Chương 35: Perhaps I Shouldn’t Cry

Small cascades of dark water tumbled from the eaves of the buildings, heavy with the remnants of that morning's snow. The fog had grown thinner, replaced by a fine, icy drizzle. The gentle patter filled the ears of a figure clinging to a slick white cord, working her way up the side of a tall apartment block. She planted her fingers over the edge of the roof tiles first, then hauled herself up in a single lunge. Her boots sent drops scattering in every direction, while her raincoat turned the water away.

The cord evaporated, untying itself from her wrist. She adjusted the case against her back and began walking along the rooftop, parallel to the street leading toward the Institute. Her breathing was slightly quickened, almost anxious. The few strands of hair that had escaped her hood were completely soaked and heavy.

"He's not here..." She closed her palm, letting a few white drops fall, like paint, caught them with her fingers and wove them into a new cord, coiled it around her wrist, and sent it arcing across the gap between two buildings. She took a deep breath and, after a few tugs, threw herself into the void. She swung through the rain, launching new cords whenever she needed them. The mix of drizzle and light mist was more than enough to block the view of anyone below.

"Why isn't he here?" She murmured, landing on another roof. Before her stretched an expanse of rooftops of every shape: some fitted with terraces, others crowned by small towers, others triangular, and in the distance, the cathedral rose beyond all of them. From where she stood, the maze of side streets, alleyways, and pavements below looked like a tangle of branches and rope. The colors of Bayork were washed away by the rain, which had blurred the whole city into a strange, uniform grey.

"Is it my fault? Was I somehow useless?" She began sliding down toward the terraces, trying to close the distance between herself and the street.

"Yes. I was... I had a task, and I failed it." She began talking to herself, aware that she had left Monica in an attempt to help. She had thought she could be useful, that there was some way to contribute, but after that message, she had only felt worse.

"Jeanne, this is Monica. Sorry for reaching out like this, but Lance's signal has disappeared, and Maliard has cut communications. From what I can tell, he's trying to help the target on his own. Unfortunately, we have no leads on either of them, but they've probably already left the capital. Good luck." She repeated the message one last time before the screen became unreadable in the rain. She straightened her sleeve and continued her descent.

"Why did I leave my post? Why am I like this?" She finally set foot on the ground and started making her way toward the Eighth Boulevard. She caught her reflection in the water beneath her feet, staring at her own worn face.

"I always do whatever I want and end up ruining everything. Why can I never make the right choice?!" She stamped on her reflected face in the puddle, scattering it across the alley.

"After everything they've done for me, this is how I repay them? By throwing it all away and causing trouble for everyone?" She covered her face with her hands, struggling forward along the street." You're stupid, Jeanne. You're nothing but a little girl who does nothing but get in everyone's way." She pressed her hands harder against her head, the smooth fabric of her outfit pushing against her hair and skin. She dropped to the ground beside the runoff channel, crumpling her black raincoat beneath her."

Why couldn't I be more like Mann?" A woman with long red hair and a slight frame flickered through her memory, a young girl at her side, one who was probably still far from adulthood.

"If I had been like her… Mama would still be alive, and Papa would never have left."" I'm a disgrace!" She struck the wall behind her, sending a few chips of brick flying." What happens if he doesn't come back? Will the mission fail because I thought I was doing the right thing?" A few drops stained her pale skin, mingling with the downpour. She got back up and continued climbing the grim, wet staircase of the alley, leaning at intervals against the rusted iron railing.

The heavy slabs of black stone had been made slippery by the rain, but she didn't care. Her breathing grew faster and faster, catching in her throat at times.

"Jeanne, don't worry, nothing happened. Mama's fine, look!" A memory, something distant, surfaced in her mind. She was sitting on cushions, crying heavily, clutching a torn board in her hands. Before her stood a woman, her face covered in scratches and redness. Her arms cradled Jeanne's face with gentleness. They weren't white like hers; They were dirty, covered in bruises." I thought… I was… Helping you." Jeanne had murmured between sobs, gripping the woman's arm. Weak tears ran down that battered skin."

