One of Anita's favourite places was the library. She found greater comfort in books than in people.
Raphael didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.
The Bibliothèque Richelieu was one of the nicer libraries in Paris. From different windows, patrons could see the Eiffel Tower in one direction, and the church of Notre Dame in the other. It was also home to hundreds upon hundreds of books published from both Parisians and foreigners alike. They told stories, retold history, examined current and old science and, Anita's favourites, told about other countries and their cultures.
Raphael sat at a large, wooden table, surrounded by small piles of hardcover books. The Bibliothèque Richelieu had shelves upon shelves of books, at times having walls dedicated to holding books, articles and copies of files. Everything about the library was old, dusty and sneeze-inducing if one wasn't careful.
Raphael scratched his nose. All the books he had taken from the shelves hadn't been touched potentially since they were bought. The rooms weren't exactly stuffy or claustrophobic, but unless one was by a window during the day, the only light was the ugly yellow of lamplight.
Raphael hugged one of these lamps as he sat on at the long desk. Despite the daylight outside, the library gave off a dreary, deserted twilight ambience. There weren't many people in the library, perhaps two women downstairs and the old librarian at the reception desk conveniently set up before the front door.
Raphael remembered the librarian from as early as when he was five. He would never consider stealing a book, and God have mercy on the souls of whoever underestimated the old woman.
The book in his hands told of the history of Paris, just as a whole. There were parts dedicated to the economic changes throughout the decades, including the French Revolution, and another dictating every large-scale fire-related incident across Paris. He found this boring.
He closed the book, sending up a cloud of dust and prompting a loud sneeze.
"Bless you!" Anita called from where she was reading.
Raphael rested his head on the desk, quietly groaning to himself. His focus was stretched to its maximum and his eyes strained from the lack of light. He glanced to a wood grandfather clock, making a pained grunt at knowing he had been sitting at the table for three hours.
When he rose from his chair his hips and shoulders cracked. He froze from the minor pain pulsing through his joints, waiting for it to subside before he made a proper stretch. His muscles loosened from the movement as he decided to look for Anita.
He strolled by the bookshelves, running his hands across the differing spines and becoming fascinated by the differing levels of reading each had endured. One book was smooth to the touch, while one immediately next to it was riddled with cracks and bends. Using the shelves as a guide, he closed his eyes and took a long breath through the nose, smelling a strange history.
He was a strange habit, he admitted, but was one he learnt from observing his Father in their personal library.
"What are you doing?" Raphael asked. He was peering over his Father's shoulder, who was reading a bulky book with golden pages.
"Just some history stuff," he informed closing the book with a loud thud. It was a well-worn book, years upon years of love and use was evident from the cover alone. "It's very boring."
Raphael rolled his eyes, "Reading usually is."
His Father scoffed, "Not all reading is boring, Raphael." He turned in his chair, facing his son. "Reading is a privilege for some people. You should take advantage of your luck."
Raphael shook his head. "But it does nothing but waste time and it IS boring."
"Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body," he said leaning on his knees. His son assumed he was quoting someone, who was beyond his knowledge. "Reading opens your mind, Raphael. It helps you see things others may be blind to. Knowledge it what separates everyone from each other, awareness, brightness, manners, wisdom. They can take you into other worlds son, explain things that people simply can't, tell you secrets and tales that you'll never hear unless you read."
Raphael had heard these speeches a few times before, each time varying slightly from the last, but his Father quickly added something that stuck with him. "Knowledge has a beginning, but no end. Books have stories, but no voices. You have the power to know so much, son, to understand and see so much, how on earth can you find that boring?"
He started searching the shelves around them, fishing through smaller books and examining them with a hushed tone. Raphael sat in his Father's chair as he returned, handing him a very new leather-bound book. "This right here has all of Paris in it," he kneeled before his son, "Dozens of voices, recounts, events that neither you nor I existed to witness, yet we are able to understand a smidgin of what people thought, what they did, how they felt." His Father grasped his son's hands, a serious expression on his face, "Never stop reading, Raphael. Never stop learning."
