last night; it looked like they had gone on a lengthy trip. I was so curious to find out where they had gone, so I asked Jacques and arranged a repetition of that journey. Just a small trip amongst friends, nothing to worry about.”

“You –” started Aurèle and wound up throwing his knife when Maxime barged from the seated area to the passageway leading from the back to the stage. He lunged for Aurèle, and Cloudia shot the ground to Maxime’s feet before he could reach him. Maxime halted and so did Aurèle. “Don’t you dare touch him,” exclaimed Cloudia in French. “And now return to your seat, Guilbert, or –”

All of a sudden, all doors swung open and bullets flew through the air.

What on earth?

Screams came from the crowd and people flung themselves to the ground as the bullets rang through the air, got stuck in the walls, in the ground. Villagers streamed into the townhall, men and women Cloudia had not seen before, all holding with weapons: knives and iron bars, pistols and rifles. Cedric pulled back a stunned Kamden, and Cloudia whirled to Yvette who was still smiling. “A mere village’s princess, am I not?” she said amused – then, the villagers charged at them.

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 0:30

What the hell? Cedric thought as he grabbed Kamden’s hand and dragged him across the stage. At the same time, Cloudia jumped off it and went after Yvette who had pushed aside her father and ran to the side entrance. The gathered crowd burst apart and hurried to the exits but the hall rapidly filled with new arrivals and blocked their paths. They swung their weapons around. A man with an iron bar in his hand lunged at Cedric. He quickly pushed back Kamden, dodged the attack, and kicked the man from the stage. Yelling, he fell onto two others. Cedric took hold of Kamden again. As he pulled him to the few stairs leading down, Cedric scanned the room for Aurèle and Cloudia. Coldness brushed his spine when he saw neither.

Where the hell did they get those weapons? Where did they get those guns?!

Kamden took out a dagger from his pocket and rammed the hilt into someone’s face when he tried to stab him. Cedric grabbed the knife from his hands as the man staggered back. Fighting one-handed was not a good tactic. Especially not in such circumstances. Still, Cedric only tightened his grip on Kamden as he elbowed, kicked, and pushed his way through the masses and to the exit.

He could not lose Kamden. Cloudia would never forgive him if anything happened to her brother. He himself also did not want him to be hurt in any way.

If only Cedric could properly attack anyone. The stolen knife was useless in his hand. No interfering with life and death. He could not stab and risk killing anyone. Anastasie would come to find him, her journal of deaths in hand. They would drag him to the brass’ representatives. He would be suspended. They would learn about Cloudia and the others too.

Gritting his teeth, Cedric elbowed a woman in the face. At the same time, a man brushed his arm with a knife, ripping the fabric and drawing shallow blood. Kamden stabbed the man in the thigh with his dagger. Cedric could not even stop and be surprised because the next second, Kamden drew out his blade, blood dripping from it. The man howled out in pain, and they had to continue their fight to the door.

This was a poor operation. Those people could barely fight. Their inexperience made them easy to defeat but this also meant they moved chaotically, frantically. They were no rhyme or reason to what they did. They only attacked and attacked as well as they could and with no pause. Their attacks missed but came aplenty. They were plenty while we were only four – six with Miss Greene and Alfred. Damn, did something happen on their end too?

A shot roared behind them as Cedric and Kamden finally rushed out of the townhall and into the warm night. The clouds from earlier had left, and the waning gibbous moon shone brightly against the uncovered blanket of darkness and stars. Outside, there was barely anyone but people were coming after them from the townhall. Cedric broke into a run to the gardens, not letting go of Kamden.

That shot earlier was the only one I had heard since their arrival. They must be saving their bullets. One good thing at least.

“Kristopher,” said Kamden, snapping back Cedric’s attention. “Let… let go of me. It wooon’t – won’t help to hold onto each other. I will keep up with you, I promise.”

Cedric glanced back at Kamden and was startled by how similar he looked to Cloudia in this moment, even with the dyed hair; in his eyes was a determination he had often seen in her. Without a protest, Cedric released Kamden and beckoned him around a corner. They pressed themselves against a high, thick bush, and Cedric carefully looked around. He heard voices from one side and steps from another.

“We need to find Aurèle,” Kamden whispered. “He… He was still close to the backdoor earlier, do you think he escaped?”

“Let’s hope he did,” replied Cedric and started to move again. Kamden followed him through the overgrown garden and to a side road.

