Chapter Text
All things being equal, the meeting with the Tsaritsa had not gone as poorly as Pantalone had initially feared, and now he had ample time to sort out the rest of his thoughts.
Although… it was still early in the morning. Early enough, even, that if he acted with haste, he could make a striking amount of progress in his new mission.
Pantalone pursed his lips in thought as he walked back down the palace halls, the only other presence being the occasional guard standing at their station. He pondered quite carefully on his next course of action—naturally, he needed to sweep Snezhnaya for soul fragments first. But he nearly had; and had found little. Where would the fragments be if not Dottore’s lab? The segments had rarely spent time anywhere else in the duration of their lives.
It was possible that most, if not all, of the remaining pieces had made it to the ley-lines, but it seemed unlikely that that was the case if Pantalone had already found one.
Then where should he look?
The palace was massive, he supposed there could be fragments drifting in the long, empty corridors. Pantalone could also check the main library, and the armory, and Dottore’s past quarters within the building, even if he had opted to use them sparingly. There was no use in cutting corners, he couldn’t act rashly and he couldn’t risk missing even a sliver.
Pantalone was nothing if not meticulous, he would not have gotten nearly as far as he had if he was any less so.
It was not a question of what lengths he would have to go to, it was not a question of whether he could accomplish it, and it was not a question of if he would regret doing so. There was no doubt or willingness within him to back down or hesitate. And, if fate had willed a different outcome, and the positions had been reversed, Pantalone would have waited 400 years more in order to return to Zandik’s side.
And, in this case… he would scour all of Tevyat, fighting against the clock, and against death, in order to return Zandik to his side.
Silly as it may have been, this whole quest was a thought exercise in which he had to inquire to himself, ’if I was Dottore, where would I be?’
He turned a corner and headed for the palace library first. It contained a marvelous collection of books, but it was not used as often as it perhaps may have been in years past. Much like Dottore’s personal hoard, there were academic records, as well as fairytales, historical accounts, and every manner of instructional volumes on subjects ranging from photography to ballet.
Having pushed open the heavy double doors, Pantalone scanned the foyer, and, finding no other person aside from him inside, he shut the door behind him.
The shelves of books reached far further heights than Dottore’s had, and were packed so closely that one had the impression of the walls themselves being bookcases.
Pantalone walked along the carpet in the center of the floor, quietly thankful that this was not the amount of information he had to comb through to find Dottore’s research.
…Not that finding a soul fragment would be easier, in any sense of the word.
“Dottore?” He called out, turning from where he stood between the towering shelves and to the neatly sequestered tables on either side of the carpet, beneath massive and silent windows that blocked out the snowstorms—but only let pale blue light through their frosted panes.
It was certainly lonely.
Pantalone refused to entertain the idea that it was actually only that he was the lonely one, and in turn saw that loneliness reflected wherever he looked.
The library remained still and quiet, the emptiness of the room melding with the soundless morning, and Pantalone huffed to himself. If Capitano had been here, Pantalone may have even considered requesting his help via his innate sensitivity to souls.
Thinking on it now, it seemed as if everything had fallen into place in such an acute way that the difficulty of this task was at its peak—as every resource that would have been of use, had in some way disappeared, been destroyed, or been diminished to the point of uselessness. Fate truly loved to mock and belittle him.
Pantalone lamented the fact, but continued on regardless, circling around to a table in the corner, following the square blue light on the mahogany surface with his eyes. He lifted his hand and turned it face up, then down, looking at his rings.
“Would it kill you a fourth time to be of some use in this form?” He asked, his voice too exasperated for the bitterness under his tongue to be heard distinctly. He felt like a fool. “There isn’t a mechanism for location, or a larger potential interaction field?”
It would have been helpful indeed if the damn things worked like a compass, but the solemn, deep purple of the gems merely glinted back at him tauntingly. Since the moment Pantalone had determined that his ‘hallucinations’ were not in fact hallucinations at all, they had become fewer and fewer. He had even begun to miss the unsettling whispers that had accompanied him the past month and a half.
Whatever Pantalone had done must have interfered with either the willingness of Dottore’s fragments to interact, or with the barrier present between life and death—it wasn’t sufficiently thin, in that case, but he neither knew why nor did he understand the principle behind it, so he could only guess at random and hope blindly that it would sort itself out. Preferably soon.
Pantalone tsked, letting his hand fall back to his side as he turned his face up to gaze at the window. In the absence of all other noise, there was a muted shuffling; soft and shallow, like the turning pages of a book, and the subtle brush of paper settling against itself.
He turned around rapidly, pivoting on his heel and widening his eyes in search—ah, had he been here before? Had he finally found the pattern?
The noise continued, at first it had resounded within Pantalone’s mind, or had seemed to do so, but gradually solidified itself into an identifiable source. It was so faint, but steady nonetheless; he stepped away from the table he was at and listened instead to the pages.
At a small table tucked into the opposite corner, where the natural light failed to reach, was an open book, its pages gently folding over at unpredictable intervals. Pantalone watched the motion for only a moment more before he advanced to the book. It was colder in this corner, and yet he felt no fear as he brushed his fingers against the pages.