Raphael's hand ran out of books to feel. He opened his eyes and saw a small clearing by a window, at its centre a little girl surrounded by small piles of books and opened maps. One book in her left hand, a pencil in her right as she scribbled on some scrap paper she found. Raphael noted half a dozen scribbled papers and even more abandoned scrunched up balls littered across the room.
She had set herself up in the light of the window, giving her natural light to examine several passages under. "Having fun, Ann?"
Anita rolled on her back, ignoring the books she crushed in doing so. She stretched out her limbs like a starfish. "I'm in mental pain…" she croaked.
"Close your legs, Anita. You're wearing a dress."
The buckles on Anita's shoes clicked as she closed her legs. "Did you find anything?" Raphael squatted by some of her notes. While she was capable of being well-mannered and ladylike, Anita's handwriting was atrocious.
"Do you want to know an interesting quirk about this Prince?" Anita asked rubbing her eyes. Raphael waited for an answer. She sat up, eyes red from strain and stuck in a scowl, "Nothing is actually known about him! Because, fun fact, Unknown Royal is an excruciatingly accurate name!"
Raphael chuckled, "You've seemed to make some progress at least."
Anita grumbled to herself as she closed irrelevant books and shoved aside the loose paper. "I found the beetle again," she informed gesturing to some symbols on a page. "It's a weird symbol of black magic or something from that time, that's why we couldn't find it. It doesn't have anything directly to do with the Royal Family at all. Used to mark what had been tainted by an occultist or to define a collective group." She shook her head, confused by her own words, "It makes no sense for it to be on coins though since witches didn't have a different currency."
"They can have dreams, Ann."
Anita sighed, "I liked the Witch Trials and such, but it all seemed like such a hassle to be a witch in this time."
Raphael pondered explaining to Anita that some of them may have suffered from mental illness or were falsely accused but chose to express this another day. "Why would a group connected to the Unknown Royals have a witch mark… as their symbol?" Anita shrugged.
Raphael picked up a page, three images scribbled into place. "The Ring of Liberty… The Pendent of Royalty… and the Crown of France?" Anita had drawn three different crowns, each having the same prominent jewels and orbs just arranged differently. Raphael attempted to recall what he knew of the crown, making a raspberry until he remembered. "It's on display at the Louvre."
Anita collapsed back to the ground, "Yes."
"But it hasn't been worn by Royalty in years."
"Yes."
"Why does this matter?"
Anita sat up, crossing her legs, blindly picking up a book to her left and rubbing her eyes as she flicked through some pages. She scanned a page with an image of a crown on it before reading aloud, "Forgive me my French reading," she said biting the inside of her cheek before saying in English, "'The French Crown Jewels comprise the crowns, orb, sceptres, diadems and jewels that were symbols of Royal power between 752 and 1825." She read very slowly, making sure she understood what she was saying. "These were worn by many Kings and Queens of France. The set was finally broken up, with most of it sold off in 1885 by the Third French Republic. The surviving French Crown Jewels, principally a set of historic crowns, diadems and parures, are mainly on display in the Galerie d'Apollon of the Louvre.'"
Both thieves groaned, having just gone to the Louvre to get the ring. "Are these jewels really that important?"
Anita turned the page to show Raphael, while the crown's jewels had been taken apart and sold, some remained as crowns on display at the museum. "This is the crown we're looking for in particular," she informed pointing to one in particular. It was a King's crown, coloured gold, green and silvery jewels depending on the jewels which decorated it. It appeared to be fashioned to look like a row of pigeons or perhaps eagles connecting to the silver orb at the top, shaped with a Catholic Cross perched on it.
Raphael narrowed his eyes, "I haven't seen that crown at Louvre."
Anita looked at it, "You sure? It's known as the… Crown of Empress Eugénie."
Raphael shook his head, "I remember the crowns at Louvre, none of them looks like that." He took the book to examine it closer, attempting to recall the line up of crowns and tiaras in their display cases and their information plaques. The Louvre had a few crowns and some of the French jewels on display separately, each with their own historical meaning. "Could this be the current crown?" he asked, "Maybe on display in the palace?"