At the end of it was a group of villagers, bars and knives in hand. Cedric cursed under his breath and broke into a sprint. At least, he had not seen someone with a gun. Blades and iron bars did nothing from afar after all. Still, he wished he could simply grab Kamden and teleport away with him, bringing him to safety before searching for Cloudia and Aurèle, Lisa and Newman.

From behind a fence jumped someone with a shovel. Kamden cried out and barely managed to dodge him. Cedric gripped his jacket and drew him away before he threw himself shoulder-first at their assailant. The man dug the shovel’s handle into Cedric’s side, making him gasp for a moment. Cedric took hold of the handle before the man could retreat and ripped the shovel out of his hands. He swung the shovel and hit him in the head. He fell down with a thud, unconscious.

“How likely is it for someone to die from a shovel-induced concussion?” asked Cedric when he and Kamden resumed their run.

“What?”

Cedric was about to ask again when a shot rang through the air and Kamden screamed. Cedric whirled around to him, his eyes wide. Kamden was holding his side, his face contorted by pain. Cedric opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a resounding wail in the distance. A moment later, someone stepped out from between some trees. Cedric got ready to swing the shovel again but let it sink when he recognised Aurèle. His dark brown hair was tousled. There were a few cuts on his face and some holes and tears in his clothes. He did not seem to mind all this though. Fury gleamed in his eyes as he walked towards them, a bloody knife in his hand. “Where is my cousin?” Aurèle yelled.

“The Countess jump off the stage and ran after Yvette,” Cedric told him. “We haven’t seen her since.”

Aurèle scowled and cursed in French – something very foul judging from Kamden’s reaction – before he glanced to the road. The mob was getting closer, and Kamden, Cedric, and Aurèle set themselves in motion.

***

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 0:30

Cloudia jumped from the stage to bolt after Yvette but her familiar thick braid had already been swallowed by the crowd by the time her shoes touched the ground. Cloudia cursed and hit someone in the face with the back of her gun.

Where the hell was Batteux with the gendarmes?

Effortlessly, Cloudia dodged a woman’s poor attempt to stab her with a kitchen knife. She grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her against an incoming group. They all yelled as the woman collided with the others. Her knife clattered to the ground. In the distance, Cloudia heard Ferdinand shout and glimpsed him wrestle his way through, clutching Aurore tight. A man pulled at Cloudia’s jacket and dragged her back. Quickly, Cloudia drew her father’s dagger from its sheath with her left hand. She half-whirled around and stabbed the man in the side. He screamed when the blade pierced his flesh; he screamed louder when she ripped it out. She kicked him away and elbowed someone coming at her from the other side.

What a bothersome ordeal. Damn Yvette.

With a groan, Cloudia eventually emerged from the townhall. For a second, she considered kicking the door close and bolting it but then remembered her audience from earlier. The mob was after her and the others; they certainly would not target their fellow villagers, would they? Cloudia glanced into the assembly hall and saw someone charging out at her. Cursing, Cloudia turned and ran.

Sometime in the chaos, she had lost her cap, and the faint wind was now blowing a few loose strands into her face. Cloudia brushed them away. In the distance, she spotted a man with a gun. He raised his hand to aim at her but she was faster. With a yell, the man dropped to the ground, clutching his leg.

Hector had told them there were only a handful of firearms in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, some belonged to the police and others to a few hunters. Cloudia doubted he lied to her but where did all those guns come from, for heaven’s sake?

The crates. The bloody crates the French Reaper and Enzo talked about. There must have been firearms in those crates. But how had they ended up in Nanteuil-la-Forêt?

And how many had been inside them?

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 1:00

Aurèle skilfully led Cedric and Kamden through the village, through side streets, small alleys, and private gardens until the mob lost sight of them, and they arrived at an old house nobody seemed to be living in. Cedric scrutinised the area to ensure nobody was around to see them enter the building before he ushered the others inside and closed the door behind him. Dim light entered through broken windows and cracks in the façade. They pressed themselves against the old walls and caught their breaths.

“Denis is waiting for us in the forest,” whispered Cedric when his lung did not burn so much anymore.

“I’m not leaving behind my cousin,” Aurèle shot back.

“And Miss Lisa and Mr Newman,” added Kamden.

“They will be fine,” said Cedric. “Especially the Countess. None of the villagers is capable of killing her. And Alfred and Miss Greene are at the hospital, far away from the townhall. Unless they anticipated we would send someone there, I doubt there would be a mass of people. Also, Alfred’s huge. His sheer stature will likely scare them away anyway.

“At any rate, they will be fine. The Countess is a Phantomhive; Miss Greene and Alfred are Phantomhive servants. That household is made of tough stuff; they even have some unofficial motto I can’t think of now.”

