The two of them kept at it, arguing back and forth, until Tom lost interest entirely and slipped out of the learning space to go to sleep.
The next morning, first thing after waking, he sent Nicolas a message.
Nicolas had been born in 1330. Joan had lived in 1431, which meant that by the time Joan came into her own, Nicolas had already made his name, having successfully crafted the Philosopher's Stone. He might well know something about her.
[Tom: Old man, up yet?]
[Nicolas: I am now, thanks to you.]
Tom pulled a face. The old man's temper only seemed to sharpen with age. Still, he wasn't one to hold a grudge against his elders.
[Tom: Good, you're up. I've got a bit of history I wanted to ask you about.]
[Nicolas: History? Go ahead.]
[Tom: Do you know anything about Jeanne d'Arc?]
Nicolas took a moment before replying.
[That illiterate country girl? The Maid of Orléans?]
Tom's mouth twitched. If Joan ever caught wind of how Nicolas described her, she'd dissolve into tears on the spot.
[Nicolas: I never crossed paths with her myself, but I know for a fact that girl was a witch. A genuine, honest-to-goodness witch. The Church's own saint, and she was a wizard the whole time. Isn't that just the funniest thing you've ever heard?]
Tom felt a jolt of interest. This old fossil really did know things. He pressed Nicolas for whatever else he remembered.
[Nicolas: Honestly I don't know much more than that. During the years she was active I was busy dodging other dark wizards trying to steal the Stone from me. I do know she used magic to help the French army win several key battles.]
[That kind of thing left her caught between two worlds. Muggles feared and despised her for it, and she'd broken the Statute of Secrecy on top of that. She even helped the Church track down a few wizards herself, which is what finally turned the wizarding world against her completely.]
[I heard afterward that during the Church's trial, certain wizards worked quietly behind the scenes to make her sentence harsher still. Otherwise a hero who'd saved her whole nation wouldn't have gone to the stake so quickly. That's the whole of what I know.]
Reading through Nicolas's account, Tom found himself grimacing despite himself.
Good grief. What a tangled mess she'd walked into.
Had Joan gotten wizards killed out of malice? Impossible. It came down entirely to how deep the Church's teachings had been driven into her from the start, deep enough that reporting any witch she discovered had simply felt like the right thing to do.
[Nicolas: Why the sudden interest in her, anyway?]
[Tom: Came across an obscure old text claiming Jeanne d'Arc really was a witch. Figured I'd check with you since you'd actually know.]
[Nicolas: There really isn't much written record of her being a witch, no. That was right in the thick of the witch hunts, and wizards weren't exactly eager to broadcast the embarrassing fact that one of their own had turned traitor. Understandable, in a way.]
[Tom: That answers everything I needed, then. Don't sit idle over there either, I'm still counting on you two for the growing ground.]
...
Tom closed the notebook the instant he finished typing that last line. He could already picture the wall of furious French curse words about to come flying back at him.
His roommates had already headed off to breakfast, but Tom wasn't in any hurry. He made his way to the learning space first, over to Joan's new home.
The girl had already changed out of her prisoner's garb, the shackles gone, dressed now in a simple white frock. When Tom arrived, she was turning slow circles in front of a full-length mirror, watching the skirt flare out around her.
"Ah!"
Startled by the boy's sudden appearance, Joan let out a cry of surprise, tripped over her own feet, and landed flat on the floor with a thud.
Tom:
...
"How long do you plan on staying down there?" Seeing the girl too mortified to lift her head, Tom sighed.
Joan finally raised her burning face and got herself back up, clearly embarrassed.
"I..."
"I understand." Tom cut her off gently. "Liking pretty dresses, liking new clothes, that's perfectly normal. Nothing to be embarrassed about."
Joan managed only a faint, barely audible acknowledgment.
He led her to the sitting room, and the two settled across from each other. Tom's expression turned serious. "Joan, there's something you need to understand clearly."
"You're expected to pass on everything you know, your talent, your ability, without holding anything back."
"I understand that much," Joan said, nodding earnestly, before adding, troubled, "But I never even attended school. I can barely read. I hardly know how I'd go about teaching anyone anything."
"That's your problem to solve, not mine."
Tom dropped the gentler tone he'd used the day before, his voice turning stern. "The fact that you're here at all is the Lord's own will. If the Lord says you're capable, then you are capable. Would you dare complain to Him about it?"
Joan went pale and immediately launched into a hurried prayer.
It was the Lord who had brought her here. Which meant the voice that had spoken inside her mind was God's own. And Tom, as the one who governed this entire space, was therefore... the Son of God himself?!
Once that logic settled into place, the way Joan looked at Tom changed entirely.
Fervent devotion. Reverence. And underneath it all, the faintest trace of adoring attachment.
[Congratulations, Host. Jeanne d'Arc's Approval Rating has reached 25, 50, 100. Reward draw in progress...]
Tom: "???"
Not even twenty-four hours in, and he'd already won this country girl over completely?