Noir had agreed to meet up with Jeanette at a small, two-star hotel in Andorra la Vella with only 30 rooms. While Mireille certainly could have afforded more upscale accommodations, she generally preferred smaller hotels when she was traveling, as they allowed her to keep a low profile, and right now, a low profile was exactly what Noir needed. She signed in under the name “Miranda Black;” Kirika had thought of it back before they had parted with Jeanette, figuring “Black” would be an appropriate alias to use when Jeanette tried to contact them later. The blonde Corsican hated the name (she thought it sounded like something from a Charles Dickens novel), but she hadn’t raised any objections because it was relatively inconsequential, and she could fake a British accent well enough that the very English-sounding name (at least to her ears) wouldn’t arouse any suspicion.
Soon, however, she and the Maidens had entered their room, and after checking it for bugs, made some attempt to relax, or at least come as close to relaxation as possible without compromising their safety. The plan was to stay here one night; if Jeanette hadn’t contacted them by then, they would assume her to be dead or captured and continue back to Paris, collect a few important things from Mireille’s apartment, and find a new base of operations elsewhere.
Nothing happened for a few hours: Chloe discovered the joys of television (somehow, it didn’t surprise Mireille that the girl’s access to TV had been restricted while she was at the Manor) and learned how to clean a gun from Kirika. Chloe already knew how, of course, but Kirika taught her how to do it much more efficiently. Meanwhile, Mireille simply watched the two of them, losing herself in her thoughts.
Finally, around dinner, a call came from the hotel desk for “Ms. Black,” informing her that someone was there to speak with her, after which Mireille left the small room and headed downstairs to meet Jeanette.
The deceptively mousey-looking woman was sitting at a table in an isolated corner of the small restaurant on the hotel’s ground floor. Her light brown hair was a bit out of place, and there was a few light scratches on the lenses of her glasses, but she didn’t really look much worse for wear. She was no longer wearing her uniform, of course — that would have been too conspicuous. Rather, she was dressed like a typical tourist, which made sense: it was one of the easiest disguises to pull off, and one of the most effective as well.
The erstwhile nun was, at the moment, sipping from a cup of coffee. She smiled as the blonde assassin approached her and sat down. “I’m glad to see you well, my friend. Have you tried the coffee? It’s quite good.”
“I’ll pass for now. You’ll have to excuse my rudeness, but can we dispense with the pleasantries? Right now, I’m not to keen about being out in the open like this.”
“Of course. Do you have any plans for the near future, then?”
“We’ve decided to lay low for the time being, at least until Soldats settles down from the events of last night. We’re also going to look for a new base of operations. My apartment in Paris was compromised long ago, and it’s not like we’re going to be welcome back at the Manor anytime soon.”
“Actually, according to tradition, the Manor and the surrounding areas all belong to Noir.”
“But tradition also says that there’s only two people in Noir, and look how accurate that turned out to be,” countered Mireille.
“True, but unlike that tradition, this one’s documented — carved into the very stones of the Manor’s foundation. And I’m not being figurative here: there really is an inscription, in Occitan, that proclaims that the Manor, the countryside, and all of the serfs living there are for Noir to use as they see fit.”
“Times change. There certainly aren’t any serfs now, at least.”
“Well, I must admit you’re correct there, as far as legal status goes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you noticed how devoted the townspeople are to Noir?”
“Personally? No. But Kirika mentioned it last night while we were getting away from Breffort. From the way she described it, they’re as nutty as Althena.”
“I wouldn’t call them nutty. They’re just very loyal to their masters — or mistresses, to be more accurate.”
“Wait… are you telling me….”
“They may have the legal status of free persons, and their standard of living may be much higher than that of their predecessors, but most of them consider themselves to be the serfs of Noir, like their ancestors were.”
Mireille leaned back in the chair and rubbed her eyes — the past twenty-four hours had been almost unbelievable, and this was like icing on the (extremely large) cake. She, along with Kirika and Mireille, “owned” serfs. And here I thought feudalism was dead. I suppose Noir really hasn’t changed that much in a thousand years. “I suppose there’s going to be some reason we can’t just free them?”
“Technically, they’re already free. They simply choose to think of themselves as serfs.”
“They’re that devoted, huh?”
“Yes.”