Just as before, the motion of the object became agitated, and Pantalone tensed his hand as he felt the beginnings of that same terrible burning that ensued in the rings.
It was not any less painful than the first instance. He could only grin and bear it—he was not going to take the rings off.
“Must you always devise the most heinous way of accomplishing things possible..?” Pantalone complained as he watched the book gradually grow still, and the searing heat of the rings dampen. He gave his hand a terse little shake once the pain wore off, and rested instead in the quiet.
”You say that as if any of us had a chance for our input to be considered.”
The words were groused, causing Pantalone to raise his eyes from the book, and sure enough, an afterimage remained in place behind the table.
Its likeness to the actual person was absurd, and Pantalone tucked the sight away into the corner of his heart, knowing he would likely never again see him like this.
The illusion of segment 18 looked at him with a deadpan expression that was nigh impossible to read. Even in life, he had always seemed unamused, silently brooding to himself—such things hadn’t changed in death. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, leaving him no chance to attempt to interact.
Pantalone exhaled the breath he was holding, staring at the empty space—before closing the book and setting it on a shelf. It was titled ‘The Locations and Applications of Sumeru Local Plants.’ Hm… it was so much like Dottore to end up tethered to such a work while lingering in purgatory. Pantalone wondered what it was even like, being a fragment of a soul, harbored within an object. Was it lonely? Was it painful?
Every time he had attempted to initiate interaction, he did not receive a reply. When the reverse occurred and he heard voices, he sometimes replied, and they could maintain a conversation for a moment or two, but that was all. When he saw figures, they lasted very briefly. All of it was intensely confusing—he hoped that by growing the amount of soul contained in his rings, the duration of interaction would increase.
Still, Pantalone could not help but question to what extent it would go. He was collecting parts of the segment souls; consequently did that mean that they were still separate when within the rings? Or did they immediately combine? It would be much easier to determine a conclusion if they would just answer when Pantalone asked them.
He supposed for the time being he would just leave the situation be. Perhaps, if all worked out—he could ask Zandik for answers. And in the case that even he did not have them, then they could endeavor to research it together.
Yes, that was certainly a lovely thought.
In order to get there though, Pantalone had to stop getting distracted by the outcome. It was something Dottore had harped on quite severely when he was alive; insisting that the process was equally as valuable as the result. Of course, that philosophy didn’t exactly make Pantalone elated for the journey.
Gathering himself once more, he turned his back on the bookshelf and rubbed his thumb against his rings. It had always been a habit of his, but the action carried far more significance now. Pantalone could not shake the weight of it from his mind, and if he was honest with himself, he did not want to.
The library was as deathly still as it had been when he entered, and remained so when he exited—the same could not be said for the halls; the sound of footsteps and idle chatter between pairs of palace guards could be heard distantly.
Pantalone felt almost entirely consumed with his thoughts and his task, the mere idea of interacting, even casually, was rather unbearable to entertain. He would, of course, if forced to, but if it could be avoided, that would be most preferable.
It was a peculiar mindset to be in. Not one that he was a stranger to, but it had scarcely been so intense before—as though the entire world existed in separation from him, and he could only fall further into himself. Whether it was a self-defense mechanism to disassociate, or merely a means to focus all of his energy into the singular goal he had committed himself to, he did not know.
Pantalone narrowed his eyes in disapproval at the thought that popped unbidden into his mind, one that reminded him of Dottore’s brilliant ‘jest’ about attempting to contrive an anti-depressant for him. As to why he recalled it when at the time he was deeply unimpressed by the proposal, was a mystery.
He shook his head faintly to dispel the idea and then carried on his way to the armory. Pantalone doubted he would have much luck there of all places, but he figured he ought to try.
On his way, he did indeed cross paths with a few other fatui, but they made no effort to interact aside from nods of acknowledgment and a few muttered words of respect; which was all fine by Pantalone.
Upon entering the armory, he took in the sight of heaps of mechanical components, elemental devices, and prototype weapons. There was nothing suggesting that any of Dottore’s segments would have been contained within.
Dottore had always preferred to create his own weapons, anyway.
Regardless, Pantalone did check, and rather awkwardly too, feeling out of place all the while. He was lucky that the armory was not busy like the weapon factories were. This was more of a holding area—or a dump for unneeded supplies. There were a few hidden gems mounted on the walls; an ancient sword made of ice, a polearm that was likely older than the palace itself, and a few beautiful bows. But none were particularly fascinating to Pantalone at the moment, even if they would have fetched a pretty price.
He left with a huff. On his way out, it did feel as though the guard beside the armory door looked at him somewhat strangely, but Pantalone dismissed it. Surely it couldn’t be that odd for a harbinger to peruse the armory, so that wasn’t it. Was there something on his clothes? He was certain he looked impeccable…
Whatever the reason, Pantalone was too busy to interrogate, so he made no effort to stall. The palace quarters designated to the harbingers were in the opposite wing anyway, so he had to walk quite a ways away and didn’t want to waste time.