I didn't want you to leave me..." She had clung even tighter to her hand, crying more desperately still. Her mother looked at her, biting her lip hard.

"You're young, and you're so lovely. Don't worry about grown-up problems, live the way you want to live." She had thrown herself at her daughter, pulling her close. Jeanne remembered her scent perfectly: comforting, despite the undercurrent of smoke and tobacco.

"Mama… Will always be with you, wherever you go." Her eyes drifted back to the water pouring off the rooftops, her ears again besieged by the hiss of the wind and the roar of the rain. She reached the foot of the staircase and kept climbing through the alleyways. A few windows glowed with a faint yellowish light, broken by the constant layering of drops on glass. Jeanne passed them, rounding the corner toward another flight of stairs.

"Liars… You're all liars." She murmured through barely parted lips, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears. She dragged her nails along the wall, leaving a long white mark." Mama, Papa, and Mann… They all lied!" She struck the wall with force, this time sending paint flaking off along with chips of stone." You promised you'd be there… And instead here I am, suffering because of something I brought on myself."

She kept struggling upward until the alley opened out onto the main road, leaving her alone on the wide street, flanked by buildings shaking in the wind. The fog had gone, leaving only the curtain of rain to obstruct the view." Why is there no one here to comfort me?" She pulled her arms tight around herself, trying to remind her body what an embrace felt like, but the water washed the sensation away. The only thing she held was the slick, damp fabric of her own suit.

"Lance… Do you hate me too, maybe?" The words escaped her throat before she could stop them. A spiral of doubt forced her down onto the edge of the road, the sheets of rain soaking through her as she sat among her own sobs." You're kind. Someone like you couldn't possibly stand to be near me." She pressed her nails slowly into her face, cutting into the skin" I'm greedy, never satisfied. A burden to everyone and nothing more." Water and blood ran together down her cheeks before disappearing into the street."

Maybe I could just take him and keep him for myself… He'd be safe, with me nearby…" Something sinister moved those words, and even Jeanne recognized it. She struck her own lips with the flat of her hand." Disgusting..." She murmured, walking on along the edge of the slope. After that thought, her eyes had lost their magnetic blue, gone dull and flat. The rain only worsened, the wind growing more violent until it tore her hood down. All her hair came loose, weighed down by the storm.

Jeanne paid it no attention, walking on with the case strapped to her back.

After twenty minutes, she reached the entrance to the Eighth Boulevard. A few hundred metres ahead, the gateway out of Bayork, the same one she had crossed the first time she arrived for the Child auction.

"You look terrible, my dear." A voice called to her from behind. Jeanne turned slowly, making out a white-coated figure.

"Mr. Lucas?" She recognized the mask, spotted with rain, despite her confusion. For some reason, his clothes were completely dry, as if the rain was repelled by them.

"How much have you been sleeping lately, Jeanne?" She avoided answering that, turning her head to the side and looking down. Lucas sighed, taking her hand.

"I know you're worried, and I know how hard you push yourself, but looking after yourself matters. It's one of the wisest things a person can do." Those words were enough to bring Jeanne's gaze back up to his mask.

"Don't let that boy rub off on you. He's rather desensitized to taking care of himself, too." At the mention of that name, Jeanne tightened her grip. The scientist noticed, narrowing his eyes behind the mask.

"He's gone missing, and you feel responsible. Don't you?" Jeanne hesitated, then nodded. Lucas's aura folded around her, shielding her from the rain, and he pulled her into an embrace.

"Don't worry. Lance is fine. He went looking for Grayson Dirac on his own." At those words, Jeanne pulled back, taking both his hands in hers. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"Please, tell me where he is!" Only a few drops crowned her eyes, though it was hard to tell tears from rain. Lucas took her hands in his and leaned down.

"He's heading for Mount Argo. Based on his conversations with Mr. Dirac, he probably went there to keep Maliard from doing anything rash with the target." He let go, reaching for her wrist. Jeanne pulled back instinctively, then immediately felt ashamed and offered her arm again. Lucas lifted her sleeve and worked at the watch beneath it. The device trembled, then he released her and stepped back.

