Chapter Six – Surveillance

I

On the smooth, clean cobbles, at the bottom of a staircase with the towering dome of granite above, Jules had claimed he would stand there, on that spot. The whole night through, if that was what it would take. And a beautiful night it was, as was only usual in Treno. Yet sadly, the pleasant, alluring smells and gentle chatter proved to be too calming for the hardened criminal. Used to barroom brawls, street fights or other, ever pettier night-time activities, the dull atmosphere proved lethargic, and within the hour he was fast asleep.

It was peculiar how a street corner in this, the wealthy part of Treno, could be so much safer, then the best of apartments in lowtown. Cobbles were certainly not as comfortable as a bed; it was rather cold outside after all. But then one did not have to worry about burglars or worse. Jules had therefore slept soundly. Until morning came, and he was awoken in the most unpleasant way imaginable.

The tip of the boot that woke him, blurred inn and out of focus as its owner kept kicking him methodically, repeatedly in the gut. A feeble and callused hand shot up to ward of the boot, trying to soften the blow.

"Ah, so you are awake now," a melodious, though unmistakably icy voice said as it escaped from him a low groan of malcontent.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the back of a dirty hand, he opened them to find an orange-clad leg mere centimetres away from his face. For the first time – never having been that close to her before – he made note of the dust embedded into the fine fabric of her trousers. Both unwashed and threadbare.

"What do ye think yer doin', woman?"

His voice was gruff and weak, but the kicking seized, the leg remaining still. Jules seized this golden opportunity to let his gaze wander further up her leg, to her face towering high above him, the luminous stars as a mere backdrop to her formidable presence. And yet, was there not something slightly worn about her. The droop of her shoulders, the tattered state of her clothes. He'd always presumed her to be unflappable, but something about the woman seemed decidedly dejected this morn. His curiosity stirring, Jules was suddenly wide awake.

Pushing himself up on his arms, he looked around, making sure they were alone and unseen.

"What's the time?" he asked, face bobbing from this side to that.

"Almost noon. Where's Aue?"

"At the flat. He should be comin' round here soon enough."

It would seem the woman – Sara, was it? – had an objection to this as well, but he did not catch what she said, as he hauled himself up on his feet, head spinning slightly on account of a blooming hangover. Falling asleep had not been his first mistake last night.

Stumbling a little, he grabbed Sara's shoulder for support. She brushed it off with ease, a look of disgust on her face, wrinkling her nose at the smell of him. This was one of the many reasons he didn't like women; their reproachful reticence at any male habit, or rather, bad habit. She chose not to comment on it however, and went straight to the point.

"Come, you must proceed to the meting-point."

"Aue has our stuff."

She sighed, disgust morphing into exasperation.

"If he's not here within five minutes, you will just have to proceed without him."

With that final command she turned and left him, slipping into the great throng of people bustling past close by.

Jules was just contemplating what she meant, but was saved from actually going through with it, with Aue bounding round the corner where Sara had just left him.

His face was gleaming with sweat, his cheeks a greyish hue of stubble. On his back he carried his leather pouch, from where last night's quarry could be seen sticking up.

"Where've you been?" he asked, grabbing the other man's arm and steering him down the alley opposite of where he'd had just arrived. "You were supposed to be here half and hour ago to wake me."

The brick's of the buildings around had taken on a bright green colour, the dampness and mud making a perfect environment for all sorts of fungi. Further up, everything was in the customary brownish shades. Jules and Aue could hardly be spotted in the darkness, their clothes bearing a striking resemblance to the walls all around. Thus they progressed, almost unseen, through the streets of Treno's lowtown.

"Sorry," Aue muttered sheepishly. "Sally made more of a fuss than expected. But she's with 'im now. Don't really see why you had to stand guard though."

"It's that insane woman," Jules fumed, steering them around yet another corner. "Need's to control everything, she does. Well, we'll just have to show 'er."

Aue grunted in agreement, pulling his satchel into better place. It's content's clattered noisily within as if laying extra meaning to Jules threat.

