Getting back to Mireille’s Parisian apartment was somewhat complicated, simply because it was going to be difficult to get back in without being noticed. The apartment had been compromised long ago, after all, and if Althena had been able to find it, there was no reason to think that the other factions of Soldats couldn’t do the same. Thus, Mireille had to assume that it was under surveillance. In fact, if it wasn’t for several important files (and her computer), Mireille probably wouldn’t have bothered returning at all.
I don’t know why I even left them here to begin with, Mireille thought to herself as she approached the building where her apartment was located. Chloe and Kirika had already checked out the nearby buildings — it seemed that there was no active surveillance of Mireille’s residence at the moment, but all three knew better than to trust what merely seemed to be true. The blonde assassin, meanwhile was still silently berating herself for her lack of professionalism, though it was understandable. Not only had she been rather emotional at the time (in her line of work, the words “emotional” and “professional” were essentially antonyms), but at the time she’d been utterly convinced that she wouldn’t be coming back. That still didn’t explain why she’d left such evidence behind — perhaps it was a flight of romanticism, a hope that someone unconnected to Soldats would discover her findings and bring the organization down somehow.
But the “why” didn’t really matter, when all was said and done: it happened, and as far as Mireille knew, the past couldn’t be changed (though as Soldats had proven, it could often be covered up very effectively). Thus, without further ceremony (as Mireille had had her fill of ceremonies in recent days) the three of them entered the building, and, soon after that, Mireille’s apartment.
Mireille’s normally immaculate apartment seemed slightly disordered, but that wasn’t cause for alarm as far as she was concerned. She was in the habit of leaving her apartment in an imperfect state when she left for long periods of time — if someone broke in and attempted to clean up their mess, that person would probably do too good a job at it, and thus leave evidence of their presence rather than masking it. No, the only thing that seemed out of place was a somewhat large box on her pool table. “That’s odd,” she said as she strolled over.
“What is?” asked Kirika, who, like Chloe, was currently scanning the room for bugs.
“This package wasn’t here before; apparently, it was delivered here recently.” The Corsican carefully picked up the box and examined it for a few seconds before putting it back down. “It’s safe,” she declared. “You can open it if you want.”
“But how did it get inside?”
“Probably my landlady,” the blonde replied. “She’s unusually nice about making sure her tenants’ mail doesn’t pile up.”
“You actually trust her that much?”
“She’s never given me a reason not to; besides, I always keep anything incriminating locked in a safe when I’m away. Speaking of which….” Mireille hurried to her bedroom to make sure the safe in question hadn’t been tampered with.
“I still can’t believe you’re being so blasé about this,” Chloe said with a glare. “Aren’t you supposed to protect us from threats? This has ‘suspicious’ written all over it. What if it’s booby-trapped with explosives or—”
“I highly doubt it’s a bomb,” Mireille said somewhat wearily, as she returned to the main room, relieved that her safe was apparently untouched, “or a container of some biological agent, like anthrax.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Because it’s from Althena, and she wouldn’t do something like that to us.” She walked towards the kitchen and started making something to eat with what little she had in her pantry; it wasn’t that well-stocked at the moment, as she hadn’t expected to survive her trip to the Manor.
Kirika, however, wasn’t quite as certain. “From Althena? What makes you so sure? There’s no return address.”
“Take a look at who it’s addressed to.”
Kirika did so, and read off the names: “Mireille Bouquet, Kirika Yuumura, and Chloe Wilde.”
“Now look at the postmark. When was it mailed?”
“5 days ago.”
“Which happens to be the day before I left for the Manor, which meant the address was written well in advance of our little reunion. At that time, only two people knew and accepted that all three of us made up the True Noir, and thus only two people would even think it plausible that the three of us would be coexisting in my apartment right now without anyone trying to kill anyone else. The handwriting doesn’t match the sample Jeanette unintentionally gave me when she wrote out her email address. Ergo, it must have been sent by Althena.”
“Then how do you know it’s safe?” Chloe asked with a sneer. “Aren’t you’re the one that keeps calling her crazy?”
