Part 22: Finally a Murder

: Of course. All librarians like riddles.

: Seems like a bit of a stereotype, that's all I'm saying.

: Stereotype or not, we have to hope that it's true. That boffin is our best chance at getting to the bottom of this.

: Time to put our polite faces on. He's here now.

: ~Sigh~ Good day, Dromio and Dromio.

Carnival of the Animals - People with long ears

: Why, good day, monsieur. It's a pleasure to see you again on this fine day. Tell me, kind monsieur, do you like riddles?





: Er..

: You. It’s you, messieurs, you. You come in here, yammering and yelling, never stopping to close your beaks for one minute.

: Oh! Haha! Very good, monsieur.

: (Laugh, Sparrowson. We need to get into his good books.)



: (W-what was that?)

: (Sorry. I can't fake-laugh.)

: (Oh mon Dieu...)

: Stop this farce. You messieurs obviously have some inane riddle that you want solving, so let's hear it. Go on, spit it out.

: Oh, right. Well, uh... If we were to say that there is a place called “the Sleeping City” in Paris, where would it be?

: That's a new one...



: R-really?

: Of course. The riddle was trivially easy. There are plenty of locations that could be called a “Sleeping City”, but only one place earns that title in Paris.

: Oh? And where would that be?

: We know the answer, of course. Obviously. We're just fact-checking to make sure that you got it right.

: Think it through, messieurs. What kind of city is only inhabited by those who sleep all day and all night?

: Uh...



: I got it! Spain!

: Don't be daft, Sparrowson. Spain isn't a city. But perhaps the monsieur is referring to the capital of Spain, Madrid. Nice, sleepy, place.

: Spain? Madrid?! You two are remarkably dense, aren't you? “Sleep” is a metaphor. Actually, it's one of the oldest and most powerful metaphors in the history of literature. It symbolizes death itself. “The Sleeping City” obviously refers to a city of the dead. A necropolis.





: Of course! The catacombs. The winding tunnels of the dead that lie beneath our very feet.

: Very good, monsieur. That's the first semi-intelligent thing you have managed to say all day. ...You have more questions, don't you?

: Oh yes.



: Can you give us a brief run-down on the history of the catacombs?

: ~Sigh~ The cemeteries of Paris were overflowing by the end of the last century. It was a mess, from what I hear. To create space, King Louis XVI ordered for old skeletons to be excavated and put into the unused mine tunnels that lie under the city. So, with a little renovation and many years of hard work, the mines were successfully turned into a subterranean mausoleum.

: So, what, it's basically a grave for a few thousand skeletons?

: Millions, more like. Don't underestimate the size of the tunnels, messieurs.

: I know that the bourgeois like to tour the catacombs, don't they?

: Correct. It was quite the bourgeois tourist hotspot some twenty years ago. But if you were hoping to pay a visit, you are too late. The Church had all the entrances sealed shut fairly recently.

: Why would the Church do that?

: Believe it or not, they considered the turning of a mausoleum into a tourist attraction to be in poor taste.

: Oh, right.

: They shut down all the entrances? Really? Surely there must be one or two left untouched

: If there is such an entrance, it is not public knowledge.

: I see.



: I think we're done here for now. Thank you for your time, monsieur.

: Good day.

: If the Sleeping City really is the Paris catacombs, then there must be some way to get in...

: Hmm... An underground tunnel network would probably be connected to the city sewers, right?



: That's a good idea. Or maybe it connects to the Seine? Perhaps some swimming is in order...

: If you really wish to visit the catacombs, you would be best off asking those responsible for the closures.

: The... dead... people?

: ~Sigh~ The Church, monsieur. The Church would know if any unsealed entrances still exist.

: Oh. Right.













Wolves

: But the good word must be spread, my brother! We need as many supporters as possible. No more sulking in the shadows. No more cowering in the dark. We must rise up against our oppressors!



: Again? Tsk. What happened to yours?

: I lost it.

: So careless.

: Don't sweat the petty things, brother. Let’s focus on removing the obstacles that stand in the way of our fathers dream.

: Right. Like the annoying little bird who's been poking his beak into our business. He is dangerously close to uncovering our secret.

: You want me to take care of him?

: It would be in our interests. I have a trap in mind, but...



: Go hide.



: Actually, friar, were here for information. We want to learn about the catacombs that lie under Paris.

: The catacombs? You don't want to go there, my brother. It's a wretched and haunted place.

: I'm sure it is. But we know that the church was responsible for having the entrances sealed shut.

: So we figured that maybe there's a super-secret friar-only entrance that only you know about.

: A secret entrance? That's an interesting idea... You know... you are not the first birds to have asked about that.