"I've written down everything I know about Lance's likely location. Let Monica and Maliard know." He turned to go, but a sound stopped him. He looked back to find Jeanne holding her own wrist, smiling"Thank you so much, Mr. Lucas!" She called after him as he walked away into the rain. Lucas raised a thumb, and blue flickers of light pulsed around him.

"One last thing, if you're leaving Bayork, your best route is through the cemetery and out through the wall. The checkpoint takes far too long." She checked her screen with visible relief and nodded. The scientist returned the nod and vanished into the pale blue light.

"I can do something. Thank you, Lucas." She smiled, finding the strength to run up the slope again, slipping twice and landing hard on the ground both times. She groaned and picked herself back up, settling into a brisk walk. The rain had grown lighter, thinning now to a fine scatter of drops. Jeanne finally turned into the alley that led to the cemetery. After the end of the war, Bayork had passed a law requiring the dead to be buried outside the city walls.

This was why the capital's cemetery lay beyond the perimeter, connected to the Eighth Boulevard through a series of small buildings and narrow lanes that made up what was practically a village of its own, called Moriendille.

"What an unsettling place…" She whispered, approaching the black gate wrapped in creepers and ivy. The spikes broke the drops that fell directly on their tips, creating brief rings of water that vanished almost as soon as they formed. Crystalline rivulets ran along the green leaves. The row of spikes extended far to either side, and Jeanne felt almost as though she were stepping into another neighbourhood entirely.

A carpet of damp leaves muffled her footsteps as she made her way toward the nearly endless series of stone slabs in every shape imaginable. Every grave had been built to recall its original occupant and their trade: some were shaped like anchors, others like broken columns, others like a girl in prayer that served as a frame. Jeanne stopped to read some of the inscriptions carved into the stone.

A strange sensation passed over her skin as she read about those people: soldiers, fathers, mothers, sisters, and even children.

"I wonder if Mama and Mann would have liked to come here…" She whispered into the cold, damp air. Her mother had been consumed by the flames of their house, while her adopted sister had died of infection. Neither of them had ever known a funeral rite or a burial.

"Not that they could have." She finished the thought and walked on." The regulations were so strict... Even those poor women suffered the abandonment." She resumed walking across the silent, muddy ground, scattered here and there with bare, slender trees and creepers clinging to the rock. After about ten minutes, the far edge of the cemetery came into sight, opening directly onto the wooded path." Better warn Maliard and Monica."

She raised her arm, shielding the screen with her head as she searched for the send command. A sound caught her attention. On a small hill stood a narrow obelisk, its tip carved into a white stone torch. Just below the grave, a girl stood in the rain, dressed in a long black gown. Jeanne touched her own raincoat, then looked again at the figure on the hill. She nodded to herself and started toward her, careful not to slip in the mud. The shape grew clearer as she approached.

The girl was young, perhaps older than Jeanne, but the mask over her face made it difficult to make out anything beyond her dark eyes and thick brows. Jeanne slipped her raincoat off quickly and draped it around the girl's shoulders. The stranger only became aware of Jeanne's presence once the fabric wrapped around her.

"You'll get sick… Why don't you go home?" She asked gently, leaning to one side to look at the girl's face, catching only the glint of tears.

"I can't take this anymore! Why did he leave?!" She cried out, striking the obelisk with all her strength. Her hand slid along the black stone, and she lost her balance. Jeanne caught her and set her back on her feet, but the girl shook her off and hit the grave again.

"S-stop, please… H-hitting it won't help." She murmured close to her ear, taking her arm gently but firmly. The girl let herself be calmed, then pointed to a tree that offered enough shelter from the rain. The two of them sat on a pair of stumps that vaguely resembled chairs and began to talk.

"I'm sorry for that outburst. I feel awful…" She apologized, and Jeanne waved her hands to put her at ease.

"I'm Sophie Maglarck." She offered her hand without expecting anything in return. Her face was worn, and the dark color of her eyes was made more striking still, perhaps by the lack of sleep. Jeanne shook her hand gently.

"J-Jeanne Goghette. The pleasure is m-mine." She smiled, and Sophie seemed caught off guard by it, deciding to return it. The mask covered her lips, but the shape of her eyes was enough for Jeanne to tell she was trying.

