In the end, instead of being burned, the Vecchio gondola was brought to the Fargo residence as a war trophy. Scarlett almost lit it on fire then and there out of pure elation. But if she did that, it might make Carlo seem like the one being victimized. Even worse, she currently looked like Constance. People in Adelbide were still afraid to mention the Grail girl’s name, and it would be a pity if she became a pariah overseas, too. For all those reasons, Connie shouted, “Change!” and ousted Scarlett from her body. When they pulled up at the Fargo pier, another gondola was already tied there. “Must be guests,” Antonio said, glancing at the boat. Marco nodded. “That’s the Chamber of Commerce boat. They’re probably asking for Carnival donations.” “I didn’t hear anything about that,” Antonio answered. The visit was unexpected, it seemed. As Marco put down his oar and started mooring the boat, Connie heard people talking by the front gate. Several men were leaving the mansion. Although they were visiting an upper-class home, none of them wore jackets, and some of them even had the sleeves of their plain white shirts rolled sloppily up to their elbows. Their clothes were clearly not those of noblemen. They must have been the visitors from the Chamber of Commerce. “They look like they’ve just been to a funeral,” Scarlett said. She was right. Their expressions were glum, and they gave off an intimidating air. As Connie stared curiously at them, wondering what they were talking about, the tallest man, and the only one in formal dress, noticed them. Antonio jumped up and said, “Father!” As Connie watched the man walk toward their boat, she began to understand the conversation from earlier. He did glow. He had wavy, soft-looking blond hair and eyes the color of the summer sea. His figure was well-balanced and slim. Basilio Fargo was a ridiculously handsome man whose cool smile suited him perfectly. His cheeks were unfreckled, and his eyes were slightly downturned, all of which made Connie think Antonio must resemble his mother. Basilio was probably in his late thirties. He must have been around the same age as Carlo Vecchio, but his aura couldn’t have been more different. Until the previous year, Basilio had served as a maritime commissioner on the mainland. But on acceding to his title as Duke, he joined the Grand Council. Randolph had told Connie all this on their way to the island. Owing to his background, he was overseeing maritime security around El Sol during the family’s stay at their summer residence. Basilio greeted their party and led them to the drawing room of the mansion. It was an elegant room, not gaudily decorated but clearly furnished with only the best. As soon as Connie and the others were seated on sofas, maids flowed into the room and began preparing tea. “The men from the Chamber were just telling me about you. I’m sorry to have caused you so much trouble. It all seems to have happened because Judge Donatello got sick of Carlo’s obstinance. I know Donatello, and I’ll have a word with him later.” “Oh, no, it’s really us who should apologize…,” Connie said, glancing away in shame as she spoke. Basilio gave her a strange look. It seemed he hadn’t yet heard about the theft of the Vecchio gondola. “It’s just that I got carried away and…” After she explained in a nearly inaudible voice what had happened, Basilio burst out in robust laughter. She blinked at him in surprise, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. Then he coughed and said, “Well, we have it now, so I think I’ll hang it in the entryway as a decoration.” Connie desperately wanted to tell him not to do that, but she couldn’t bring herself to contradict his cool smile. He seemed to be the playful type. Marco had joked around a lot, too. Was the Republic full of cheerful people? Antonio was somewhat moody, but he didn’t seem sly or twisted. After they’d chatted amiably for a while, Basilio called a butler and asked him to give the group a tour of the mansion. “I wanted to spend more time together, but something unexpected has come up,” he said, explaining that he had to go out. Randolph narrowed his eyes slightly. “Has something happened?” he asked. “No, nothing important.” “Does it have to do with the visitors who just left? We heard they were from the island’s Chamber of Commerce. They didn’t seem especially friendly. If there’s a problem, I’d like to know about it as soon as possible.” Randolph’s tone was marginally polite, but his expression was terrifying. Connie listened to the conversation uneasily. “Actually, the Chamber has requested I search for some cargo they were supposed to receive last night.” “You mean it’s been