: We aren't?

: Yes, yes... a cockerel paid a visit yesterday.

: Perfect posture and snooty or one-eyed and scowling?

: The first. A prosecutor, I think he said he was. Anyway, I'll tell you the same thing I told him.



: Understood?



: Not really. You didn't tell us how to get into the catacombs at all.

: Nor will I tell you, my brother. Take the hint. You have no business there. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have a sermon to prepare. Be on your way.

: Damn. Another dead end.



: Don't quit just yet. I managed to take something from the friar’s pocket when he gave his little warning.

: Seriously? Again? This is becoming something of a bad habit for you. Well, go on then. Let’s see what you pilfered.



: You found this pen? In the friar’s robes?

: Yup.

: Interesting. Actually, this is more than interesting. This is amazing. This is the exact same pen that Judge Romulus uses. It even contains the same green ink.

: Huh. Do you think it's exactly the same pen, or do you think Romulus and Remus just have a matching set?

: I honestly don’t know. But I do know that this may come in handy. I’m going to keep hold of it.

{[Fountain pen]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: We're still at a dead end, though. My gut tells me that the friar is hiding something, but I can't get him to cough up.

: It's not like we can beat information out of him. Let's just go do other stuff, and maybe we’ll stumble across some more clues.

: Maybe you’re right. Let's go.







: Peddle ya pyramid scheme to someone else, bud. I’ve got a kid to feed.

: Madame, it's not a pyramid scheme! Madame? Take a leaflet, at least!



: Heh. A cult, is it? Not today, monsieur. I've already been in my fare (sic) share of cults.



: A member of the Cult of Reason, huh. Strange. I thought that cult died out way back in the old Revolution.

: Hey, Falcon. That person...

: He looks like a run-of-the-mill cultist.

: I can see that. But doesn't his face look familiar to you?



: He does look familiar. Actually, the resemblance is uncanny. Shall we get his attention?





: Uh-oh. He’s spotted us.

...

: ...

: ...





: Wait, monsieur! We would like a quick word!

: Come back! Teach us about the wonders of the Cult of Reason!

: He's gone.

: So, I'm not going crazy, right? That guy was the splitting image of Judge Romulus, wasn't he?

: I can't deny the similarity. Then again, there are plenty of wolves in Paris. Maybe there's no link at all. Either way, we have an investigation to conduct. Let's focus on that.

: Right. Where to first?









: I still don't see anybody around to interview.

: Yeah. I can't imagine this room being of any use to us. Unless we need any priceless Roman vases, of course.





: (Oh dear, oh dear, it's these guys again. Keep it together, Eric. Maybe they won't recognize you...)

: Excuse me, monsieur! It’s us! The philistines! Remember?

: (Were they talking to me?)



: (Yup. Definitely talking to me. Okay, deep breaths, Eric.)

: Hi!

: We have a couple of questions, if it's no trouble.

: Oh, it's no trouble. No trouble at all.



: Do you know anything about an uprising?

: An uprising?

: You know. People getting angry. Being violent. Overthrowing the government. Stuff like that.

: Goodness. No, I don't know anything about that sort of thing.

: Never mind then. Did you see the cultist outside?



: Uhh... yeah... he accosted me a few days ago. We chatted for a while. Not by choice, of course. But because I didn't know how to get out of the conversation. It got a little out of hand. He insisted that I take a pamphlet.



: And he even added his own signature. See? At the bottom there?

: "To my new bestest bud, Eric. Happy reading! Best wishes, Silvius.”

: Green ink too. What a fiendish color choice.

: That guy was such a slime-ball. We aren't even close to bestest buddies!

: At least we now know the cultist’s name - Silvius. Do you mind if we keep this pamphlet, monsieur?

: Be my guest. I don't want it.

{[Signed Cult Guide]} has been added to your evidence folder.

: Did you want something else?



: It's no trouble. No trouble at all.





: Hey, Falcon, isn't that our old friend~



Goofy

: You promised to get my photographs put up in the Louvre! What happened with that? Where are my photographs? Huh? Huh?

: Uh, well...

: We've been a little distracted...

: We had this messy case...

: And now we’re investigating stuff...

: But I guess we can fit in some time...

: Oh mon Dieu. Forget it. I’ve only got another week to go, and then I’m done with this dumb job. So, what do you want? I haven't found any interesting bits of paper today, if that's what you were hoping for.

: Actually, we just wanted to ask a couple of questions, it you have a moment.

: I have a moment. Just the one, mind.



: Monsieur Robinio, do you know about an uprising?

: You mean, like, a rebellion? Yeah, I've heard rumors. There are a lot of uneasy people in Paris.