“A Phantomhive servant who cannot do that is not worth their salt,” Kamden said.

“Thank you. What I’m meaning to say is: This whole operation went poorly. While we expected a fight, we did not anticipate the number of people Yvette pulled into her boat, or that they would have guns. There are too few of us and too many of them. It’s also unimportant to fight against the mob. Our goal is to catch Yvette and find Nicodemus Townsend – and rescue Jacques.” Aurèle was silent next to Cedric. “We cannot do all that if those idiots with guns turn us into Swiss cheese, do you understand?”

Kamden nodded, and Aurèle did the same a moment later.

“Good,” said Cedric and nodded to himself. “The plan is to hurry to the forest and find the main road where Denis is waiting for us. We return to the château and adjust the rest of our plan when we have regrouped.”

Aurèle snorted. “Didn’t know you would make a decent leader.”

“Me neither. It must be the adrenaline.”

Kamden faintly shook his head. Cedric glanced at him and noticed he was still holding his side. “Damn, Kamden,” said Cedric and gently lifted his hand from the wound. “Let me see. Why didn’t you say something? We should have stopped sooner.”

“No! I’m fine,” Kamden replied but allowed Cedric to take his hand without protest. “The bullet grazed me. It only stings a bit. I’m all right.”

Cedric sighed in relief when he saw that Kamden was not lying. “Good. The Countess would have murdered me if something happened to you.”

Kamden locked his eyes with Cedric, the look in them surprisingly intense. “I will not let myself be harmed and worry Cloudie if I can help it.”

“Isn’t your name ‘Emyr’?” asked Aurèle, and Cedric and Kamden stiffened.

Goddammit.

“Kamden is Emyr’s first name,” Cedric said, and Kamden relaxed a bit. “He only allows a few people to call him by that name as he predominately goes by his middle name.”

Aurèle raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

Cedric dug through his pocket and retrieved the knife he had taken at the townhall. He held it out to Aurèle. “Do you still have enough knives? I stole this one earlier.”

Aurèle grimaced. “A shabby kitchen knife. You can keep that, and did you bring any weapons? Do you have anything else besides that and the rusty shovel?”

Yes, an interdimensionally-stored scythe, thought Cedric. “Yes, a dagger and a gun,” he said. Cloudia had given him both though she knew he could not use them without risking punishment. “In case of an emergency,” she had said. “And if you aim well, you will only injure, not kill. At any rate, it is always good to bring more weapons; if I run out of bullets, you can simply give me your gun.”

“Does that mean I’m just a glorified pack mule?” Cedric had replied.

“Oh no. I would not call you ‘glorified.’”

Cedric sighed at the memory. He wished Cloudia was here right now. “I’ll take a quick look around. If the coast is clear, we’ll leave and head to the forest; Aurèle will lead us there.” Kamden and Aurèle nodded, and Cedric slipped through the broken door and momentarily turned himself invisible. He rounded the house. There was no one here but he could hear animated voices in the distance and they were slowly getting louder. Cedric became visible again and rushed back into the house. He signalled Kamden and Aurèle to come out.

They filed out of the house and headed into the woods with their weapons ready. They walked behind one another: Aurèle was first, Cedric last, and Kamden secured in the middle.

They walked in hurry and with care. Aurèle guided Kamden and Cedric in a zig-zag through the mostly empty streets of the village’s outskirts. Cedric saw candles burning through windows and glimpsed at worried, horrified faces before curtains were drawn shut. So much terror for money and a chance for more.

The mob found them right before they could enter the forest. This time, some even had pitchforks.

Finally! I wondered when they would come out.

The group of villagers descended upon them with loud howls, and Cedric, Aurèle, and Kamden sprinted into the woods. They tried to lose them in the masses of trees but the villagers were everywhere. Swinging their pitchforks, lunging with their knives, trying to bash in their heads with their iron and wood rods.

Cedric pushed someone away with his shovel and was thrown against a tree the next moment. He groaned and quickly sank down when a fist came flying. He kicked away the attacker’s legs and hit him with the shovel. Cedric jumped to his feet and rammed his elbow into the next person’s face. He whirled around and scanned the woods for Kamden and Aurèle. Damn, where were they?

Cedric hurried through the forest and swung his shovel around until one woman managed to dodge his attack and the shovel collided with a tree. The collision sent a shock up Cedric’s arms and the shovel blade broke.

“Dammit,” pressed out Cedric between clenched teeth and let go of the handle. The woman lunged at him with a knife and he barely dodged her. He dug out the kitchen knife and sliced the back of her hand when she attacked again. She cried out, letting the knife fall in shock.

