Chapter 29

According to the guard he’d assigned to watch her, for the past several days Aisha Huxley had made no attempt to see anyone outside her own household. He, too, had been concerned about her movements. Connie remembered the way Aisha had nodded when she spoke about staying alive to make amends. Was this her answer? “I guess interacting with Scarlett hit her hard,” Connie said. “And maybe she has something to do with Daeg Gallus but isn’t actually a member. At the very least, she doesn’t seem to have been in contact with them ten years ago.” It was true that Aisha hadn’t said the words “Jackal’s Paradise” or “Daeg Gallus” when she talked about the assassination attempt on the crown princess. She had no reason to hide the truth in that situation. Aisha wanted Scarlett to forgive her. If someone else was behind her actions, it would have made sense for her to mention them. “Aisha was an ardent admirer of Scarlett’s,” Abigail said. “It wouldn’t have been surprising if her guilty conscience forced her to come clean eventually. We still don’t know if Daeg Gallus was behind it, but even if they weren’t, they would have wanted to avoid suspicion that the poison was Jackal’s Paradise. It’s one of their sources of income, after all. I wonder if they approached Aisha after it happened.” She narrowed her eyes in obvious hatred. “It would have been easy for them to take advantage of Aisha’s wounded mental state. If they got her hooked on drugs, her guilty conscience would fade, and her movements would be easier to monitor. I heard Aisha has had a lover for some years now. Most likely he belongs to the organization, and Aisha is a valued customer and regular buyer of Jackal’s Paradise—don’t you think that seems likely?” She glanced at Aldous, and he picked up her thread. “According to Constance, Aisha poisoned the water, but beyond that, she knew nothing. Which means that even if we captured her, we wouldn’t get much information. In fact, the current situation is probably more than we could have wished for. We can make the first move and deal the crooks a blow.” “As they say, the pen is mightier than the sword,” Abigail agreed. “And no matter how hard they try to destroy evidence and hide the truth, they can’t sew up people’s mouths. If an article comes out, people all over the capital will be talking about it. Then the other papers will come out with their own pieces, leading to a movement to reassess what happened ten years ago. You’d be surprised how hard it is to ignore the voice of the people. We’ll use that to our advantage.” Connie listened in amazement to their easy back-and-forth. Of course, that would be an excellent turn of events. If Aisha’s testimony led to a reassessment of the events of ten years ago, Scarlett’s guilt would surely be overturned. But— “What’s wrong, Miss Grail?” Randolph asked, noticing her glum expression. Connie hesitated before replying. “Um, I was just wondering…about Amelia Hobbes.” The redheaded reporter who had railed against Scarlett had inevitably come to mind. She worked for the Mayflower, and if she happened to get involved in this story, a perfect opportunity could be flipped on its head. “Ah, I see,” Aldous said with a wry smile. “Who?” Abigail asked. “A colleague, more or less,” came the irritated answer. “There’s nothing to worry about. Last week, I think it was, the editor switched her assignment to restaurants and plays, uncontroversial things like that. She wasn’t happy about it, but she had it coming. She’s very ambitious and made a lot of trouble. A gag order’s been issued for anything related to Aisha, so there’s no way she’ll find out.” That was a relief to hear. With her worries calmed, happiness welled up in Connie. She looked up, and her eyes met Scarlett’s. Scarlett gave her an annoyed look. All the same, Connie couldn’t help smiling. “At the very least, this should clear the false accusation…!” Scarlet snorted. “Ha! That’s far from enough to clear my mood,” she said in her usual spiteful tone, pursing her lips in a pout. But her eyes were not as harsh as her words. “After all, I still haven’t slapped that woman!” Amelia Hobbes stepped into her old office after nearly a week away, having been told she needed to fix some documents connected to her transfer. “Awfully hectic around here…” Cigarette smoke filled the room. Desks were piled with article drafts and documents. But there was a nervousness to the atmosphere that puzzled her. “Fine time to be lolling around when we’ve got the scoop of the decade to report!” someone wailed theatrically behind her, having overheard her mumbled comment. Amelia’s eyebrows shot up. “…A scoop?” she couldn’t help asking, turning around. A panicked look overcame the other reporter’s face. “Oh, damn. You changed departments, didn’t you? I totally forgot.” He scratched his head and made a move to escape, but Amelia stopped him. “Hey, don’t be so surly. Just because I’m on a different beat, you treat me like a stranger? Weren’t we colleagues a week ago? I could see how I might get in your way if I worked for a different paper, but as things stand, my hands are tied. If you’ve got a scoop, at least let me congratulate you!” The man hesitated momentarily, then, perhaps feeling guilty, whispered a warning not to tell anyone. “Actually, we’ve turned up some new facts about