Snippet #2770159

Twenty minutes or so passed as Marcus returned to clean up the discarded papers. Sheets scattered as the thief ran from one corner of the room to the next, swept away by the morning breeze which glided through the window. As the last of the paper were crumpled and chucked into a trash barrel, Marcus found a moment to appreciate the sense of a job well done. A puddle of wax hardened within the confines of a nearby lantern, not a flicker of light upon its pale, shapeless husk.

Tap, tap, tap!

Three knocks snapped Marcus’ attention towards the door. Dainty as a feather, and just as swift. Whatever doubts he had about this visitor’s identity were swept away by the high-pitched voice that followed. ”Qui- Ahem, Mademoiselle Dezantro? Are you there? I need to find Marcus! He wasn’t at the boys’ room, and I have something I really, really, really need to give him!”

“Uhh… Marcus is right in here.” The door opened a crack, and the thief peered through. Jeanne’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Morning, Jeanne. Got another present for me, have you? If it’s anything like the last, I’m all ears. Couldn’t have pulled off some of those shots I made without the rifling you did for my guns.”

Jeanne stood stock-still, her jaw hung loose, the green of her eyes twinkling to reflect the sunlight. ”P-P-P-Pardenaire,” she stammered as she raised a trembling finger from the elbow. ”Did you-did you just…,” Jeanne continued in a whisper. Her eyes glanced to peer into the room, then returned. ”...You and Quinn.”

Silence.

A gust of wind blew through the window and out the corridor. Her strawberry locks bounced into a flutter.

Her lips contorted into a huge grin. She clapped her palms together over her chest and whispered, ”My Pardenaire’s all grown up!” then brought her hands against her cheek as she exhaled, ”I am so proud~”

Marcus’ face went bright red as he hurriedly tried to dissuade her train of thought. “N-no, we did nothing like that!” he hissed. “I was just clearing up some papers that needed throwing out, that’s all!”

Jeanne brought one hand to stifle her giggles, while the other dismissed his words with a wave. ”No worries, no worries!...I’m not telling anyone.” The jester emphasized with a nod, and her expression softened into a smile. ”Everyone expects the Maiden to sort out their problems! Kind of you to, ah, entertain her..." Jeanne flashed her partner a wink. "It’s a wonder she’s not stark-raving mad, if you ask me. I wouldn’t last an hour in her place.”

Jeanne’s eyes shifted towards her satchel, hanging from a strap over her shoulder. ”...And being her trusted advisor is no picnic either! Which is why I brought you…” Fair fingers fumbled inside, and Marcus could hear the clatter and rustle of nuts and bolts and steel, before… ”This!”

Strips of cloth over a handle of wood. A metal barrel, eight inches long and tarnished by soot and ash. A flint-striking mechanism above the trigger. At first, it seemed like just another pistol. But Marcus’ eyes were quickly drawn towards a cylinder in front of the guard. Six holes arranged at the front, with one obscured by and connected straight to the barrel.

”It’s a prototype,” Jeanne stated. She twirled the weapon from her index finger, caught the barrel with the rest of her hand, and handed the gun into Marcus’s palm, butt-side first. The jester stepped back, knuckles against her waist, and a familiar, cat-like smirk upon her lips. The expression of a job well-done. ”Comes with a liiiiittle surprise I developed back in Deadman’s Cove. And you’re going to test it out!”

The thief gingerly took the weapon, examining it carefully. He pressed a little catch on the side and watched the cylinder pop out on a hinge. He gave a nod, visibly impressed with the jester’s work.

Just then, a silver-haired shadow emerged from under the stairs. All traces of a smile vanished from Jeanne’s face as they noted the grim look upon Taira’s face.

---

The sun had swept aside the clouds while the Maiden’s Company gathered, as if the gods themselves saw fit to shine a spotlight upon the funeral. Jeanne stood besides Marcus, her head down, her beryl gaze dimmed with gloom. She caught a glimpse of the noble’s pale, cold hand, and immediately averted her eyes, one hand clutching her partner’s sleeve. ”S-she’s really…,” Jeanne’s lips quivered, then shut.

Sieg stood on the other side of the circle, both hands rested upon the handle of a shovel. Kyero dug the grave himself, but an extra pair of arms would hasten the burial. If needed, or wanted. He looked towards Xia’s corpse, brows set into a solemn expression. Taira told them little, and his mind brimmed with questions. Questions he kept at bay. Questions he expected to be answered, after they pay their respects.

Marcus put a reassuring arm around Jeanne’s shoulders, even his normal expression looking sullen. He had tried to get a look at Xia’s body to determine how she died, but it was difficult considering that she was already resting in her grave. Yet the questions continued to nag at him. Who killed her? An undercover bandit from the clan Miriam had warned him and Quinn about the night before? Would they have to keep a more rigorous watch to ensure nobody else went the same way? He even, on instinct, began to wonder how much that weird, foreign sword of Xia’s would have sold for…