Cedric took this chance to run away.

***

~Cloudia~

June 23

About 1:15

Cloudia sent a knife flying through the air, pinning a woman by her sleeve on a tree. She threw another to pin her by her dress as well.

Killing them would be so much easier. Fighting back without having to take care about keeping the harm to a minimum. The villagers had been manipulated, likely persuaded by Yvette with lies that Cloudia, Cedric, and their companions were the culprits who had killed their fellow citizens and baited them with money and promises. The villagers were victims in their own way but they were so goddamn annoying. And they came in masses. Nanteuil-la-Forêt had about 350 residents and half of them were out for them tonight.

Cloudia punched someone in the face and ripped the knife from his hand as he stumbled back. She wanted to gut him here and there but decided against it. She knocked him out with the knife’s handle and kicked out the legs from under the next attacker. The female Grim Reaper might still be watching from afar. However, as long as no one died, she had no reason to come here – and this lowered the chance that she spotted Cedric in the chaos.

A woman levelled her pistol at Cloudia – she held it all wrong and her grip was shaking – and Cloudia hooked her arm around the next-best person’s throat. She pressed the knife against his throat and held him against her as a shield, daring the woman to shoot.

She wished it was not a random man but Yvette.

Damn Yvette who had run off in the beginning and was nowhere to be found since.

Cloudia gritted her teeth and walked backwards, not releasing the man until she was away from the woman with the gun. Then, she freed the man and knocked him unconscious. Cloudia ran across the small square and around the fountain where Marius’ corpse had lain. Her hair stuck to her scalp. She had lost her hairpins ages ago and her braid was hanging loosely and messily over her shoulder. Cloudia wondered what the villagers must have thought when they saw that “Jean Gauthier” had been a woman all along – if they had noticed at all.

A shot rang through the air and Cloudia whirled around. Another followed – and then she heard the sounds of hooves and shouts.

She grinned. Batteux and the police had finally arrived.

Riders filled the square and broke apart the crowds, pushing back the masses. Surprised, Cloudia counted more than the five other gendarmes who were usually stationed in Nanteuil-la-Forêt.

“Mylady!” someone called and Cloudia turned around to see Batteux running towards her.

“Thank you!” she replied. “You came just on time. The village dissolved into chaos – it’s good you thought to get extra officers.”

Batteux briefly bowed to her before ramming his gun in an assailant’s gut and pushing him back. “You’re welcome, Mylady.”

Cloudia looked around. Everything was still a mess but the police could handle that. “Batteux,” she said. “Stay safe and retreat to the château if you must. I’ll head to the hospital; I need to get to my maid and butler.”

***

~Cedric~

June 23

About 1:40

There were too many people in this damn forest and Cedric had lost sight of Kamden and Aurèle. He hoped they were at least together; Aurèle would be able to keep Kamden safe. Cedric’s lungs burned. The forest ground was soft with moss and leaves which made it hard to run on and he had not yet fully recovered from the last few days.

I was so tired. I was so tired.

Cedric rushed behind a large tree. The forest was full of villagers. He looked left and right – but none of them was in his line of vision.

And none of them could see him right now.

With a grin on his face, Cedric disappeared and appeared in another part of the forest. Jacques and he had been here yesterday, and it should not be too far from where he had vanished but still far away enough. Cedric scrutinised the area and perked up his ears. No villager seemed to be around yet.

Relieved, he sacked against a tree and caught his breath for a moment. When his breathing had normalised, Cedric started walking again. At some point, he had lost the kitchen knife and he now pulled out the dagger, holding it tightly in his hand while he ventured through the forest. It was the dead of night; the thick crowns of the trees held back most of the moonlight. Cedric strained himself not to run against a tree or trip. Or completely lose his orientation. He was sure he had already lost some of it. Every tree looked the same and he was not quite sure where the road leading up to the château was. Technically, Cedric did not need to find Denis. He could return to the château on his own. However, Kamden and Aurèle were still somewhere in the woods and it would look suspicious if Cedric arrived so quickly at the château without Denis driving him like a madman there.

Leaves crunched under his feet. A shudder ran over his spine as Cedric remembered his encounter with the wild boar. Right, he did not only have to be careful of humans in the forest.

And then he saw him. Just a few metres away from him.

Cedric halted – and so did he, craning his head to look at Cedric.

The moonlight repainted him. Lightened his hair to white, darkened his eyes, though let the green inside them glow.

He had never looked as translucent and otherworldly.