Scarlett Castiel’s execution. It looks like the notorious vixen may have been falsely accused. I can’t say anything specific, but sometime next week we should be coming out with an exclusive.” Amelia’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing.” “Isn’t it? Hey, where are you going?” the reporter exclaimed as his redheaded colleague hurried out of the room. She paused, looked around, and said very cheerfully, “I can’t let you fellows beat me. I’m going hunting for an even bigger scoop.” “A scoop? But you’re the theater reporter…!” the man cried after her, but she was already gone. Suppressing her impatience, Amelia left the building and headed for the main street. Halfway there she boarded a fiacre. She got off in front of the grand palace in the center of the city and lined up by the public gate. “Please say that Amelia Hobbes is here.” “Whom shall I tell?” the trim woman at the desk asked her in a businesslike tone. Amelia smiled, her grayish-green eyes narrowing. “Rufus May.” That day, the editor-in-chief, Marcella, had instructed Aldous to visit the Huxley residence for an article on Aisha Huxley’s confession. The rain that had started at dawn was coming down heavier now, and he could hear it pounding the street outside. He climbed down from his carriage and planted his feet on the muddy ground. The rain washed his footprints away as soon as he made them. People called rain the tears of the goddesses. According to a story from the Book of Genesis, it fell to wash away the sins of the world. If that was true—then whose sins were these tears meant to absolve? Once Aldous had announced his business, an elderly maid came out to greet him. “The viscountess is in her room,” the woman told him hoarsely, leading him down a long hallway. The house was dim, though whether it was like that always or only today, he did not know. They climbed the creaky spiral staircase, and the maid paused to look back at Aldous. “The viscountess’s rooms are at the end of the corridor,” she said flatly. “I’ve had all the servants leave so you can speak in private.” She bowed and returned the way they had come. In other words, he was to go on alone from there. Just as he stepped forward, a valet pushing a cart came out of a room at the end of the hallway. The cart was covered with a white cloth, on top of which were a ceramic cutlery tray and a teapot. He must have been serving tea. The slim young man met Aldous’s eyes and nodded quietly. He pulled his cart into a corner and bowed his head, letting Aldous pass. Aldous passed the valet and knocked on the door before he suddenly realized something was off. Hadn’t the maid just said she’d had all the servants leave? He spun around, but the hallway was empty. Only the unmanned cart remained. “Shit!” Aldous spat out. “Aisha!” He stepped into the room. A bloodied female form lay on the floor. Despite the quantity of blood, she seemed to be semiconscious. He hurriedly lifted her into a sitting position and searched for her wound—then gasped. Her carotid artery had been severed clear through. It was a perfect cut. A bloody dessert knife lay beside her. As he held her speechlessly, she twitched. “…Th-they t-took…the bo…ttle.” “Shhh, don’t talk. I’m going to stop the bleeding,” he said, starting to move. Her eyes stopped him. I know I’m done for, they said. “…It was…Sal…vador, from Daeg…Gallus.” She must be talking about the man disguised as a valet. Aldous looked Aisha in the eye and nodded firmly. “Ask…my cousin…Sharon…she’ll know…something…” “I understand. Anything else?” The light was quickly fading from Aisha’s eyes. “I…made…a mistake, but…,” she gasped. “Will…Scar…lett forgive…me…?” Aldous did not know the answer. He hadn’t known Scarlett when she was alive, like Abigail had, and he couldn’t see her ghost like Lucia. Nevertheless, he answered without hesitation that she would. The simple, good-natured Constance Grail flashed across his mind. That’s what she would have said. And the rain was still coming down. The tears of the goddess would wash her sin away. “I’m gla—” With that, Aisha Huxley expired, a girlishly innocent smile on her lips. Aldous gently closed her eyelids. Right away, his mind began to analyze what had just happened. They’d gotten to her first. That was certain. Later on, he could look into who had leaked the information. The immediate question was whether they’d been after him specifically. In other words, did they know he was Rudy the bodyguard from the Folkvangr—and did they intend to entrap Abigail O’Brian? He could answer that easily enough. It wasn’t likely. Aldous’s assignment had been decided that morning. Another reporter had originally been scheduled to interview Aisha, but he’d been late getting to work because of the rain, and Aldous had been selected to go in his place. In other words, they didn’t care who it was. Their goal was for Aisha’s murderer to be captured immediately. They wanted the investigation to end quickly, on the assumption that it was an unpremeditated act. They definitely didn’t want anyone poking around Aisha’s affairs. The trap was already set. All that remained was to wait for the mouse to step into it. No doubt if Aldous was arrested, abundant evidence related to Aisha’s murder would fortuitously appear. Which left him only one way to outwit them. Aldous swiftly