While pacing leisurely down the street, slowly meandering closer to their destination and task, feeling the noon-time bustle of people and cold breeze of the eternally lack of sun, Jules' alcohol-addled brain caught up at last at a comment Aue had offered.

"You said Sally was reluctant to take the job?"

"Well," Aue muttered, readjusting the satchel yet again. "Not reluctant exactly. More... annoyed."

"But she knows what she's got to do, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not that stupid. And neither is she. Don't ye worry."

"So she knows what it is she's gotta do?"

Aue nodded, though somewhat hesitantly. Their friendship being of long standing, Jules had no trouble sensing when his friend was on the fence about something.

"What is it man? Spit it out."

Looking from side to side in a manner that was sure to invite curious ears, Aue deemed it safe to speak.

"I'm not so sure 'bout this plan, Jules."

His drawn face was even more apprehensive then usual, as though he knew what was coming.

"It's just, I'm not sure this Dagonet is gonna be interested," he hurried on explaining himself, before Jules could speak. "He and Sara seemed to be... tight."

Jules snorted in derision, over lip curling up, exposing a set of brown teeth in a rather hostile manner.

"You really think the Ice Queen is capable of that? Besides, you were there when she introduced us. He could barely keep his eyes away from 'er. Sally, I mean."

Aue mumbled something inaudible in response, and pressed on towards their destination. The clock tower chimed yet again; the hour passed, irreversible. It was time they took their places. At the end of the alley, the main street stretched out before them, much resembling a river of people. Standing in this dark and seedy alley, the contrast was made more striking then ever.

As the last chime of the clock died away, the stream of people suddenly seemed to pick up their pace, as if this, the last tone reverberating through the night, was the sign they'd all been waiting for. In a way it was; at twelve o'clock, the doors to the auction house would open, the antiquing could commence.

In a way, Jules reflected while standing propped up against the dusty wall of a butcher-shop, this was even more grotesque than the usual sort of hostility he was used to. The mad faces, contorted by greed. They ridiculous clothing, their complete disregard for anyone who was not "someone". No, Jules would not want to be a noble, even should he have the title and property offered him for free. Well, perhaps he would, but he would take care never to mingle with this lot.

Much in the same way as Queen Stella, he considered himself a cut above the company. Though for slightly different reasons. The woman in question happened to pass by just at that moment, making her way to the auction as predicted. She did not spot them, but brushed past, rustling the hem of her dress.

"Have you brought the hoods?" he asked.

Aue pulled up to pieces of black cloth from within his satchel.

"Good. Though we will not wear them quite yet."

"Right."

Aue put them back, and they both rearranged themselves in more comfortable positions, making ready for a long wait. Who only knew how long Stella would stay. As it where, they would probably hold the auction-house open just on her account, even if it was Lord King that owned it.

As Aue propped himself up against the wall, he summoned the courage to resume their discussion.

"You honestly think there's not the slightest chance Sara and Dagonet might be an item?"

"An item?"

'Honestly, were did the man get such expressions from?' Jules speculated.

"No, I do not think they're an item. And besides, even if they were, it's noting Sally wouldn't be able to break up."

"I don't know..." Aue countered, fingering the blade of the hatchet he'd placed between his legs. "They do seem pretty tight..."

"He's her pawn. Just like us. Relax will you. Sally will get us the information. And if not... well, just havin' someone with them later on will be valuable."

They could have discussed this for quite some time, but Aue was tired and Jules' hangover did not seem to abate. They instead resorted to a suspenseful sort of silence, both equally unconvinced by the other's argument.

II

The feel of drifting, the overwhelming lack of control, was one that could not be ignored. She had the whole day before her now, she might spend it as she whished. But then there were the auction, and the mugging. The whole day laid out with schemes. Her schemes. And now they were completely out of her control. It was such an exhausting enterprise, this Confidence-business. For that is what it required – confidence. So much relied on other people. In that sense, her position much resembled that of a Queen. Though not as glamorous by far.