There was a chance he would find more fragments in Dottore’s room, even if most of the items inside had been removed—some things couldn’t be sold. Clothes, for example, especially tailor-made ones. Not that anyone would buy a harbinger’s old wardrobe. Well… barring a certain type of person, that is…
Pantalone himself rarely stayed in his palace room, he preferred being closer to the bank. In fact, he was one of the few who seemed to prefer having a separate residence. Notably, other harbingers had little reason to leave the palace unless on specific missions, so they never felt the need to leave. These included Sandrone and Columbina; Pierro, Pulcinella, Capitano, and Childe.
Sandrone had all of her research in the palace, and Columbina was, before she left, quite content in the palace garden. Pierro and Capitano spent most of their time planning so they rarely left—not that Capitano would be coming back. Pulcinella worked in the city but found his room in Zapolyarny wonderfully convenient. Signora had had her own residence, but she was dead now. Arlecchino spent the majority of her time in Fontaine, and Childe, of course, was away from his family and spent most of his time outside… playing. So his room was enough for him when he needed to rest.
That left only Pantalone and Dottore. Nobody really knew what Dottore got up to, but most suspected he lived practically inside his lab. It was only Zandik who was ever seen outside doing normal things, with the exception of the younger segments, occasionally. And because one of them was often the one to attend harbinger meetings within the palace.
In Pantalone’s case it really did just boil down to wanting to be closer to the bank for his work. That was all.
It was late enough in the morning that Pierro and Pulcinella were likely absent from their quarters and had instead begun their work for the day. Sandrone on the other hand, had yet to return from her excursion, but word had been sent that she was, in fact, alive and merely on a holiday of some sort in Fontaine. Well, good for her.
This all meant that Pantalone wouldn’t be bothered while he dug around in Dottore’s room. Since no one had been home in a long while and most of the contents had been moved, the door was not locked. Pantalone let himself in and furrowed his brows at how empty it was.
He had been prepared, of course, but it still stung. He had been nursing the ache of grief, and the reminder that so much had changed, that life had continued on, added fuel to the fire with intensity akin only to gasoline.
Pantalone shut the door behind him with a click, and looked at the barren furniture. The only positive thing about this, was that there was less area for him to cover. The only things within the room were some clothing items, and empty wooden containers.
Well. That certainly narrowed things down. Propped beside the desk was a cane with an embellished handle, and beside it was Dottore’s harbinger cloak—the one that all harbingers wore for their official meetings. The one that matched the overcoat Pantalone was wearing himself.
On the outside, the objects seemed inert, but that same chill that had been present the two instances before was in the air. Pantalone cocked his head, lifting his hand to brush his palm across the folded fabric of the coat.
His reward for the gesture was, of course, that really quite annoying burning against his fingers. It truly was unpleasant—it felt like sticking one’s flesh between two blades that had been heated for forging. Pantalone sucked in a hiss between his teeth, but otherwise didn’t voice his displeasure.
There was no voice that greeted him, but the image of Dottore, with his mask and his overcoat, faintly flickered in the light for a brief moment before dissipating. The chill did not recede with it.
Pantalone shifted his gaze to the cane, which was likely the culprit—and he picked it up, brushing his knuckle against the groove in the handle, recalling how fond of the item 65 had been. Well, that, and his mask and top-hat.
Amidst the burning, Pantalone wondered where those had gotten to.
“Ah, have you come looking for us after all? It has been a long time, it feels.”
The voice of 65 was unmistakable, and Pantalone blinked at the sudden sound, quiet but clear, and calm. It had been so long—too long—since he had heard a voice so close to Zandik’s had when Pantalone saw him for the last time. It was roughened at the edges from age, but mellowed with the acceptance of wisdom instead of the frenzy of youth.
“…I’m only sorry that I had not come sooner,” Pantalone replied, holding the cane against his chest, staring forward with open eyes, even when they could see nothing; there was no afterimage.
”Hmm. There’s no need. My memory is less than ideal at the moment… I cannot fathom why.”
What was Pantalone meant to say? He had never dealt with soul fragments before!
“I will explain it over tea, it’s quite a compelling tale, I should think.” He suggested with earnest assurance. Though Pantalone knew 65 would not ever share a cup of tea with him again.
The words must have been enough to settle the fragment, as there was no further reply, and Pantalone’s rings had ceased to sear his fingers. He looked at the folded coat, and without contemplating too heavily, he grabbed it as well and tucked both items under his arm.
As to how he would explain it if anyone chanced upon him on his way back to his own residence was something he would worry about if it came to it. Largely because as of now, he… wasn’t entirely sure.
Pantalone had gained what he set out to achieve, though he was curious as to why he had only found four shards—shouldn’t there have been five? Was it possible he missed one in Dottore’s lab in his haste to find answers?
Regrettable, but not altogether surprising. It seemed Pantalone would have to make a trip back to the lab. Well—he wasn’t quite finished in Snezhnaya, unfortunately. Hopefully the weather would be merciful to him for his remaining few hours.