Had never looked more like a faerie than in this moment, an eerie beauty in the woods.

***

London, England, United Kingdom – May 1843

~Cloudia~

Cloudia woke up from her dreamless sleep before Clifford came to rouse her. She sat up and rubbed her eyes and when he arrived, she was wide awake and asked right after greeting the old butler, “Did he come?”

“He is downstairs, Mylady,” answered Clifford, and the tension that had lain on Cloudia’s shoulders the last five days fell away.

Clifford placed a tray with a cup of tea and today’s newspaper on her bedside cabinet. Cloudia sipped on the tea as she glanced over the title page while Clifford set out her clothes.

“Anything interesting, Young Lady?” Clifford asked.

“A corpse was retrieved from the Thames,” said Cloudia and set the empty teacup and the paper back on the cabinet. “They haven’t identified it yet,” she continued and peeled the blanket away from her. “If it’s a noble, I might be assigned to the case.”

With a nod, Clifford stepped out of the room and a maid took his place. She hastily helped Cloudia into her dress. It was striped periwinkle blue and white and had dark grey lace details; it had been a gift from Cathleen for her last birthday. The maid wove a blue band into Cloudia’s braid and after a cursory check that everything was in place, Cloudia thanked her and left her bedroom.

She quickened her pace on the stairs. She did not want to run and give away her excitement; still, she could not stop herself from being excited at all. Oscar Livingstone was a convicted criminal but Cloudia was nevertheless eager to see him again – after all, she had to ensure he had done nothing bad in his absence. She also really wanted to find out where he had been and who this person was he wanted her to meet. Clifford had not mentioned anyone else; why had Oscar come alone? Because he was unsure whether he could bring the other person to Cloudia’s townhouse so freely?

Cloudia arrived on the ground floor with a clack of her shoes. She forced herself not to grin like an idiot while she strode to the parlour. Clifford opened the door for her, and relief washed over Cloudia when she saw Oscar sitting at the table. She trusted Clifford, of course, but she liked confirming everything with her own eyes.

Oscar had kept his word. It had not been a mistake to trust him.

“Good morning, Lady,” said Oscar hoarsely, looking at her with his beautiful pale blue eyes. It was a startling sight as always; today, it made her frown though. Something was off about him.

“Good morning, Oscar,” Cloudia returned and sat down at the table. Clifford brought her a light breakfast, and she noted that he had not placed a plate in front of Oscar. Instead, his side of the table was covered by a book. Cloudia had seen it before while looking through the townhouse’s library. The solitary Paradise Regained with the strange string of letters in the front. She kept forgetting to purchase its partner, its prequel.

“I told Clifford I do not require breakfast,” Oscar answered Cloudia’s unspoken question. “I have no appetite.”

“It does feel odd eating in front of someone though when that someone is not eating himself,” said Cloudia.

“Please don’t mind me and simply enjoy your meal.”

Cloudia buttered a scone and scrutinised Oscar. He still looked thin and pale, his years in the asylum marked on his face and body, but there was something off about him. She scanned him as Cecelia had taught her: His words were more clipped than five days ago. His shoulders were very slightly sagged. The faintest dark rings under his eyes. An itch in his hands as he played absentmindedly with the edge of a page of Paradise Regained. There was an odd quietness to Oscar as well. He was the opposite he was five days ago when he smiled and thanked her.

The realisation hit Cloudia as she put marmalade on her scone.

“Whatever you meant to do, did it not go well?” she asked.

Oscar studied her. His face at least betrayed no emotion. “You are definitely Simon’s daughter,” he said as she bit into her scone. “And yes, it did not go well.”

Cloudia swallowed before she spoke, “What did you want to do?”

“See my family.”

She stared at him.

He had gone to see his family?

No, this could not be. I might not be Cecelia but I had done my research and I had done it thoroughly!

Oscar had been raised by his grandparents Isobel Henderson and Ewan Seumas Livingstone, both of which had died in 1818. His mother Ealasaid had been deemed unsuitable to raise her son, though she had lived with him at her parents’ estate. Ealasaid had passed away in 1812, and Oscar’s alleged father Ranald Livingstone had died in 1798 before Oscar had even been born. Oscar had no living relatives. No aunts or uncles or cousins. Nothing.

Unless Oscar spoke of his other potential father, Malcolm Fairbairn. Next to no records existed of him, and he could theoretically still be alive. However, if the rumours were true and Malcolm had abandoned Ealasaid when she was pregnant, I doubted Oscar would even want to see him. Let alone be in such a rush to meet him.