pushed open the window in one corner of the room. A strong gust blew inside, ruffling his hair. He looked down. Fortunately, a fine old oak tree was growing below the window. If he jumped right, it should break his fall. He made a mental note of the garden’s layout. He heard footsteps running toward the room. No doubt the man named Salvador had called someone. He had prepared well, but on the other hand, it gave Aldous a momentary opportunity. While the servants were gathered on the second floor, he might be able to escape through the back gate. “Murderer…!” he heard someone scream from outside the wide-open door. Aldous clicked his tongue, stepped onto the window frame, and leapt into the air. Rain was dripping onto the floor. Patches of the ceiling in the decrepit building had rotted away, letting in the rain. Here and there, floorboards were coming up, and the walls were cracked. But still, the image of the goddess in the arched stained glass window overhead peered down calmly. They were in a church in the slums. A woman wearing a deep, dingy hood was sitting on a bench praying fervently when the stooped young man crept silently in. He sat down beside the woman, whose face was pressed against her knees with her fingers laced together, and he spoke in a carefree voice as if he were humming a song: “Kiriki kirikuku.” The woman sighed softly. “Lie low and stay calm,” she answered, slowly raising her face. “I heard the journalist got away.” “So it seems,” Salvador said, shrugging as if it had nothing to do with him. Cecilia couldn’t help giving him a nasty glare. He ignored her, instead laughing frivolously. “Anyway,” he went on. As usual, she had no idea what was going through his mind. “Seems like you’re unclear on my role here. I was assigned to kill that bag of bones, nothing more. Also, Krishna was the one who came up with the plan and the one who assigned the personnel. In other words, I’m not the one who messed up. Krishna is. If you’ve got a complaint, say it to him. I think he’s going by the name Linus—no, Rufus May right now.” Salvador’s reddish-gold eyes widened in amusement. Cecilia had heard that Krishna and Salvador didn’t get along, and the rumor seemed to be true. Judging by his attitude, he seemed genuinely delighted by Krishna’s blunder. “…All the same,” Salvador continued, “I hardly expected to be outdone by a mere journalist. According to Amelia Hobbes, Aldous is a cowardly half-wit with no ambition, but I wonder who he really is.” Cecilia, too, had heard about the plan in advance and had never imagined he would be able to slip away without a trace. There seemed to be more to him than met the eye. But his identity wasn’t what mattered right now. “The important thing is that you find him and capture him right away. It will be a pain if they end up investigating Aisha’s affairs.” “That’s why we set things up so he’d be arrested on the spot. I wish we’d never gotten involved to start with. We didn’t have anything to do with Scarlett Castiel’s execution.” Salvador’s position ten years ago had been essentially the same as it was today. Get rid of people who were in the way—that was all. He’d never had a public presence like Cecilia and Krishna. That was probably why he didn’t know the details. It was true that Daeg Gallus had not predicted Scarlett Castiel’s execution. But… “The problem is who gave Aisha that bottle.” They hadn’t been completely uninvolved. The substance Aisha had gotten her hands on was a forerunner of Jackal’s Paradise, still under development. Simply put, it was a failed attempt. They had intended to make the drug more addictive but had ended up making it more poisonous by mistake. “Sharon, was it? Just couldn’t keep her mouth shut. We’ll have to be sure she’s more careful from now on—oh, wait, she’s already dead.” Salvador laughed cynically. He was right—by now, Sharon should have already been taken care of by someone else. “But don’t you think this is going too far? You’ll trip yourself up by being so obvious.” “…Ten years ago, we failed because we overlooked a minor coincidence.” That was why she was determined to nip all the buds this time around. Salvador, however, seemed to have a different opinion. As Cecilia took in his vaguely critical expression, doubt rose within her. “You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” “Do what?” “You wouldn’t have let Aldous Clayton get away intentionally, would you? You failed to bring down a target once before, I believe.” Salvador widened his eyes and tilted his head. “Before? Oh, that?” he said, as if her meaning had just registered. Then he grimaced like it was funny. “That was your fault, don’t you think, Cess? You said she was an ordinary noble brat. An overprotected, hypocritical little thing with nothing to her beyond kindness. Nothing to worry about.” “That’s not—” “And who was it that got tripped up by the sweet little thing? Who spilled our secrets to her? That alone would be embarrassing enough. But she even managed to hide the critical information. The higher-ups said to get it out of her even if I had to kill her, but she killed herself before I could. What could I do? There were signs she hid the information. But years have passed, and we still don’t know where it is. All we know is that a key exists and it provides some sort of clue.” Salvador coughed