: What kind of rumors?

: Nothing specific. Just that there’s a group planning to form a huge protest before the end of February. Some say it might go violent. If you were wise, you would probably fly out of the city as soon as possible.

: So people say. Do you plan on leaving?

: I couldn't if I wanted to... no thanks to you guys. But in any case, I'm sticking around for the photograph opportunities. War time photography - imagine the possibilities!



: Sounds like a good way to get hit by a stray bullet.

: I guess. But all that danger just means that it'll pay really well. I’ve thought this plan through!

: Evidently.

: Anyway, did you want something else?



: Did you see that cultist in the Place du Carrousel?

: Yep. He's been hanging around all week. Today he tried to hand me a leaflet, so I told him where to put it.

: And where would that be?

: What?

: Where did you tell him to put the leaflet? Oh! Oh. I see. Never mind.

: Monsieur Robinio, what do you know about that guy? What's his story?

: His story? How should I know? He's just a cultist loser. The Louvre attracts those types of crazies all the time.

: I see.

: Did you two want something else?

: That's all. We'll let you get back to work, monsieur.



: Are we all done here?



: Yep. Let's make a move.

: Good call. We can always come back later, if we've forgotten something.









Murder!









Aviary Office

: Let's not dawdle, Sparrowson. Wer'e nearly there.

: Alright. Let me just deal with this letter first.

: Spam?

: I don't think so. It's..



: Séverin? Well go ahead, Sparrowson. Let's hear it.

: Jayjay. If this letter reaches you uninterrupted, then it means that I have been captured or killed by the rebels.

: ... What?

: Last evening, the Inspector gave me a tip-off of a midnight trade between the rebels and the Croc-Monsieur on Rue des Marmousets. I intend to watch from the shadows, but I know that such a mission is a dangerous one. Wish me luck.

: If this is the last correspondence you’ll ever hear from me, then I suppose I should end on a positive note. Falcon: you are a good friend and an excellent lawyer. I’m sorry for belittling you all these years. Kind regards, Séverin Cocorico.

: ...

: ...

: ......

:Is... is this for real? There's no way. This letter has to be some sort of setup.

: It’s Séverin's handwriting.

: Where do you think he is?

: I don't know.

: Why would he go alone?

: I don't know.

: But we have to go help him, right? I mean, if that trade was at midnight last night, and it's ten o'clock now... he might still be okay!

: Maybe. I don't know.

: Come on, Falcon. Pull yourself together! We've got to act fast while there’s still time on the clock!

: ... You're right.

Trial Turnabout 2



: R-really? Are you serious?

: Absolutely. I know we can do it. With all the investigating we've done over the last couple of weeks, I think we know the rebels better than they know themselves. We can find them. We can outwit them. And we can bring Séverin home alive.

: Wow! You're bursting with confidence! But where are we going?

: Was Séverin's letter not clear? He was investigating the Rue des Marmousets, so that's where we should start.

: Yeah. Yeah! Let's go!





: Come on, Sparrowson. Keep up.

: ~Wheeze~



: Right.



: “No loitering.” I guess we should move on.

: Be serious, Falcon.



: "Besson's Stationary. Come along for all your writing needs. Whether you need paper, ink, stamps-"

: What are you doing? Stop procrastinating, Falcon. Cocorico's life is at stake.



: There's a pool of blood here. It looks fresh.

: Cocorico's?

: ... I see drag marks heading towards that tunnel, which leads straight to the Seine. If I had to guess, someone was killed here last night, and their body was hastily disposed of in the river.

: ...

: But I see several sets of bloodied footprints too. Some are faint, but...

: They head that way, towards the main road.

: So he could still be alive?

: ... Let's see where the footprints go.











: It seems that way.

: Unbelievable...



: Where’s a friar when you need one?

: Forget the friar. Let’s keep following the blood trail and see where it ends up.

: Wait a minute, Falcon. Shouldn't we get the police involved before we go any further?



: You remember what Séverin wrote in his letter. The Inspector was the one who gave him the tip-off.

: Huh? What are you saying? That you think the police are in on this?

: At this point, anything’s possible. We have to stay focused on the trail...





: Man... I'm famished.





: Hey, isn't that the Conciergerie jail keeper... Quack?

: It's Kwark, ya dummies.

: I had no idea that you were a religious man, monsieur.

: I'm not. I had a career change. Private security pays much better than regular ol’ jail keeping, ya know.

: Monsieur. We don't have much time, so I'll keep it brief. We're following a trail that leads to the door behind you. We need you to let us pass.

: The door behind me?



: Ha! Ya idiots! That door leads straight to the catacombs. Ya don't want to go there.

: Catacombs...