Cloudia put down her scone. “I didn’t know you even had a family,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You couldn’t have known,” Oscar replied. “My wife and children were and are my greatest secrets.”

Coldness went through Cloudia as his words reverberated in her mind. Oscar’s voice had sounded so gentle when he had said them. However, Cloudia’s thoughts were transfixed not on his tone but on one word: My wife and children were and are my greatest secrets.

“I never got to see and speak to my family after I was arrested,” Oscar told her. “And I never received a message from them. My wife was stopped from contacting me, I am sure of that. She would have demanded at least one conversation so that I could explain myself to her. I kept her in the dark about what I was doing, and I know she would have wanted to know why.” He was quiet for a moment and laid his hand on the book in front of him as if he was swearing on it as others swore on the Bible. “That’s why when you freed me from the asylum, it was my duty to find her and explain myself. I didn’t seek her forgiveness; I do not deserve it but I knew I owed her an explanation and an apology. It is the least she deserved after what I had done. But when I looked for her… all I could find was a grave.” Cloudia’s heart sank. “My wife was pregnant at the time of my arrest,” continued Oscar. “It was a girl, I heard. My wife died giving birth to her and my daughter died shortly afterwards.”

“I am so sorry,” said Cloudia even though she knew how weak of a response it was; still, it felt right.

Oscar did not reply anything, and they sat in stifling silence until Cloudia took a deep breath and said, “I want you not to take any offence, though I do have to remark you do not seem like someone who would marry and have children.”

“I agree,” said Oscar. “My wife… before I met her and even afterwards, I never imagined myself marrying and becoming a father, let alone marry and have children with her.”

“You say ‘children’ but you only mentioned one daughter. What about your other children? Are they still alive?”

“We had another daughter. She died when she was very young, many years before her sister.”

“I’m sorry,” it slipped out of Cloudia again. Oscar looked down at the book.

I could not imagine the pain of being locked away for years and emerging with the world changed and all you ever loved dead, with so much left unspoken between you and them.

“How…” Cloudia began hesitantly. “How did you and your wife meet? If you want to tell.”

Again, Oscar did not say anything for a while. Then, he raised his head and Cloudia stiffened a bit when he fixed his tired eyes on her. That was what had been off about them. Even when he had just left his asylum cell, his eyes had been sharp; now, a suffocating weariness was etched into them. “When my grandparents died, I was still in the military,” said Oscar. “As I was their only heir, the manor, their wealth, and their entire estate went to me. However, I was stationed in the Midlands, and my family’s estate is in Scotland. I was able to take leaves now and then to maintain everything, though I did most things remotely with the help of a secretary I employed. I have few fond memories of my childhood and joined the military because I wanted to get away. I saw no reason to return more often than I absolutely had to, even after the inheritance.

“A year after my grandparents died, Trudy Ashdown arrived in my home village. She was of high social standing and could have had the world; still, she had chosen to settle in that little place. There, she met her best friend. They shared a close bond, and he would do everything for her. I admit I oftentimes found him obnoxious – for example, he insisted to call me by an idiotic nickname…”

“What was it?” asked Cloudia, and Oscar shot her a dark look before he continued, “… but I would lie if I said he was not a good man. There were very few I can call a ‘friend,’ and he was one of them. Trudy’s best friend is also the reason why I met her.

“Trudy was an avid reader but there were very few places to acquire books in my home village and because of her move, her library was still mostly empty. I, however, possessed an extensive book collection. My grandparents had filled the manor with nothing but religious texts, and when I inherited everything, I decided to make the library more varied. I had collected quite a few books when I was in France and I sent those and all the acquisitions I made while in the Midlands to my manor. My secretary organised them all. It were well-known facts that I was rarely at my manor and that my library consisted of thousands of books. And when Trudy fell ill one day and complained about the lack of reading material, her friend decided to borrow some books from my house.

“He would sneak into my manor, take a few books and later carefully return them to where had taken them. Trudy’s sickness was rather severe and this went on for weeks. She had already recovered when he returned the last of my books – this time I was at the manor though. I caught him climbing through a window. I had noted by then that someone had been in my library because of the marks in the dust, but I never imagined I would find the culprit so quickly. Trudy got worried when her friend didn’t come back. Ever since I was a child, there was a rumour that a nefarious monster lived in the manor of the village’s lord. Trudy had heard that rumour as well but did not believe it to be true. Still, when her friend failed to reappear, she hurried to my manor and knocked on my door.