and looked at Cecilia, his eyes narrowed. “As it turned out, she was quite the opponent, that Lily Orlamunde.” With a crash, the teacup slipped from her fingers and shattered, splashing tea on her feet and surrounding the chair with ceramic shards. Marta, the maid, ran to fetch a broom and dustpan. But Connie didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She simply stared in shock. The front page of the morning newspaper was spread out before her. “What in the world…?” The article said that the Mayflower reporter Aldous Clayton had been named a suspect in the killing of Viscountess Aisha Huxley. “With that, I conclude my report on the murder of Aisha Huxley. Considering that no physical evidence has been found, it is premature to name Aldous Clayton a suspect,” Randolph said, standing with his back to a door carved with a lion and sword. He was in a room in the Royal Security Force headquarters. Located on the top floor at the very end of the hall, it was the one and only opulently decorated room in an organization that prioritized practicality. Partly, that was because it was the room where guests were received. There was a sofa near the door for that reason, and on the right and left walls hung the flag of Adelbide and the Security Force insignia. Beyond the sofa was a desk of pollard oak with a lustrous, intricate grain and a black leather armchair. Only one man in the entire organization was permitted to sit in that seat, which symbolized the apex of the Security Force. “Jeorg Gaina said there was a witness.” As he listened to Randolph’s report, the man ran his eyes over the documents stacked on his desk, signing and stamping them one after the next. “As you will see in the testimony, the witness only saw Aldous next to the victim. They did not witness the crime take place.” “I see. But the fact remains that Aldous Clayton fled the scene. How do you explain that?” “I can’t know without asking him. At the present time, he is no more than a key witness. And what would his motivation be, in any case? Of course, locating his whereabouts is a top priority, but I believe we also need to investigate Aisha Huxley’s social connections.” “Jeorg Gaina wanted to bring him in for questioning immediately.” “Yes. It’s likely he already has the perfect story all worked out,” Randolph said with dripping irony. He heard a coughing sound. When he looked up, the man’s hand was pressed to his mouth and his shoulders were shaking. But he must not have been able to control himself—or perhaps he hadn’t intended to from the start—because he broke out laughing, holding his stomach. When his laughter died down, the man let out a long sigh. “I’ve been thinking for a while now that he’s a little weak on the follow-through.” Royal Security Force Commandant Duran Belsford rested his elbows carelessly on the elegant desk and smiled with malice. He had sharp eyes and graying hair swept back from his forehead. Despite his fierce appearance, however, he was a happy drunk and took good care of his subordinates, who affectionately called him Pops. Wiping away the tears that had collected in the corners of his eyes from the bout of laughter, he said, “Oh yes,” as if he’d just remembered something. “I hear you’ve been looking into the Scarlett Castiel case. You, or I suppose I should say, your fiancée.” Randolph’s face twitched, and he narrowed his eyes without responding. “Listen here, Randolph. I’m your superior. Not just any superior, either—I’m the commandant. That’s a mighty important title. So you’d better stop making that scary face at me. I’ll have nightmares. Nightmares, I say! Anyhow, that’s the reason they went after Aisha Huxley, isn’t it? It’s quite a feat to convince someone who managed to keep quiet for ten years, and that’s not all the Grail girl’s been up to, I hear.” The Duran domain was on the border with Faris, in what Duran called “the damned boonies,” and he made no attempt to hide his country accent. He’d been the youngest of five children, left to do as he pleased, and apparently had spent his days playing with commoners instead of learning the manners of a noble. Starting out by leading local kids in childhood mischief, he had gone straight into a position defending the borders from the northern tribes. And when the army’s central command heard about his achievements, they invited him to the capital to join the Royal Security Force. That was thirty years ago. Although his battlefield had changed from the borderlands to the capital, and his enemy from raiders to criminals, his skills were no less impressive. He was the youngest person to rise to the position of commandant in the history of the organization. His nickname, Duran the Immortal, referred to his many brushes with death, including his false accusation and near execution ten years ago, from which he was once again freed at the very last moment. Randolph sighed. “I see you are well-informed,” he acknowledged. He hadn’t gone out of his way to make a secret of any of it, but he was nevertheless impressed by the effectiveness of Duran’s network. Suddenly, a question occurred to him. “You’re not looking into the false charges against Scarlett, are you?” He wondered if Duran knew something. But the older man simply shrugged. “I’m more concerned with Faris at the moment. The last report said they