“Althena may have been crazy, but her behavior wasn’t erratic. Her worldview centered around the rather bizarre notion that three female assassins were destined to save the world, and she held to that worldview consistently, to the point where she allowed us to kill her with almost no resistance. If she was going to do something violent to try and stop us, she would have done so when she was still alive.”
That all but settled that question, but it brought up a new one. “How did you manage to piece this all together so quickly?” asked a somewhat confused Chloe. “You barely even glanced at the label.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been able to do the Sherlock Holmes thing before. I’m guessing it comes with being the Hand of Noir — I get a boost in my deductive reasoning skills the way the two of you get a massive increase in your physical abilities. I hope you like cucumber sandwiches, because that’s all I can make with what’s left in the refrigerator.”
“Should we go shopping for groceries?” asked Kirika.
“There’s not much point — we won’t be staying here long. We need a new base of operations.” Mireille walked back into the room with a plate full of sandwiches, and noticed that the package remained on the pool table. “You haven’t opened it?”
“Well, your name is on it, too,” Kirika explained sheepishly. “I suppose we thought you should be here, too.”
Mireille set the plate on a small table and sat down. “Kirika, I couldn’t care less what Althena has to say to me. I only knew her personally for about six hours, after all. You were the ones who actually cared about her; you should open it.” The Corsican picked up a sandwich and started eating.
Thus prompted, Kirika finally opened the package, revealing about a dozen spiral-bound notebooks, all filled with copious scribblings and disparate bits of research about Noir (of course), and an envelope containing a letter:
As you read this note, you have also found out the truth about the True Noir: that it is not two people, but three. I realize that my deceit in this matter may have caused you a great deal of confusion. For that, I apologize, and ask that you attempt to work through your differences as you continue to carry out your weighty mission.
I do not yet know which of you is the Hand of Noir; I have a very strong suspicion, but it would not be right to say it here lest I be wrong. Rather, I instead ask the Maidens to trust her judgment; she has earned her place by virtue of her wisdom and knowledge. Heed her counsel well.
The remaining contents of this package contain my primary notes from my research into Noir. I leave them to you to do with as you please. They may assist you as you discover the intricacies of your situation. In days of yore, such a measure would not have been necessary, as Noir could rely on Soldats’ assistance, but our organization has become corrupt in Noir’s absence, and I cannot trust their loyalty.
I leave you, then, with a message for each of you:
Chloe, I know that you are confused right now, and I admit to being the primary cause of that confusion, and I apologize for this once again. Your bond with me was the strongest, and my absence has likely set you adrift. Do not despair, but forge ahead; do not shun your comrades, but draw strength from them.
Kirika, you are the glue that is holding Noir together. Both Mireille and Chloe have honored you with their friendship; it will be a long time before they will be able to give it to each other, as I’m sure they will admit. You must be strong, or else Noir will fragment, and the world will inevitably succumb to the onslaught of Darkness.
And finally, Mireille. You hate me. You’ve hated me for a long time; before you even knew of my existence. Every time during your childhood when you cursed the unseen force that had destroyed your life, you cursed my name. I have manipulated your environment from afar in an effort to mold you into candidate worthy to be called a peer to Chloe and Kirika, and in that respect, I pronounce you a resounding success, though the cost was heavy. What I have done to you is unforgivable, and even in the unlikely even that you would offer forgiveness, I would have to refuse. But know this: I love you. You are as much a daughter to me as Chloe and Kirika are, albeit an estranged one. You do not believe this, I know. But I have cried more tears over your sorrows, hardships, and loneliness than over anything else in my entire life. Indeed, the only times that I have seriously considered abandoning the Grand Retour where when I was forced to place additional burdens upon you. Therefore, I do not ask forgiveness, but instead extend my thanks for allowing the True Noir to come to fruition — not because of my influence, but despite it.
I wish you all the best of luck in your future endeavors, whatever they may be.
With the greatest of love,
Althena
A grim smirk grew on Mireille’s face as Kirika finished reading the letter. “She’s right: I don’t believe her.”
“What do you mean?”
“This corny sentimentalism is just another attempt to get me to see her as a decent human being. She wasn’t. But enough moping. We have sandwiches to eat, and business to take care of.”
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(Posted Sun, 25 Feb 2007 06:39)
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