She now sat perched at a table at the Cafe Carta. The waiter had been reluctant in letting her sit, demanding to see her Gil before he would let her order. It was not surprising; she was a far cry from the princess she'd once been. But the humiliation she could live with, for though pretentious, this place offered a prime view. From here she could keep an eye on the Queen Stella's property, the main street and the auction house. She could even spot the junction leading down to the lowtown. But that place would remain empty for another hour. At least. And so, there was nothing to do but wait.

She had half expected Cullyn to pop up and take the table next to her, if only to remind her that they, whoever they were, were always watching her. But there were no trace of him. And, she reflected while sipping her violet-water, as she sat here, thinking on him now, she proved that such surveillance was indeed not necessary. She felt watched wherever she went.

Jules had fallen asleep, and maybe Aue didn't show. And perhaps Zidane would take wrong of the time or something. She had an overwhelming sense that something was bound to go wrong, brought on by the strain of feeling constantly watched.

Zidane would have told her to relax, to enjoy life more. Certainly he was right. It was a beautiful day at any rate. Her drink was tasty, the atmosphere light and relaxed. In many ways, this could be construed as a wonderful moment; the excitement of a game, the prize; having Vivi up and about again and being able to resume their travels and go to Memorian as intended. Then, if they succeeded all this, the drink in her hand, the dirty clothes on her back, the blinking lanterns of the Cafe Carta might have been a dream. If not, this could be one of the last peaceful moments of her life.

But such maudlin thoughts did not suit her. She needed focus now. And was that not Zidane, portraying the character of Tonerre strolling up the main street. He really was unrecognizable from his old self. In that at least she had succeeded. Ginger wig plastered to his forehead, she could see the sweat gleaming in his puffy features all the way from where she was sitting.

But the moment she finally allowed herself to relax back in her chair, she caught glimpse of another detail of his disguise; a woman. There was a moment when her mind stood still, a stillness brought on by disbelief. Her hand clutched the class, coldness seeping into her skin. And with that the world was suddenly moving again.

A woman. She had expressly decided against this. Tonerre was supposed to be a bachelor. But there she was, as undeniable as his ginger hair. Had he gone against her, decided this would be better? Or was it the work of Cullyn, procuring eyes and ears in every part of the operation?

The two of them made their way up the street, vanishing in the crowd. Then there was only waiting left.

On the table next to her, two noblewomen sat down, scattering their shopping bags around the table much like a child playing fort. Squeezing their generous frames into the chairs, the feathers of their hats almost interfering with the marquee, the waiter was at their side at once.

What if they knew, the two women ordering their drinks, that all this might be gone soon? That their life now was in the hands of a rag-tag little band lead by a thief. No, surely they would not approve.

She smirked a little, draining her glass. How fortunate that she had met Zidane when she had. Or else it might have been her slight frame sitting at the other table, marvelling at the trenatian architecture.

She contemplated this and other things, watching the lanterns soft glow, and the bustle of people. Carried away by her thoughts, time flew past. Soon the hour had gone and the auction-house doors opened.

Queen Stella, impeccably dressed, untouched by anything, parted the crowd with her mere presence. They all moved to the side, making her easy to watch. But where was Zidane? He was not visible in the sea of people. The Queen was walking quickly, growing ever closer to the junction, but Zidane did not seem able to follow.

'There, this is where it will all go wrong.' She knew it, she could feel it as keenly as if it had already happened. Perhaps it was just nerves, but she could not bare to watch the whole plan disintegrate before her. And yet, she could not make herself look away.

Stella moved with great haste, looking neither here nor there, but straight forward. She did not notice the two hooded men jumping out into her path until she was attacked. They pulled her into the alleyway, Zidane still nowhere close.

With her heart hammering almost painfully in her chest, as though it wished to abandon it's home in her chest, she made herself look; Zidane was still too far away.

III

The hood was smelly, it's fabric ruff and itchy even against Jules' bearded and weather-beaten face. Inching a finger under its collar, he scratched his neck absentmindedly, twirling his sword around. It was lucky no one decided to pass their ally at that moment, because Jules had very little control of his weapon.

