As they walked through the dimly lit halls of the Manor, Mireille took stock of the woman currently guiding her, a mousey-looking brunette with a small frame and thick glasses. She doesn’t look too tough. I could probably take her out with my bare hands if I had to, though with my luck she’s probably armed. Her mind briefly flashed back to the moment that Kirika’s suicide, but that wasn’t something she particularly felt like dwelling on at the moment, so instead, she tried to distract herself with small talk.
“So, uh, Jeanette, was it?”
“Yes?”
“Where exactly did you think I should be staying?”
The woman became distinctly nervous at this question; clearly, she wasn’t sure how much information to reveal. “Um, well, you see….”
“There’s already a room reserved for me here, isn’t there?”
“Ah, no, not really. But…” The woman looked around anxiously, making sure there was no one around to hear what she said next. “Noir has their own section of the Manor as their living quarters, and if what Althena said about you was true, then I thought that… well… that would be where you were staying.”
“Jeanette, my best friend just killed herself. Even if I didn’t have reservations about this Noir business, I wouldn’t want to stay in her room.”
“I… I know. That was just my first thought, that’s all.”
Once again, there was silence between the two women as they walked through the Manor’s halls — silence that was occasionally punctuated by gasps of surprise as other members of Althena’s convent/cult saw the hated Corsican walking through the corridors, apparently without impunity. No one reacted violently, though there were two or three instances where Jeanette would be indignantly asked for an explanation. The bespectacled woman kept her answers brief and avoided mentioning Kirika’s demise, always concluding by recommending that the questioner speak with Althena for more complete details.
Soon enough, however, they stopped in front of a nondescript wooden door, which Jeanette opened. “Here’s where you will be staying for the time being.”
Given the obvious antiquity of the Manor, Mireille was rather surprised to see that the guest room was furnished in a fairly modern fashion; indeed, the furnishings reminded her of a budget hotel — maybe even a bit better than that. The double bed had been neatly made with off-white sheets and pillowcases covered by a forest green comforter. Next to the bed was a small oak nightstand with a lamp and a small digital clock. These two amenities surprised Mireille greatly, as it implied that parts of the Manor were actually wired with electricity. The nightstand itself was stained in a light brown color, and came with a drawer that had a fairly simple-looking antiqued brass handle. If it were in any other place, Mireille would have expected such a drawer to contain a Gideon Bible. Off in one corner, there was a small desk in the same style as the nightstand. In another corner sat a leather-bound chair that was positioned just so to allow its occupant to look out the window, which overlooked the small town near the estate. The skies outside were still blue, which surprised the Corsican somewhat. Somehow, it felt like it should have been evening by now.
Of course, there were several details that would prevent most people from assuming this was a hotel room. For starters, there was no television present; in its place was an entire wall of bookcases, each filled to capacity with various tomes, with topics that ranged from military history to occult practices, with the complete works of Shakespeare thrown in for good measure. The other, more obvious detail was the fact that the Manor’s stonework was clearly visible; there were no decorations on the walls, nor carpeting on the floor (though there was a small rug in front of the nightstand).
“As you can see, it’s not the fanciest room around, but it is one of the few in the castle with electricity. I’d give you a key, but unfortunately, it probably isn’t safe for you to be roaming about the Manor yet.” She motioned to a golden braided rope. “If you need anything, pull on this rope, and you’ll ring a bell. Someone will be with you shortly.”
“And will I be able to trust this ‘someone’?”
“Probably. If you’re nervous, you can always ask the person to find me instead.”
“And how do I know I can trust you?”
“I haven’t tried anything, have I?”
“No… I suppose you haven’t. But that’s not going to convince me to let my guard down.”
“I’d be surprised if it did — you are one of the Maidens, after all. Um, is there anything I’ve forgotten?”
“Is there a bathroom anywhere around here?”
“What? Oh, right. There’s a small one right in here,” she said, pointing to a wooden door.
“So the Manor has indoor plumbing, too?”
“A few rooms do. This is one of them.”
“Right.”
“If you’re hungry—”
“I’m not.”
“Oh. I see. I thought you might be.”
“Again, my best friend just killed herself. That sort of thing tends to ruin one’s appetite.”
“Um, I beg your pardon, but is it really appropriate to be making light of the situation.”
“I’m a professional assassin. I murder people for a living. I developed a very dark sense of humor a long time ago. It’s my primary coping mechanism; it’s how I deal with death. Or do you agree with Chloe and think I’m just too calloused to care?”
“I… I think the events of the day have left you emotionally drained. To expect any sort of ‘normal’ response from anyone under these circumstances is naïve, let alone someone for whom death is an everyday occurrence.”
The Corsican responded with a brief, inscrutable hum.
“I’ll leave you now. Althena will likely come by later to speak with you about your future.”
“Whatever.”
As Jeanette shut the door behind her, Mireille fell on to the bed. “I need sleep,” she declared. This was evidently true, as the assassin dozed off not five minutes later, still in her (somewhat disheveled) street clothes.
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(Posted Fri, 20 Apr 2007 07:28)
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