stolen?” “No…,” Basilio said, hesitating. But he quickly continued, “The merchant vessel it was on seems to have been shipwrecked.” Cotton candy clouds floated against an ultramarine sky. It wasn’t sweltering, but the sunlight was too bright to look at. Connie was sitting on a bench on one of the island’s public piers, staring absently at the sky, when it occurred to her that it was a perfect day for gelato. By now, Lucia and the others must be enjoying the island’s famous frozen treat. Antonio had told them that the sweet and sour citrus gelato you could get only during the summer was out of this world. After his father left, he had announced somewhat brusquely that he would “treat them in his father’s place.” “Have any of you ever tasted gelato? There are some famous shops on the mainland, but nothing compares to the island. The stuff from the White Rose, over by the fountain plaza, has pieces of frozen fruit in it. I know the owner, and I wouldn’t mind taking you there,” he said. Connie and Lucia exchanged excited glances, but then Lucia let out a startled “Oh,” clapped her hand over her mouth, and said, “But, Miss Connie, don’t you have plans with Mr. Randolph?” “Oh dear!” Connie blurted out. She’d forgotten something very important. “Where are you going?” Antonio asked. “Fanoom Shrine,” she answered solemnly. “The shrine? But I thought you worshipped the Moirai in Adelbide. What would someone from another religion possibly want to do there?” Connie thought for a moment, then answered, “You might say we’re making a delivery.” And so Connie and Randolph were now waiting for a taxi boat, called a vaporette, outside Il Laza Cathedral, the closest boarding pier to the Fargo estate. The shrine they were visiting was on a smaller island called Monte just off the coast of El Sol, so they had to go by boat. “Gelato…,” Connie murmured yet again. Randolph, who was standing beside the bench rather than sitting on it, glanced at her. Presently, a paddle steamer approached, sending up sprays of water. This must have been the vaporette. It was somewhat larger than a gondola. It probably couldn’t fit down the narrower canals, but it could carry loads of people and cargo. Connie glanced around the inside of the boat. There weren’t many other passengers. Maybe because the route didn’t pass any tourist spots, the only people on board were a few men who looked like locals and an older woman wearing a cloak with the hood pulled up. They had to pay when they boarded, so they told the wheelsman where they were going and handed him some coins. When he saw Connie looking for an empty seat, Randolph took her hand and sat her down next to him. “Hey.” Once the boat started moving, the man in the row ahead called out to them, craning his neck around to see. “Aren’t you the girl who gave Carlo Vecchio a thrashing earlier?” “What?” “You know, at the courthouse!” “…Huh?” Before Connie knew what was happening, another man said, “You’re right, it is her! You were incredible!” Another chimed in, “I was there!” and a fourth added, “So was I!” Suddenly the boat was full of noisy chatter. “I thought you were a ferocious young woman, but now that I see you here, you seem so ordinary. Almost like a different person.” “Ha-ha-ha…,” Connie laughed dryly. She really was a different person. Suddenly one of the men lowered his voice. “But you know, that runt Carlo’s one thing, but you don’t want to make Gregorio Vecchio angry.” “…Gregorio?” “Carlo’s old man. We islanders don’t know much about it, but the fellows who commute to the mainland say he’s far more arrogant than his son—that he’s a cruel man who will do anything to get what he wants. Rumor has it he made some failed investments and nearly went bankrupt, and now he’s involved in some real nasty business.” This caught the attention of another man, who asked, “What do you mean, ‘nasty business’?” “Smuggling. The Vecchios have run a trading company since the grandfather’s generation, you know.” The conversation was way over Connie’s head by now and beginning to heat up among the locals. “That reminds me, a merchant ship was wrecked near the port yesterday.” “I heard about that! But why would a ship sink when the seas were calm?” “I heard from the lighthouse keeper that it was one of Gregorio’s company boats. Word is it was old and he didn’t keep up with repairs. Wonder if there was some kind of problem with the boat.” “Or maybe he had some shady cargo on board.” A few men chuckled, but one shook his head. “No, it was a commission from the Chamber of Commerce, I’m sure of it. The old folks at the Chamber were white as a sheet this morning. They wouldn’t say what was on board, but at this time