were preparing for war. If that’s the case, it must be us they’re after.” This unexpected turn in the conversation threw Randolph off balance. “We’ve been building friendly relations with Faris for decades. So long as we don’t make a hostile move ourselves, they have no cause to go to war with us. If they were to suddenly invade, I can’t imagine our other neighbors would sit by silently and watch it happen.” It was true that disturbing developments were underway in neighboring Faris. Namely, they were preparing for war. That was a fact, but Randolph didn’t think they were turning on Adelbide. There may have been sparks aplenty to cause a war a few hundred years ago, but today the two countries were allies. They had a peace treaty. If Faris unilaterally abrogated it, neighboring countries would surely take them to task. Faris would naturally become isolated. When Randolph said as much to Duran, he dismissed the idea with a snort. “Cause for war? They can make one up easily enough. Did you know, Randolph, that our kingdom is fairly unpopular?” “…Unpopular?” “Adelbide is rich in resources and water. Plenty of people are jealous of how much we’ve advanced in a mere few hundred years. Faris, in particular, views us as their own former territory. It wouldn’t surprise me if they thought taking that territory back was entirely justifiable. All the more so given they’re hard up these days.” “But do you genuinely think they plan to go to war with us…?” Duran smiled wryly at Randolph’s puzzlement and nodded. “I do. But that’s not to say I’ll let them,” he muttered, directing his piercing gaze into the distance. Overwhelmed by the strength of that gaze, Randolph nevertheless recalled something. Ten years ago, Duran had nearly been executed. But just before it happened, Scarlett was beheaded, and the subsequent protests by a citizens’ organization led to the suspension of all executions. Saved by a hair’s breadth, Duran used his reprieve to gather evidence of his innocence. Which is to say, if Scarlett hadn’t been executed, Duran would no longer be alive. After thinking that far, Randolph felt a sudden unease. There was something going on there. But before he could figure out what it was, Duran’s voice called him back to the present. “That’s the job of those of us lucky enough to be alive,” he murmured very quietly. “Blast it, I can’t imagine anything more disappointing!” A clear voice rang through the Folkvangr, home of the most beautiful flowers of Rosenkreuz Street. “There I was enjoying time off with my boy toy, and some mongrel gets himself added to the most wanted list?! I was so furious, I came straight back!” The elderly woman looked refined and well-dressed, but her language was shockingly biting. Connie, who was sitting on a plush sofa drinking a cup of tea, couldn’t help staring up wide-eyed at the intruder. “Audrey, if you lose your temper like that, your blood pressure will go up again!” Miriam admonished her lackadaisically, her plentiful bosom swaying. Miriam was the prostitute in highest demand at the Folkvangr, and she was currently sitting beside Connie on the sofa. Without a glance at Miriam or Connie, the elderly woman pointed at a divan by the wall. “What’s a wanted murderer doing here to start with?!” The man reclining on the divan, newspaper in hand, was none other than Aldous Clayton. He gave the woman a sidelong glance. “Be quiet, you old skinflint,” he muttered before returning to his newspaper. The woman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “They said you went and killed a viscountess,” she said loudly. “I’ve always known you were a stupid dog! Leaving a trail like that…if you’re going to do something, at least do it well!” “…This time I was framed. You don’t see me messing up on the regular.” “Well, your horrible attitude hasn’t changed! That’s why you screw up, stray!” “Listen, old lady! I’m telling you, I didn’t do it…!” Aldous said, finally hurling his newspaper aside and sitting up to fight back. Needless to say, the woman was not about to take this in silence. The two of them glared at each other furiously, then launched into an exchange of expletives. Connie was staring at them in terror when Miriam leaned over and whispered into her ear. “I’ve heard that in the old days, Audrey was the most popular girl at this establishment. Time is cruel, isn’t it?” “Shut up, Miriam. She can hear you,” said Rebekah, snorting. She had just come in with a tray of cookies. Rebekah was another beauty who, though less voluptuous than Miriam, was the more competitive of the two. “Lady Audrey is our teacher.” Connie gave her a puzzled look. “She teaches us how to bring in the gentlemen,” Miriam added with a smile. “Also how to choose our dresses and makeup. And how to talk and behave, and generally act like cultivated ladies. Training the women here is Audrey’s job.” Lady Audrey must have heard them whispering, because she finally turned in their direction. “If you ask me, that tomboy Abigail and little Theodore are both still wet behind the ears. Not to mention, the former Duke O’Brian directly entrusted this establishment’s operation to me. It is my duty to guard it.” She paused for a moment to glare at Aldous. Connie stood up, unable to stand the tension. “I-it’s Aldous Clayton, from the Mayflower, who they’ve put on the wanted