He held a secret admiration towards Aue and his seemingly effortless way with the hatchets he carried in each hand. Despite their longstanding friendship, Jules did not know how he'd come to possess such a skill, and Aue had never told. But it was handy all the same.

They edged up against the corner, weapons at the ready. It would look utterly absurd if any passerby would happen to look down this alley. As it happened, it was perfectly situated, too dark to see much. But should someone happen to shine a torch down the ally, it was not the sight of the usual criminal that would meet them. Usual criminals would not carry such weapons. Nor would they stand in mask, waiting. They had not been told why the weapons were necessary, but Sara had insisted upon it. It seemed a bagatelle, compared to the next stage of the plan. And there, at least, they had an inn, Sally reporting every detail directly to them. And also, if Jules were right, might turn this game in their favour, creating cracks between the other two.

Arms shacking from the strain, sweat gathering in every pore of his skin, he allowed himself a slight respite, leaning against the wall. Dust gathering with sweat, they created a slimy mask that plastered against his every bare bit of skin.

"What's the time," he grunted, as the heat rose from inside the mask.

"I don't know," Aue hissed back. "She'll probably be here soon though."

"How can you possibly know that?"

Long waits tended to get Jules tetchy, and the heat got the better of him now.

Aue shrugged, but otherwise refrained from answering. He too allowed himself a more relaxed position, while scratching his forehead with the edge of one hatchet.

"We'll know once the clock chimes."

"You don't say."

It would perhaps have been better for them both to remain silent. No good could come of a conversation held when they were both in such fragile mental states. But they were both starved of activity.

"What if she takes another route home?" Jules could not help but speculate.

"Give 'er a little credit. She is in league with the Dismas after all."

"We've never had any proof of that," Jules interjected. All they had based this decision on was the woman's allusions.

"She's not as stupid as trying to get away with a Confidence Game right under the Dismas' nose. Not after the rebellion he staged," Aue offered with his usual levelheadedness, while hitting the blade softly against his boot-tip.

"She might not have heard of it. She's not from here, you know," Jules said, defending his position with determination.

Aue snorted.

"What? And missed the whole massacre? How then, would she have know that she must proclaimed friendship with the Dismas before she could make anyone agree to join her?"

This was Aue's final blow, winning him the argument.

"Well," Jules said, trying the salvage what remained of his dignity, "if they really are partners, we're the once conspiring against the Dismas now."

"Right... Sally..." Aue mumbled pensively.

And as they both lost themselves in thoughts of the beautiful bar-made, the hem of a salmon-coloured dress became visible around the corner. In close succession came the figure of a woman clad form head to foot in this hideous colour, fabrics flying every which way, floating on the breeze.

Aue was the first to collect his wits, and nudged his partner painfully in the ribs. At the sight of the Queen his verbal reprimands died down.

With a series of hasty hand movements, they communicated between another in silence; the time for action had come.

Too surprised by the Queens sudden apparition, they were much too flustered to check if Zidane (or Dagonet as they called him) and Sally followed. If they had, they might have haltered their advance a few more seconds.

Stepping out into the main street, blocking the woman's path, they only had sight for the task in front of them.

At first she looked angry that someone might dare block her path. But soon the furrowed brows smoothed out in confusion as she took in the sight of the men.

"Excuse m-"

But Jules would allow her to speak no further. Grabbing her around the waist, his glove snagging her dress in the process, he pulled her close and clamped another hand over her mouth.

Her eyes widened in horror, arms clawing at his hand. Aue, ever the quick thinker, lifted his blade, letting it rest on her exposed throat. The message was clear; she must stand still, or else get killed.

The woman froze, letting herself be dragged into the alleyway, minutes before her rescuers could reach her.

A/N: It's been too long since the last update, sorry about that. My computer has collapsed, so I'm working on this from school, which gives me very little time. Consequently the chapter was a crappy one. I'll probably edit it once I get a new machine. But for now, I hope you enjoyed the update. Please let me know what you think!