Anita seemed tired and only offered a shrug in response. "So why are all these things connected, Anita?" Raphael passed her the book, she blinked.
"Umm…" She rubbed her eyes, "They all have ties to King Phillip, at one point or another. The Crown, obviously, was for the Royal Family to wear as King or Queen. The pendent was rumoured to be made and given to Sir Phillipe's wife, but that's not confirmed, and the ring is said to have belonged to the Unknown Royal." She groaned as she rubbed her face, "Because if not, the ring just popped up in history with no owner."
She pulled over some family trees of the different Royal Families who ever ruled Paris. Everything documented seemed consistent with one another, the more updated ones even including current Queen Elizabeth and referencing the Lost Royal.
"These aren't any help," she informed, "Not all of them even reference Phillip and the ones who do don't talk about the Unknown Royal." She laid back down amongst the paper, "Perhaps my history book at home is wrong."
Raphael looked through the family trees and shook his head, "No. There's too much coincidence here for it to be wrong." He followed the branches back to Phillip and retraced the lines, "We may have to go to a more reliable source."
Anita sat up again, her drowsiness subsiding. "Those would only be found in the Royal Records in the palace, Ralphie. Laypeople don't have access to those."
Raphael smiled, pulling out the invitation given to him by Maria. "I'm afraid I lied when I said you didn't have to come." Anita hung her head with an annoyed grunt. "I'm gonna need my best wingman for this."
*
Anita was tired.
She sat on her bed in an undergarment dress watching Raphael sift through her clothes in search of something appropriate for a Royal Ball. She doubted she had anything close to that.
"Can't I just wear one of my own dresses?" she asked watching one of her shoes fly across the room.
Raphael made a small pile of casual dresses on the left of the footlocker, and shirts on the right. "I'm afraid we need to fancy ourselves up for an occasion like this," he replied looked to the wardrobe. Anita shifted on her bed to follow him.
"I don't think I have any dresses for something like this…" Anita hesitated as she watched Raphael dismiss some of her nicer dresses. He pushed aside a white lace dress, a deep violet gown and an elegant blue dress, he continued to search.
"Do I have to wear heels?" Anita rolled on her back and looked at her toes, "Can I just go in ballet flats?"
"Depends on the length of said dress," Raphael said as he kneeled to some drawers. "I thought you had a nice emerald coloured one. Where's that?"
Anita grimaced. "I don't look good in green."
"You look fine, Ann." Raphael's assurance was met with a flush to her cheeks and flutters in her stomach. "You'll be… le belle du bal."
Anita sighed, "Quelle étrange idée.'
"Ahh! Found it!"
*
Raphael stood before a full-length mirror, having yet to put on his navy coat, his shirt seemed blindingly white in comparison to his dark tie. Raphael was worried about his hair, doubting on such a fancy occasion they would allow him to his fedora inside. Nevertheless, he patted it down and hid some of the redness beneath it. Some locks stuck out, but he gave himself a smirk at being fiddly.
"Anita! Are you dressed?" Raphael called walking away from the mirror to stand at the bottom of the stairs. His thumb got caught amongst the loops of his tie, prompting a panicked dance as he attempted to free his hand. He stopped when he saw Anita descend the stairs.
Anita stomped, hands screwed into small fists by her sides. She stopped near the bottom of the steps, wanting to be as tall as Raphael as she folded her arms and pouted. Raphael covered his mouth, she looked beautiful in her emerald gown, with bell sleeves and white flower lace across both the hem and the sleeves.
"I feel like an under decorated Christmas tree." Anita's complaint was met with laughter.
Raphael adjusted his tie. "With some hairpins and jewellery, I'm sure we can change that."
Anita grunted in annoyance as she plodded down the remaining stairs, and marched into the living room to sulk.
"I'm not against breaking your legs to get out of this!" she called.
Raphael scoffed, "My legs?"
"Well, I'm not breaking mine." Anita plonked onto the lounge.