“Trudy had only got well very recently and her body was still weakened from the illness. But if I had never been told that, I would not have known. I opened the door and there she was: A young woman so much younger than me but with such fierceness and determination in her face and eyes that I rarely saw even in soldiers. Trudy stood in front of me, unwavering and unflinching, without taking her eyes off mine and requested to switch places with her friend. She believed I was holding him prisoner for breaking into my house and she wanted to take his place as she was the reason he had even trespassed and burgled, to begin with. Because of that, she thought the fault lay with her and she wanted to atone for what she did.” For a split second, a faint smile hushed over Oscar’s face. The moment had been so brief, Cloudia wondered if she had imagined it. “Of course, I was not holding her friend prisoner. I only made him help me clean my manor; I fully intended to let him go afterwards. I had no use for him after all. Trudy profusely apologised when I explained everything to her and insisted to help too. We were finished by the evening, and they left to return to their respective homes. I thought this was the last I would see of them but the next day, Trudy knocked again.

“This time, Trudy had a basket with her and her lady’s maid in tow for propriety. She said she felt awful for thinking I was a monster and believed that simply helping me dust was not enough of an apology. I thought she only wanted to leave the basket with me but Trudy invited me to have a picnic. She fell into the hole of believing some rumour because she did not know me and wanted to rectify it. I accepted.

“From then on, we would exchange letters when I was in the Midlands, and I would make an effort to come to my home village more often. Even when my regiment was sent to Ireland, this did not stop. Trudy was exceptionally intelligent and every conversation with her was a joy. At no point did I think she had any interest in me beyond our odd, mismatched companionship. And it was odd and mismatched.

“Trudy was the most beautiful woman I have seen, and I knew many admired her in the village. She was also unbelievably kind and gentle; if she had not been, I doubt she would have ever asked me to a picnic. She truly was an angel and my opposite in every way. Furthermore, Trudy was several years younger than me. Over two years after we met, her best friend told me that she was in…” Oscar broke himself off and cleared his throat. “Her friend must have become sick of the fact that neither Trudy nor me dared to admit that we secretly wished for more; thus, one day, he plainly told me to propose to her. After he reassured me that Trudy was indeed waiting for a proposal, I talked to her mother who told me to just ask her; she had no business dictating her daughter’s life and if Trudy wanted to marry me, she would say so if I asked.

“I pondered over the proposal for weeks. Trudy’s friend offered to help me but I refused. I wanted to do it myself. I eventually asked her on a picnic and proposed to her with a dagger.”

Cloudia stared at Oscar. “A dagger? You proposed to your wife with a dagger?”

“Yes,” he said nonchalantly. “I did not know her ring size and feared asking would give me away. I also did not know anything about jewellery and was unwilling to consult her friend or family about that; as I said, I wanted to handle the proposal on my own. Therefore, I had a dagger custom-made that was both beautiful and sharp. During the picnic, I took it out and asked her if she wanted to marry me. Trudy was rather taken aback by the dagger, not the question. When I explained myself, she laughed and accepted both the dagger and me. Her friend had been right: It was what she, we, had wanted.

“I intended to have a long engagement because Trudy was not even twenty and I was stationed in Ireland. However, Trudy persisted to marry me that same year. Not only did she not want to wait for long, but she also suspected I partially wanted a long engagement because I secretly hoped she could find someone ‘better’ than me. Our betrothal was never formally announced, and because Trudy did not wear a ring, no one in the village suspected anything. Trudy was correct of course. While… while I did want to marry her, I thought she could find someone more suitable for her. Someone less… like me and more like her. She assured me she could not do better and wanted to marry me as quickly as possible so that I could put my mind to peace and have a constant reminder of her with me in the military – my wedding band.

“We got engaged in spring and married in summer. Like before, our relationship was upheld by letters and visits. Trudy could not go to Ireland but she often travelled to Wales so that I could reach her easier. Seven years later, Charles Rowan approached me.” Oscar’s eyes momentarily darkened when he said his name. “We knew each other from my time in the 52nd regiment and got along well enough. Rowan had been chosen by Peel to helm the soon-to-be-founded Metropolitan Police Service alongside Richard Mayne, and Rowan wanted me to work with him. I agreed. I left the military and spent some months in Scotland with my family until Scotland Yard was formally formed in September. From then on, I worked as an inspector and my job often made me cross paths with your father. The first time I met Simon I did not work for Scotland Yard though.”

Cloudia’s eyes widened. “How did you meet my father then?”

