Lazare followed the crowd of marchers closely, his clothing fitting neatly into the portrait of the city; no one could distinguish him from the rest of the people coming to the capital. He doubted anyone would recognize him as the son of a prestigious family.
He looked ahead at the tall buildings in front of him, shaping the skyline. Some of them were built in a newly architectural style, while some were seemingly older. If there was one thing that would not die in this world, it would be architecture. It may perish to the decay of age, but the savoir-faire of the art will remain as such.
This was an age of arts and crafts, ever since the spark caused by the four Emperors 700 years ago, the populace began to cultivate themselves in poetry and glamoury.
Swiftly, Lazare pulled out a leather notebook, seemingly old but modern all the while. In it were multiple notes and details, information, and poems of the kind. He flipped the pages one after the other, his eyes going back and forth between the two sides, occasionally eyeing the crowd and the directions he must take.
His index stopped at a particular line, the one revealing the words he wished to find.
1817 Navelle Street.
The location was pointing to his new residence for the moment. Bought by his father even before his arrival into this world, it was now destined to him, though it wasn't official yet, as he left the nest slightly before the opportunity.
He doubted his father would find another occupation for such a place, far enough from home to be left unattended by a member of the family. Thus, he imagined there would be no problem in borrowing the place.
It is only 9 in the morning; there is no use in my going there already. Waiting a bit might be a better idea; I'd prefer to remain considerate of the servants' sleeping schedule.
He looked the other way, closing his notebook and putting it back in the inner pocket of his long, dark coat, where no one could steal it. Not that it held much importance to people, but it had a certain sentimental value to the white-haired man.
Or maybe I should start walking there already. I have no idea how long it will take me to find Navelle Street. It may be closer to the richer side of the city, but I don't know where those are either.
My best chance is to encounter a noble, one with no relation to my family, else I'll have to rely on my location abilities.
Lazare slipped away silently out of the crowd, opposite the grand cathedral, and into a large street.
The road led through a panoply of boutiques, libraries, and restaurants of all kinds. From the most traditional cuisine of the continent to the unique taste of the south. Lazare understood why the place was renowned as a culinary destination.
His mind began to wander back to the investigation; thoughts and clues raced back and forth in his mind, few in numbers, but it left ever so much more space for uncertain roads.
I barely know anything right now; my best clue was his last name, which starts with the letter "L", but it seems there are dozens of houses with that name. I also can't cast aside the possibility of him not having the same name as her…
The church apparently isn't too fond of him, but I don't think I am desperate enough to go see the church for a lead.
A look of disgust crossed his face; fortunately, the crowd around him was thin as ever, and no one analyzed his expression.
A bell rang slightly as a door closed afterwards. Lazare's eyes were attracted by the sound, leading them towards a small establishment hidden by the flowers it sold.
The florist's shop was full of flowers, both small and large. From orchids to lilies, the collection was plentiful and quite splendid in beauty.
His gloved hand approached a rose, standing only moments before its touch; like an invisible mural standing between them, unforeseen by the many bystanders. Only a single spectator observed the moment unfold.
"Do you like flowers, mister?" A questioning, happy voice resonated next to him, pulling his attention back from the ephemeral.
The young girl, no older than a decade, wore a purple, flowery dress made of expensive fabric, costing more than a year's salary for common people.
Her chestnut hair was still short, but showed traces of intervention. She seemed like a lovely daughter of a noble household.
Lazare looked down at the girl, thinking for a minute. "Do you?" The visage of the girl exploded into joy and passion, most evident for a girl of her age, untainted yet by the romance of the new wave of novels.
The young girl began to babble on and so forth about her love for flowers; Lazare listened politely to the lady in growth, patiently awaiting the end of her childlike speech.
"Where is your mother? I may need to talk to her." His voice was calm and careful, most fitting for the appearance of Lazare.
She ran through the street, crossing the road without thinking about the dangers. Lazare could see the lady responsible for such a child in his sight; sitting on a bench, she was, the cruel and uncharitable temperature hit her and tore her down for her excessive wardrobe choices.
It was pretty apparent by their dresses that they were of the same blood. Her dress was white and magnificent, though without a trace of flowers; the hem was the same lavender as the little girl's. She had similar chestnut hair, possibly shorter, but he couldn't see very well from a distance.
The little girl threw herself on her knees in an awkward manner, most fitting of her tender age.
"Maria! I was looking for, I thought you were lost!" The lady scolded Maria harshly but with care.
It was after a minute or two of talking to the young Maria that she finally turned around to get a look at the man next to her. "And who might you be, young man?"
Lazare bowed respectfully before her, like the true gentleman he was. "Good morning, madam; I was simply wondering if you could tell me the way to Navelle Street. I just recently got here, and I have to attend there shortly." He closed both eyes during his bow, as etiquette dictated, though most people did not respect this rule very much.
She waited for a few seconds, as if thinking of the encounter and the request of the young man in front of her. A beam of light seemed to come out of her as she began to talk, realizing something out of the words of Lazare.
"I know that street, my brother used to live there not too long ago; I had to go there a lot, quite frankly. It should be a few streets behind the cathedral, no?"
Lazare looked in that direction, taking in the streetscape and trying to locate the area she was talking about.
Near the cathedral, huh. What a shame.
He took off his fur top hat as he bowed once again, revealing his flowing white hair this time around, almost touching the ground in this position. "I am grateful for your help, madam. I pray you may have a great day." His eyes were satisfied with the answer; his body began to turn, but he was interrupted by the words behind him.
"May I know your name, young man?" Lazare's footsteps stopped as he looked back at the lady with the chestnut hair; his pause seemed long and short at the same time.
"It is Lazare, madam. May I have yours as well?" His question was polite but distant; it was apparent he did not particularly care for this answer.
"Charlotte of Lavouis. You seem like a nobleman, am I wrong?" A grin was plastered on her face, and the joy of observation filled her mind.
Lazare looked around slightly before answering the lady. "You would be correct, I suppose." He waited for a few seconds. Seeing as she had no further questions, he came to a halt in his tracks.
Lavouis… I'll have to look into it further.
Lazare took out the pocket watch and looked at the picture of the young boy and at the girl's dark hair next to him.
Well, who knows? There are lots of ways this could be possible; I know that better than anyone, I fear.
"…"
Lazare leaving the scene left the lady of the name of Charlotte alone with her daughter. She looked at the man's back as he put foot after foot one the ground, going towards his destination.
Charlotte sighed when the white-haired man had gone far enough for her to keep the secrecy of her own words.
"What a gentleman." She gave a faint smile as she spoke those words, turning her head towards the young Maria still grabbing her legs.