Raphael couldn't contain his smile as he went to go get some of his mother's old jewellery for her.
He opened a drawer, amongst the antique boxes and multi-cultural broaches made from bronze, gold or silver his mother had collected over her years of travel, he found a small, round box made of glass and decorated with painted roses. As he unclipped the box he heard a loud gasp from the next room. Raphael's grin grew wider as he heard the quiet chime of the music box he had found a few nights ago.
When he walked into the living room Anita was kneeled before the coffee table, resting her head on her arms as she swayed with the music of the dancing ballerina. "You fixed it," she said.
"Pretty sure one of the cogs pinched my thumb, but yes, I fixed it." He sat behind Anita and rested a gold necklace around her neck. Anita jumped, looking down at the necklace to see Raphael's mother's ruby necklace.
"Are you sure?" she asked gently holding the ruby between his fingertips, "you told me not to touch this."
"This is a special occasion," Raphael assured clipping the necklace in place. As he sat next to Anita, he watched her eyes glow, a slight glimmer of amazement.
"It's really pretty," she commented breathlessly.
Raphael was momentarily jarred by how much like his mother Anita suddenly became. But also, how happy she suddenly seemed by an age-old piece of jewellery and a music box. He often forgot she was a child sometimes, but little moments like this reminded him that one day she would grow up to be a beautiful person.
She suddenly appeared glum, dropping the necklace and watching the ballerina slowly come to a halt, sending the room into silence. "What's going to happen if we get your Father back?"
Raphael was taken aback by the question. "I don't know. He might come back, hopefully, and I'll find out why he disappeared for so long-"
"Would he accept me?" Anita asked.
Raphael furrowed his eyes. "What?"
"I've never met your Father, Raphael. He doesn't even know I exist, that I've lived here for the past two years. I only know him from you…" Anita slouched over as she gently drew circles into the wood. "Will he be mad at me for helping you destroy those replicas? For living in his house? For staying with you?"
"Oh Anita," Raphael hugged her, resting his chin on her head, "Of course my Father will accept you. He'll see just… how wonderful you are." Anita hugged Raphael's arm. "And if he doesn't see it, then he's just going to have to deal with it. It's you and me, remember? No one else. I promised to take care of you, and I won't let anything get in the way of that."
Anita smiled against his chest, "Thanks."
Raphael tightened his hold around her before pulling away and pushing aside hair from her face. "You're still coming to this ball."
Anita made a yowl of annoyance.
"Anita, I need a friend amongst all royal stuff, and you and I have a job to do." Raphael pushed himself up and started blindly working on his tie again until he found a mirror. "We have artwork in there, and we have the records. I do one, you do the other, we emotionally support Maria in whatever endeavour she has with the Crown and then we leave. Simple as that."
Anita held onto the necklace again in thought. "You skipped the part where there'll likely be hundreds of guards, the artwork being in plain view of everyone and the fact that I don't know where their record room is." Anita got to her feet, after nearly tripping over the skirt, "Assuming they even have one connected to the palace. For all we know its in a Tower away from the ballroom or in the basement next to the dungeon amongst the skeletons of forgotten prisoners, which just so you know, I don't want to end up."
Raphael managed to tie his tie. "You won't end up in palace prison."
"Have you ever been to the palace?" Anita quizzed.
Raphael confessed he hadn't, starting the debate between them about how he couldn't possibly know what they do to trouble-makers on their own ground. "They might make me miss Inspector Riley, Ralphie! Or even that Leroy jerk!" Anita was leaning over the railing of the stairs.
Raphael chuckled, slipping the coat over his shoulders. "If we play our cards right, Inspector Riley won't ever know we were in the palace." He smoothed out the folds that bordered his tie.
Anita scoffed, "Good thing you're not a betting man anymore."
Raphael sneered. "Very funny. Am I straight?" He presented himself.
Anita raised an eyebrow but nodded, "Everything is atheistically pleasing."
He chuckled, "Good enough." He made a twirl and held a hand out to Anita, "Milady."
Anita stood straight and took his hand, "Good sir."