list, isn’t it?” she asked. There was a moment of silence before a sharp gaze pierced Connie. She forced herself to go on, although she would rather have retreated. “I don’t see what that has to do with Mr. Rudy, the bodyguard at the Folkvangr…” Audrey raised her eyebrows unhappily. Then she crossed her arms and looked Connie over from head to toe, appraising her. “…And who are you?” “C-Constance Grail.” Audrey turned to Miriam and Rebekah with the same stern expression. “Since when do we hire pug-nosed girls?!” she asked. “I think Connie’s adorable!” Miriam pouted. Audrey said no more, apparently befuddled, and stared at the “ugly girl” intently. A bead of sweat ran down Connie’s cheek. Finally, Lady Audrey pressed her hand to her forehead like she was battling a headache and dramatically gazed up at the ceiling. Incomprehensible. Several days before, Abigail had contacted Connie to tell her the Folkvangr was sheltering Aldous. Fortunately, neither the Security Force nor Daeg Gallus seemed to realize that Aldous Clayton and Rudy from Rosenkreuz Street were the same man. So for the time being, he should be able to safely stay hidden at the brothel. Right now, Abigail was running around trying to prove Aldous’s innocence, and she’d asked Connie to look in on him in her place, as well as to calm things down in time for the lady’s return. Connie wasn’t sure if she’d succeeded on this last point, but for now, Aldous seemed to have avoided being ejected from the brothel. One week had passed since Aisha Huxley was killed. Marcella, the Mayflower’s editor-in-chief, had resigned after her reporter was named a suspect in the homicide. For some reason, the employee selected to succeed her was Amelia Hobbes. “That redhead must have sold her soul to the devil,” Scarlett said with a scowl. Connie was in complete agreement. Lady Audrey was apparently very busy, and she dragged Aldous off by the ear, saying, “Those who don’t work, don’t eat!” After they were gone, Miriam and Rebecca said they had better get ready for the evening. Before they left, they mentioned that “the Grim Reaper should be here to pick you up soon,” so Connie stayed where she was to wait for him. As Connie sat in a daze, teacup in hand, Scarlett gave her a puzzled look. “What’s wrong?” Connie hesitated before answering. “…Aisha was killed because of what happened ten years ago, wasn’t she?” “It seems that way.” “And you said that the poison she put in the water jug at the Luze residence might have been Jackal’s Paradise, right? If that’s the case, then I’m sure Daeg Gallus must have been involved in some way.” “Yes, I think so, too.” But that wasn’t all. Even after the incident ten years ago… “I think they might have been involved in Miss Lily’s death, too,” Connie said. There was the phrase “kiriki kirikuku,” and what José, the man who kidnapped Kate, had said. “…Yes.” “So if we can figure out the mystery of the key and the meaning of ‘the Holy Grail of Eris’…” Wouldn’t that help them solve the case? Just as Connie was about to say that, however, someone interrupted her. “About that key—I found the workshop that manufactured it.” She looked over her shoulder. “Your Excellency…!” Randolph, who had appeared without her even noticing, nodded and pulled a shiny, dark gray object from his breast pocket. He held the simple, warded key on his palm—the very key she had just been talking about. “Unfortunately, this isn’t strictly speaking a key.” “…It isn’t?” “It has the shape of a key, but it fits no lock. In other words, it’s a fake. According to the person I spoke with at the workshop, the design is commonly used for decorations. But.” Randolph paused to point at the model number engraved on the circular portion at the top. “He said Lily specifically requested this engraving.” Connie gasped, squinting at the code. It read P10E3. What if it wasn’t a model number but instead a message that Lily Orlamunde had left behind? “In other words,” Randolph said in his low voice, “that is the puzzle we must solve.” Once again, they had reached an impasse in the puzzle of Lily’s key. And the key itself wasn’t even the mystery that needed solving—it was the engraving. A day had passed since Randolph met Connie at the Folkvangr to tell her the latest developments. She had stayed up the entire night thinking about it but, of course, hadn’t arrived at an answer. She had some paperwork related to her engagement to do at the church that day, and it was for that reason she had come to Anastasia Street. She was walking along, brooding over the lack of progress, when someone suddenly called out to her. “Excuse me, miss?” She turned around. A tall woman with a messy braid the color of sunshine was standing behind her. She had ultramarine eyes and freckled cheeks. Thick eyebrows framed a healthy-looking face. She must be a tourist, Connie thought. Over one shoulder, she was carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle about as tall as a person. “May I ask you directions? I’m a sightseer here.” “Yes, of course.” A woman traveling alone for pleasure was rare. The woman must have recognized the doubt on Connie’s face, because she nodded and smiled. “I do have a traveling companion with me, but I don’t see her at the moment. Wherever could she have gone off to?” She scanned the wide road, scratching her