"Would you mind… If I asked you something?" Sophie said, pulling her gaze away to look at the grave before them. Jeanne nodded, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

"How do I get rid of this pain? I can't carry it anymore." Sophie's voice was fragile, close to breaking, and for some reason, that obelisk seemed to radiate something that reached Jeanne too.

"Is there something you regret… About that person?" Jeanne asked carefully, keeping her voice as steady as she could. Sophie tightened her grip and sighed.

"Everything! I wish I had known him better. I wish I had lent him a hand… But instead, I was only a burden. And that boy never once complained. He just kept helping whenever he could." Sophie began telling her about the person buried beneath the mud, her gaze fixed on the torch carved at the top.

"What kind of person was he?" Jeanne continued, searching for any foothold to help her. Sophie let go, looking her in the face.

"Young. Kind. Gentle. He moved in with us when he was still a teenager, and from the very first day, he was always helping out. He was sharp. He'd explain things to me that I didn't understand, even though he'd get embarrassed over nothing at all. Maybe he hated me. I never managed to ask." She looked down, gripping her own throat above her knees.

"He was barely of age, but he worked harder than anyone in the neighbourhood. He came home late, covered in scratches and bruises more often than not, always with a smile on his face." She raised her eyes, fixing them on the carved torch at the tip of the obelisk.

"This monument was made by the whole village where he used to live, and by some of his clients. Do you know why we chose that shape for the top?" Sophie turned toward her, narrowing her tired eyes. Jeanne shook her head, watching the flame seem almost to stir under the weight of the rain.

"We like to think that wherever he is now… He's still giving everything he has." She closed her hands together, praying, perhaps." Mann did that too... But why?"

"What was his name?" A shiver passed through Jeanne's throat as she asked, finding far too many familiar things in someone she had never met.

"Lance Klint. The only courier of Cael." Jeanne's heart skipped more than one beat at Sophie's words. Something seized her chest, pulling her gaze to the grave.

"He really was a good person, wasn't he?" Sophie nodded, her arms folded in prayer. A brief silence crossed the cemetery, broken only by the now intensifying storm.

"Perhaps I shouldn't cry… He wouldn't have wanted it." Poor Maglarck murmured, pulling the heavy black gown tighter around herself. Jeanne reached toward her, then drew her hand back quickly. At the sight of the young woman in tears, something long forgotten stirred inside her.

"Thank you, Jeanne…" The words echoed in her head, though she had never actually heard them. She wrapped her arms around Sophie, holding her close and resting her head against her own chest.

"You know… I know someone very similar." She stroked her hair, damp and heavy as it was. Sophie had gone still, caught somewhere between surprise and listening.

"And he would never forgive himself for making someone cry because of him." The embrace tightened, without losing any of its gentleness. Sophie clutched at Jeanne's clothes, and the sobs finally came.

"But I have no authority… To tell you when or how to let your tears fall." By now, Sophie was completely given over to crying, holding tighter still.

"What do you think he'd do if he were here?" Jeanne asked, and their eyes met. She was completely soaked through, yet the cold didn't bother her as much as it should have.

"He'd tell me to wipe that sulk off my face and talk about it." Sophie whispered, finally pulling away. The rain had grown softer and now fell more like a thin scatter of drops. Jeanne smiled and stood.

"Maybe you knew him better than you thought." She murmured, taking her hand and slipping away, turning back now and then to wave. Sophie watched her disappear, realizing too late that she still had her raincoat.

"I wasn't very fair to her…" Jeanne murmured, making her way toward the fence that opened onto the forest. She realized she had left her coat in Sophie's hands and stood staring up at the sky for a moment with a look of quiet recognition.

"I told her to follow his advice, when really I'm the first one who's let him down." She smiled, wrapping her fingers around the gap between two of the fence spikes. With a quiet, unexpected strength, she cleared the iron wall and landed cleanly on the other side.

"In the end… Lance would have been upset with me." She smiled, stepping into the undergrowth as she worked at her watch. The roar of a car echoed through the rainy mist.