Three days later, inside the grand ducal manor where the mysterious note had been left, Jeanne confirmed that a grand banquet was indeed taking shape. Quite a large crowd had gathered, filing through the lit entryways below.
Amidst the swirling throng, a sudden flash of bright orange caught her eye. Perched quietly in the deep shadows of the roofline, Jeanne spotted Bagpipe and Horn entering through a side corridor. It seemed the message she left behind had done its job. She hoped their investigation went smoothly, though she stayed firmly hidden. Finding a spot this secure without drawing notice wasn't easy, and she had no intention of giving it up prematurely.
Keeping a close eye on the courtyard, Jeanne caught sight of a familiar unit stepping through the main gates. Among them was the quick-tempered Feline she had met before, surrounded by half a dozen figures who appeared to be officers.
Unlike the Feline, who wore whatever she pleased, these officers were dressed in uniform coats that projected a strict, regimented hierarchy. They moved in a tight cluster, surrounded by armed guards as they entered the main estate.
Seeing this, Jeanne realized the red-haired Draco likely had no real idea what was being planned inside. She had probably overheard bits of the arrangement and passed the lead along to them on the sly.
Her day-to-day existence within this movement clearly wasn't as grand as it seemed from the outside.
Bzzt... Bzzt... Bzzt...
A sudden vibration shook her coat pocket. Jeanne pulled out her communicator and saw the contact caller name: Embarrassing Dragon.
What was Talulah calling for at a time like this?
"Hello? What's going on?" Jeanne answered in a low murmur, her eyes never leaving the crowd of ostentatiously dressed nobles entering below.
"How are things on your end?" Talulah's voice came through the receiver, though the background noise was so deafening that Jeanne had to press the device tight against her ear to catch the words.
"The information checked out. I just spotted that Feline, along with several high-ranking officers entering the estate," Jeanne reported quietly. Then, hearing the loud clamor on the other end, she asked, "Where on earth are you right now?"
"Inside an industrial workshop," Talulah replied, her voice competing against the heavy clatter of machinery and shouting workers. "I'm looking into the conditions of the local Infected. But I noticed something strange—the military patrols that usually sweep this sector tonight are completely missing. Something feels off. Keep your guard up."
Between answering Jeanne, Talulah was also addressing the local workers. The Infected hands here handled their condition with crude, dangerous ignorance, forcing Talulah to step in and teach them basic care so their Oripathy wouldn't flare up completely.
"Don't worry about me. I spotted Horn and her unit down below," Jeanne said casually, watching the courtyard. "If things get messy, I'll just say I'm with the Victorian military. They wouldn't dare open fire on regular soldiers in broad daylight, right?"
As she spoke, Jeanne caught sight of the white-robed Draco entering through a guarded archway. Draped in a heavy mantle that completely obscured her features and silhouette, the figure walked briskly toward the manor's main hall.
Jeanne couldn't discern much under the thick cloth, but her gaze instantly locked onto the massive tail trailing behind the woman. It was far larger than Talulah's, and a persistent, bright flame crackled continuously at its tip. Jeanne remembered Talulah using her Arts in a similar way, but this dragon's flame seemed like it couldn't be extinguished at all.
"Hello? Hello! Are you still there? What happened?" Talulah's urgent voice cut through the communicator. Having heard Jeanne suddenly fall silent, her mind was already jumping to wild conclusions—like Jeanne getting surrounded and having to fight her way out.
Not that she lacked confidence in Jeanne. Truth be told, even if the entire movement ganged up on her, they couldn't stop Jeanne if she took things seriously.
"I'm fine," Jeanne said softly, her eyes tracking the massive tail below. "I just saw that Draco. And I have to say... her tail is huge! Is your smaller one a family trait, or what?"
The comment sent a sudden shiver down Talulah's spine back at the factory, bringing back memories of all the times Jeanne had messed with her tail.
"What do you mean her tail is larger than mine?!" Talulah snapped into the communicator, her voice rising sharply without even taking a breath. "Are you complaining that my tail isn't big enough? Not that its size ever stopped you from bothering it! Why don't you go ask her how she grew it that way?!"
It sounded as if Jeanne had committed a grave offense, and Talulah was demanding an immediate retraction.
"Alright, alright! I never said yours was worse," Jeanne chuckled, trying to soothe her ruffled feathers. "I was just curious why two members of the exact same race would have such a massive difference in size."
Looking at the Draco's sweeping tail, Jeanne realized that among everyone she knew, only that Crocodilian physician named Gavial from Rhodes Island had a tail that could rival it in size. How did someone even grow a tail like that?
"Patriot and regular Sarkaz are technically of the same origin too—why don't you go ask him why the gap between them is so vast?" Talulah huffed through the receiver. "It's just natural variation between lineages. Besides, my tail being on the shorter side might have something to do with my Yanese heritage. I don't remember my father, so I can't say for sure."
"Fair enough. Yours is still the most comfortable to hold, anyway!" Jeanne offered quickly, attempting to smooth over the conversation before Talulah held a grudge until evening.
"Who said my tail is for holding?! A tail isn't a handrest!"
Talulah clearly hated discussing the topic. Every time Jeanne caught hold of her tail, an awkward, strange sensation washed over her that she couldn't quite shake off.
Curiously, when she touched it herself, nothing happened. Why did it feel so strange only when Jeanne did it?
It must be that bizarre Arts ability of hers at work! Talulah concluded silently, deciding there was no need to question it further.
"If a tail isn't for holding, then what is it for? An accessory?" Since the guests were still filing in, Jeanne leaned back against the rooftop tiles, content to pass the time chatting.
Over on Talulah's end, the background noise suddenly died down. It seemed to be mealtime at the factory, and the workers had rushed off to secure their rations. Missing a meal meant having no strength for the night shift, which inevitably led to docked pay.
Victorian factory hands didn't work standard shifts; they endured grueling ten-hour days with unannounced overtime and practically no extra pay.
When Talulah first learned of this, she finally understood why Victoria referred to its working class as 'rivets.' They were treated as disposable machine parts. The nation never lacked labor; if a worker broke down, they were cast aside and replaced with a fresh hand from the countryside.
"What a tail is for isn't something a tail-less person needs to concern themselves with," Talulah said, steering the conversation firmly back on track. "Just be careful out there. This gathering isn't simple, and if those conspirators are up to something, this banquet might yield real answers."
"Got it, got it. You've said that a dozen times already. I'm hanging up!" Jeanne cut the line and focused her attention back on the entrance below.
Just as the call ended, a final text popped up on her communicator from Talulah: By the way, that organization calls itself Dublinn. The local Tarans told me.
"Dublinn?" Jeanne read the text with a faint frown. "What a strange name. Stranger than Reunion, even."
It seemed the Draco line really lacked a gift for naming things.
Who would have thought that a small place like County Hillock was hiding so many insurgents in plain sight? Were all these people Tarans? Jeanne doubted it. Most were likely opportunists drawn in by the promise of gain.
Still, holding a grand gathering with such unstable allies at a critical moment like this... what was their true motive?
Jeanne sat in the cold wind, unable to make sense of it.