cheek. Unsurprisingly, she failed to find her friend. Her smile became strained. “Perhaps she went on to our destination ahead of me. Actually, we want to see the famous Grand Merillian. Anyone visiting this kingdom ought to see it at least once, don’t you think?” It was true that the lavish detached palace was one of the capital’s most famous attractions. And luckily, it was within walking distance. Connie nodded and pointed down the road. “If you head down this main street for a little while toward Saint Mark’s Square—” Her explanation was interrupted by a yell from the crowd. “San!” A slender, pretty woman with hair like moonlight streaming down her back came running toward them. “I looked everywhere for you!” the newcomer cried. “I know you’re curious, but I’ve told you a million times not to wander off! You’ve got an awful sense of direction!” “What are you talking about? You’re the one who’s always getting lost, Eularia,” the tall woman called San countered, laughing easily. “I was just asking directions.” The woman who had been angrily berating San slumped her shoulders. “Sure, that must be it… I’m the one who’s lost… But somehow, I’m always the one who ends up finding you! Anyway, here’s the tourism booklet we got at that restaurant! You said we didn’t need it, but look here. At the bottom of this page about the palace, there’s a letter and number written in Adelbidian, see? And it shows where the palace is on the map at the front of the booklet. The letter is for the column, and the number is for the row.” “Wow, you’re so smart, Eularia!” San exclaimed. Eularia narrowed her eyes. “They have this kind of thing in most large cities, whatever kingdom you’re in. You’re really too sheltered, you know? I picked up two pamphlets, so you take this one. Let’s go. And don’t forget to thank that lady.” The slender woman grabbed San’s sleeve and pulled so hard, Connie wondered where in her small body she stored all that strength. Judging by her confident steps, she knew exactly where she was going. As San let herself be dragged off, she turned a childlike grin toward Connie. “Thank you, kind miss. My name is San. Please allow me to repay you at a later date. Oh, wait, take this. I don’t need it—I’ve got a great sense of direction.” She winked and, with a flowing, natural motion, pushed the pamphlet into Connie’s grasp. Eularia spun around and glared at her, but San seemed not to care in the least. She waved happily at Connie. “What’s your name, miss?” “C-Constance. Constance Grail.” “Grail?” San blinked, then slowly smiled. “What a lovely name.” “I wonder what she had in that big bundle,” Scarlett said as she watched the two of them disappear into the crowd. “…Scarlett?” “What?” “…Do you remember the code inscribed on Lily’s key?” “What? Oh, yes, of course I do, but—” Scarlett raised one eyebrow suspiciously, but Connie wasn’t paying attention. “I th-think I just figured it out!” she said shakily, looking up at Scarlett. Scarlett blinked in confusion. Connie was holding the pamphlet San had just given her. It was one of those tourist guides you could pick up anywhere in the capital. A moment earlier, she had absently flipped it open and felt an odd flash of recognition. The page contained an explanation of the climate and geography of Adelbide. Simple and easy to understand, nothing strange at all. Still, something about it caught her attention. She felt like she’d read it before. But where? Sifting through her memories, she suddenly figured it out. It was from the message Lily had left behind. The phrase about the “Holy Grail of Eris” was scribbled on a scrap of paper. Searching for any clue she could find, Connie had carefully read the printed text as well as the note. That was why she remembered. That same text was on the page she was looking at now. At the time, she’d thought to herself that it must be from one of those tourism brochures put out by city hall or the like. That meant that Lily had used a page from this pamphlet. Connie had thought that the scrap of paper had nothing to do with the message, but what if it did? What if the meaning wasn’t only in the words, but also in the paper they were written on? “If I recall correctly, the engraving was P10E3,” Scarlett said. Connie let out a long breath. P10E3—most likely, P10 referred to page 10. With shaking hands, she flipped open the pamphlet. Page 10 contained a simplified map of the capital, overlaid with a grid of vertical and horizontal lines. The letter is for the column, and the number is for the row. Wasn’t that what the woman named Eularia had said? The numbers and letters were used to identify locations on the map. E was the column, and 3 was the row. They pointed to… “Saint Mark’s Square.” The place where Scarlett was executed. Was it deliberate or a coincidence? Either way, it was a step forward. But the area identified was larger than she’d expected. The square also contained the city hall. Connie bit her lip, wondering what to do next. “The history museum,” Scarlett whispered. “What?” “You went there the other day with Randolph, didn’t you? He said they had received a donation from the Orlamunde family. The place is under constant guard. That must be the hiding place, don’t you think?” Footsteps echoed through the deserted museum. There was no sign of the guards, leaving Connie and Randolph