“Because of Trudy,” Oscar told her. “In 1825, I was promoted to captain and Trudy wanted to celebrate this with a family portrait. Because no one knew I was married and had a family, we had to find a painter who would keep this commission a secret. Trudy asked an artist friend at Somerset House whether she knew a suitable person, and her friend referred her to Simon Phantomhive. Barely anyone knew he was a painter as he only painted for himself; he didn’t like to talk about his work and would have no reason to tell anyone about my secret family. Trudy promptly convinced and hired Simon.

“I went on leave, and Simon stayed with us for a few weeks to create the portrait. He also made numerous sketches. Every drawing in the sketchbook you brought with you to the asylum stems from that time.”

“That’s why you were in it! Then, the landscape and village drawings depict your home place?”

Oscar nodded. “Yes. Trudy and Simon remained in touch even after the portrait was done – it must still hang in the foyer of Livingstone Manor. I only found out that Simon was the Watchdog after I began working for the Metropolitan Police. Simon told Trudy then too. If… if I had found Trudy alive I would have asked her to come with me and meet you.”

“Because she was close to my father?”

“Because she was your godmother.”

For the third time today, I felt like the ground was crumbling under my feet.

I didn’t know Oscar had a family. Didn’t know he and my father had met years before the Met was created.

Didn’t know I had a godmother.

I thought back to my childhood and stiffened. No, not even my aunts and uncles had been able to help me.

Oscar mustered her. “Did no one ever tell you that you had a godmother at all? Her name might not have been mentioned but I thought her existence would have at least been made known to you.”

“No, no one ever did,” said Cloudia, her mouth dry as she spoke.

She expected him to say “I’m sorry” too; instead, he said, “How odd.” Cloudia blinked at Oscar as he continued, “Maybe, no one informed you because Trudy was not your godmother in the most commonly known sense because she could not provide you with any spiritual guidance. However, Trudy liked the thought of an ‘extra’ parent figure who would help a child throughout life and hold a claim to them if their parents passed away. When we had our first child, she made her best friend the ‘godfather.’ Simon asked me if I wanted to become your godfather in this sense too but I refused. I saw no advantage to binding you to me like that even if that bond was only faint.

“Trudy did consider becoming more involved in your life after Simon died though,” said Oscar.

Cloudia stared at him. “Why… why didn’t she? Or was she refused?”

“She was not refused. In the end, she decided against it. We were not doing well at that time ourselves and Simon had distanced himself from us a year earlier, though he never retracted Trudy’s status as your ‘godmother.’ Trudy still thought it would be better if she stayed away. You also have enough living relatives and your mother is alive too; she thought there was no need for her.”

Cloudia took a deep breath. “Why did my father distance himself from you?”

“I don’t know,” Oscar told her. “From one day to the other, he gradually ceased to work with me on cases and his letters to Trudy became less and less frequent. Neither my wife nor I did anything to offend or upset him, as far as we knew. I’m afraid I cannot help you with anything from that year.”

She looked down at her plate and the bitten-into scone. The tea must have long gone cold too. It did not matter anyway; Cloudia had lost her appetite by the time Oscar began talking about his family.

“I wanted to ask something,” said Oscar, and Cloudia looked up again. “Did Rowan give you any of my possessions? The objects I had with me when I was arrested?”

She shook her head. “No. He told me he got rid of everything. Was anything important amongst the items?”

“Yes, a drawing. One from Simon’s sketchbook.”

Cloudia frowned. “There is no page missing in it though.”

“Simon destroyed the book’s binding to retrieve it,” Oscar explained. “He wanted me to keep that drawing; he said he could simply get the book rebound.”

“What was on the page?”

“A portrait of Trudy. I always carried it with me.”

Dear lord, could this conversation become any sadder?

“I understand that Trudy and your daughters are dead but what about her mother? Your mother-in-law?” asked Cloudia. “It would be fine if some others knew that you’re alive and weren’t executed as long as they kept it a secret.”

“She died many years ago.”

“And Trudy’s best friend?”

“He is still alive but I do not want to bother him anymore. He lost enough because of me; it is better if he doesn’t find out I’m alive,” Oscar told her.

“I did also petition to free your imprisoned servants, and they should arrive in a few weeks,” Cloudia said, wanting to give him a bit of hope at least. “But apart from them, is there no one else who would want to see you?”

Oscar was quiet for a moment. “No,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “There is no one else.”

#Watchdog of the Queen #Main Chapters #cloudia phantomhive #undertaker #kuroshitsuji #black butler #fanfiction #7 years!!! SEVEN #<3 #I hope the solution is satisfactory!#and you'll like this brick of a chapter!#(that's chartreuse and peacock blue btw)

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