: And besides, just because I know how to get in, doesn't mean I'm just going to let ya pass.



: ...You want a bribe, don’t you?

: Bingo. What ya got?



: Here. For your troubles.

: Ten francs? What, are ya trying to insult me?





: Monsieur. Perhaps I wasn’t clear. I am short on both time and patience. Are you going to tell us pass, or do I have to beat you until you are unable to stop us?

: Jeez! No need to get violent, big guy! You can pass. The door’s right behind me. Go on.

: That's the door to the catacombs? It's that simple?

: Yeah. It's that simple. What, were ya expecting a hidden bookcase or something? Go on. Go look.





: I wonder... will they get lost and starve, or will they find the crazy lion girl and get shot? Either way, ain't my problem.





Catacombs

: Here...here goes nothing?

They begin the descent.

: ...

: ...

: I knew an underground passage would be dark, but this is ridiculous. I can't even see my hand in front of my face.

: Just keep putting one foot in front of the other, Sparrowson.

: ...

: ...

: ...

: Ah, I think that was the last step. Now it's just twisted tunnels ahead of us.



: Plus, you know, all the health benefits. And I would probably be calmer.

: Keep it together, Sparrowson.

: I know. I'll unravel this loose thread from my jacket. We can just trace the string to find our way back, if we reach a dead-end.

: Ah, good thinking. Just like Theseus and the Minotaur.

: Wait... there aren’t any Minotaurs in here, are there? Head of a bull... body of a bull... scary stuff.

: That's not... actually, never mind.

: It feels like there’s a gap in the wall here. I guess the path branches. I can feel a slight breeze coming from the passage to the left... The air seems a little more stagnant to the right...



: There's a chance that the breeze could be caused by an opening. Let’s head that way.

: Hey, Falcon. I don't want to dump on you or anything, but... When you threatened Kwark back there... that was pretty scary.



: No, I wasn’t scared of Kwark. You. I found you scary. I’ve never seen you get so angry before.

: Séverin's life is on the line, Sparrowson. Forgive me for showing a little emotion.

: Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.

: ...

: ...

: Oh, it looks like the path branches again.

: Are my eyes going funky from the darkness, or is there a glimmer of light coming from the right path?

: No, I see it too. There’s definitely some light on that side.



: It's definitely getting lighter. I can see my hands again.

Ghouls



: Hush. Listen.

: Voices?

: Voices. We're getting close.



: ... Terrified.



: There they are.





Catacombs

: Are you with the police? The royal guards? Speak, bird.

: ...

: Ma'am Beaumort, we've been here all night, and he simply ain’t talkin’.



: Justice. Heh. That word...

: Oh, the rooster finally crows?

: You want to know who I am? Fine. My name is Séverin Cocorico. I am a public prosecutor for the Cour d'Assises.

: ...

: Well Sevy, it's been a pleasure, but we can’t be 'avin’ spies runnin' around our base of operations now, can we? So without further ado, I ’ereby sentence you to-

: Wait a minute, Pierro. This is no ordinary spy.

: Cos he’s a prosecutor?



: Woah! Are you sure?

: I had my suspicions when I saw his smug air of arrogance. His holier-than-thou glare. But now that I know his name and occupation, there is no doubt.

: ...

: Do you remember, bird? Do you remember the trial of a homeless lion in the Winter of 1835?

: What was your father's name?

: Jean. Jean Beaumort.

: What were his crimes?

: His only crime was trying to feed a starving child.



: But he was seen by a policeman. Another arrogant cockerel like yourself, actually. So my father was thrown in jail. He was dragged to court. I had the privilege of watching the proceedings from the stands. I remember your sharp words.



: You didn't care about the consequences. You didn’t care about why my father did what he did. All you cared about was fulfilling your lust to see a criminal behind bars.

: ...

: My father received a sentence of five years. He died on his third.

: ...

: Do you remember him?

: Mademoiselle. In all my days as a prosecutor, I have seen over thousands of cases.



: You rotten connard! We’re all just insects to you, aren't we? Who cares if a child starves on the streets, as long as you put enough criminals behind bars to meet your quota. Am I right?

: ...

: Your silence speaks volumes of your guilt. Séverin Cocorico, you have been tried by the people of the Second Republic. We have found you guilty on the counts of conspiracy, of the murder of the Croc-Monsieur, and of the murder of my father, Jean Beaumort.

: Oh, I have been found guilty? Mademoiselle, if you want to shoot me so you can fulfill your revenge fantasies, then by all means, shoot me.



: A court of justice? Now there's a contradiction. Bird, you know nothing of justice.



: With pleasure, madame.

:...

: Falcon, we have to make a move! Say something!