alone in the building. When Connie told Randolph about her latest discovery, he brought her to the museum right away and asked for the director. When he appeared, Randolph announced that someone may have planted a suspicious object in the museum and had the director remove everyone from the building. “I couldn’t very well tell him we were going to damage the Orlamunde family’s holy scripture,” Randolph explained, shrugging off his white lie as he lifted up the ring of keys the director had loaned him. Scarlett nodded emphatically. “Wise move. If he knew the truth, he’d faint from shock. Anyway, Lily really did plant a suspicious object here,” she joked. By then, they had arrived at the donation in question. There, in the glass case, was the old, yellowed book and, in front of it, the new copy. “If she was going to hide something,” said Scarlett, “I think it would be in the original, not the replica.” “B-but isn’t this a valuable historical relic…?” Connie asked. It was one of the scriptures Saint Anastasia was said to have received from a messenger of the goddesses. Several generations back, the then-Duke of Orlamunde was said to have exhausted all means to obtain it, finally winning it in a black-market auction. Scarlett nodded knowingly. “That’s exactly why she would put it here. Who would dare touch such a precious object?” “What an outrageous thing to do…” “She was an outrageous woman.” Connie felt like she’d had a similar conversation with Scarlett in the past. It had been a mere few months earlier, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Or was she imagining things? “I’m opening it,” Randolph said, inserting a key into a lock on the glass case. The smell of dust and mold assaulted Connie’s nose. Randolph carefully picked up the ancient scripture. “…As far as I can see, there’s nothing unusual here.” “Of course not,” Scarlett said. “After all, there’s always a chance someone might pick up the book. She wouldn’t hide it anywhere obvious. What would Lily do… How about the back cover?” “Scarlett is saying to check the back cover,” Connie told Randolph. He carefully checked the back of the book, but there didn’t seem to be anything there. He shook his head, then opened the volume and ran his finger over the inside. One of his eyebrows shot up. “…There’s a slight indentation. I wonder if it’s a sign that the paper was replaced…,” he muttered, pulling a knife from his breast pocket. Connie flinched in surprise. Without a moment’s pause, he ran the blade over the paper as smoothly as if he were cutting open a letter. Apparently, Lily Orlamunde wasn’t the only person who allotted scant value to historical treasures. “Found it,” he announced, pulling out a white envelope. Two women who looked like tourists stood chatting in front of a fountain in the Grand Merillian courtyard. “The bald old goat certainly is late. He’s a bit young to go senile, isn’t he?” “I imagine moving an old body like that must take time.” To the casual observer, they created a peaceful scene, though their topic of conversation was far from tranquil. Presently, the man they were waiting for arrived. “Hey there, Grandpa. You’ve lost some more hair, I see.” San smiled, raising one hand in a casual greeting. “…I’ve had a lot to worry about,” he answered sourly. “All the more so now that I hear Princess Alexandra has been locked up.” Kendall Levine, the ambassador from Faris, squinted slightly, then gave San a probing look. She smiled wryly. “True, true. We’ve got to get Allie out of there fast.” Normally, San would have dropped whatever she was doing to save the imprisoned woman. “But first, we have to fix the Ulysses situation.” Circumstances, however, had made that difficult. “It seems the war hawks led by Fourth Prince Theophilis would like to claim that Adelbide struck first by harming the seventh prince. They need an excuse for seizing all this fertile land. Although it seems that when they tried that ten years ago, Adelbide managed to pull one over on them.” San glared up at Kendall Levine. “If we don’t find the boy—there will be war.” Randolph handed Connie the envelope he’d pulled from the holy scripture. Aside from the fact that it was not addressed to anyone, it looked completely ordinary. Connie looked up at Randolph. Her eyes met his sky-blue ones, and he nodded firmly. Well, here goes. She took a deep breath and opened the envelope. Several sheets of stationery were inside. Her fingers were cold with nervousness as she plucked them out. Her heart was pounding. Her mouth was horribly dry. “Eight years ago…” She began to read the words on the paper. If she recalled correctly, it was two years ago that Lily Orlamunde had died. Eight years ago, a top-secret mission was undertaken in Adelbide. Daeg Gallus was in charge of the operation. Using their huge criminal organization boasting members all across the continent, they secretly infiltrated Adelbide and began distributing the hallucinogen Jackal’s Paradise. Their aim was not to raise capital but rather to undermine the strength of the kingdom. But they were not the masterminds of this plan. The entity that hired Daeg Gallus and pulled the strings from the shadows was none other than our ally, Faris. In other words, the Holy Grail of Eris was… …the name of a military strategy concocted by Faris to invade Adelbide.