Mireille wasn’t sure which she thought was worse: having to fight against obsessed weirdoes, or having your very own subculture of fanatics willing to fight for you. Rather than dwell on this, she changed the subject. “So, what do you think Soldats will try to do now?”
“I’m not certain. From what the villagers told me before I left, you three managed to really unnerve Breffort, which could result in any number of things. However, I can say that it’s probably going to be a while before you can access the organization’s resources for your goals.”
“Look, I don’t care about their resources — we can handle ourselves. I just want Soldats off our backs, okay?”
“And they will want assurances that you will not kill them.”
“That’s not the kind of thing I can just give away….”
“Perhaps if you discussed it with the Maidens?”
“What’s the point? Chloe would want us to kill them because they represent the Dark, and I want to kill them because I hate Soldats, and Kirika would go along with us no matter what her opinion was because of this goddamn ‘majority rules’ shit.”
“You’re certain about that?”
“No.” It was a decidedly odd thing to say — the blonde’s tone of voice during her little rant was one of resigned acceptance, and this unhesitating reply sounded just as assured. Jeanette’s features must have betrayed her confusion, as Mireille then proceeded to explain herself: “Chloe may want to fight back the Darkness, but I don’t know her well enough to know if she could be persuaded that the entire institution of Soldats falls into that category. Kirika is so aloof that it’s not easy to predict her reaction to anything, and as for me… I still hate Soldats, but you seem different.”
“You find that confusing?”
“More like it’s making me paranoid. My instinct is telling me that I can trust you, but in my experience, the people you think you can trust generally turn out to be the least trustworthy ones of all.”
“That’s understandable — a certain degree of paranoia is a necessity for survival in the underworld. But I’d like to think my actions could prove my loyalty. After all, Althena was my best friend, as well as my superior, but I didn’t betray Noir last night, did I?”
“You could just be hiding it. ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold,’ after all.”
“Then tell me how I can prove it. I’ll do anything for you — in fact, if you told me to walk out into the middle of the street right now, and told me to blow my brains out, I’d do it.”
“Why don’t you be serious about this?” Mireille asked with a slight glare. But when the resolved look on Jeanette’s face didn’t change, her eyes went wide. “Holy shit, you are serious, aren’t you?”
“Indeed.”
“You would put that much trust in me?”
“No, I put my trust in Noir, and you are their representative. I’m not going to obey you unquestioningly, but if you gave a reasonable explanation why my death was necessary to further Noir’s cause, I would have no trouble taking my own life.”
“You actually think I’m infallible?”
“No. Individually, all three of you are fallible. But I believe that your collective will… well, let’s just say I don’t expect you will make many errors in judgment as a group.”
Mireille but her hand to her head. “Great… now I have to deal with a lunatic.”
“Actually, I’m fairly certain that there are others within Soldats who would be even more fanatically devoted to Noir than I could ever be.”
“Wonderful.”
“So, what would you have me do?”
“Like I said, I want Soldats to get off our backs. And in return… maybe we’ll leave them alone for a while.”
“Only a while?”
“Long enough to give those who are in our crosshairs a chance to redeem themselves.”
“I see.”
“Of course, that means we’ll need contacts within the organization — I suppose that’s where you come in. You should lay low for now, but eventually I want you to go back to Soldats and discreetly try to muster up what support for us you can find. Then, I want you to keep an eye out for any moves against us.”
“Should I try to stop them?”
“No. We will take our own actions. You just need to provide us with information at the moment.”
“Understood. Will there be anything else?”
“I’ll be leaving my Paris apartment soon for obvious reasons, so I’ll need a way to contact you until we get set up elsewhere — do you have access to the internet?”
“Yes.”
“Encryption programs?”
“Of course.”
“Then email should be fine.”
“Good. Then, I shall bid you adieu.” The two women had exchanged email addresses (both of which would be abandoned for new ones shortly) and had risen from their seats when Jeanette abruptly stopped. “Before I go… you’re certain that the Maidens will agree to this setup?”
“I can’t see why they wouldn’t — at least, I don’t think they’ll object so strongly that they’ll force me to agree with them.”
“They can do that?”
“With the trance, they can… well, I think they can.”
“Ah. Well, make sure to let me know if they disapprove.”
“Of course. Good luck, Jeanette.”
“Likewise.”
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(Posted Sun, 28 Jan 2007 08:08)
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