of year, it had to be something for Carnival. They should’ve left it to the Star like they always do, but no, they had to go with Gregorio Vecchio this year…” Star? Connie’s ears perked up at the word. “Excuse me, but what do you mean by the ‘Star’?” she asked, butting into the conversation. The men exchanged surprised glances. “The Star? Oh, that’s what people call Fanoom Shrine. It wasn’t a noble family or a man of the cloth who built that place, you know; it was a merchant. They say he was a foreigner who wanted to show his gratitude to the Republic by buying the whole island with his own money and building that shrine. A true saint.” “There’s no statue of him like there is of the Blind Saint, so fewer people know about him. Anyhow, that’s why the shrine has connections to the mainland Chamber of Commerce. Purchases related to the festival usually go through the shrine.” “…But why is the shrine called the ‘Star’?” Connie asked. The man who had just been speaking scratched his head awkwardly. “Well, it’s always been that way. I wonder why. Any of you fellows know?” “It’s got to do with when Faris was an empire, doesn’t it?” “No, it was after the empire broke up. Something about an immigrant.” “Oh, that’s right.” Connie blinked in confusion, and one of the men volunteered to explain. Originally, he said, Faris grew by invading other kingdoms and tribes. When the rebel army broke up the empire, many people fled. Some came to Soldita, and Fanoom Shrine was their port of arrival. By absorbing the culture and knowledge of these immigrants, the Republic was able to enter an age of advancement. “The sovereign at the time said it like this.” It’s not quite as bright as the moon or the sun, but like the pole star, it is always there, showing us our way forward. “From then on, the people of the island began calling the shrine the Star.” “Oh, how interesting…,” Connie said. She wondered if the Star had anything to do with Cornelia’s starry crown. She couldn’t tell from what she’d heard so far. She was lost in thought, her finger on her lips, when Randolph said her name. She looked up. His expressionless, intimidating face—shrewd or awkward, she was never sure—was staring down at her. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question so much as an announcement. Connie flinched. The truth was, she hadn’t told Randolph about the starry crown. Scarlett had sworn her to silence, saying Randolph would probably be against it, and even if he wasn’t, it would be a pain if he got involved. Connie glanced at Scarlett. Her partner in crime shook her head vigorously. “Constance?” Although his tone was comforting, for some reason it felt like she was slowly being cornered. Was she imagining things? “Uh…um, I can’t talk about it, um, in front of other people.” “Then make sure you tell me later. When we’re alone.” She wasn’t imagining things. She really was being cornered. Connie looked pleadingly up at Scarlett, but Scarlett simply turned away. Oblivious to Connie’s inner turmoil, the boat paddled placidly along. Soon it entered the Canal Grande in the center of the city. Ahead of them she saw a semicircular bridge, the famous Mezzaluna Pier. “What are those?” Connie asked. Gondolas were stopped under the bridge. Quite a lot of them, too. Each one was shaded by black awnings, so she couldn’t see inside. As she craned her neck at the strange site, one of the other passengers explained, “They’re for secret trysts. See how those shades make a kind of private room? Couples use them for illicit affairs, because no one can see who’s inside.” “S-secret trysts…?” Connie’s voice came out as a high-pitched squeak. If people conducted their illicit affairs that brazenly, the moral fabric of this island really must be questionable! “And so many of them… What shameless behavior…” “Honestly, Constance, that can’t really be what’s going on,” Randolph said. “Smart fellow,” the man noted, gripping his stomach as he laughed. So they were teasing her. “Those gondolas do get used for love affairs, but not in such conspicuous places. These ones are saving spots for the nobles. No one’s inside right now.” “Saving spots?” “Yes. Have you heard of the Muro di Luche?” The phrase sounded vaguely familiar. As Connie puzzled over it, Scarlett sighed with exasperation. “Marco told you, remember? It’s the grand finale of the masked ball, at Mezzaluna Pier.” “Oh, the firecracker show!” Connie exclaimed. “Yes.” The man nodded. “The streets are always packed during the show, and this is a prized spot for viewing. Of course, only rich merchants and nobles can afford their own private gondola.” As she listened, a question popped into Connie’s head. “Won’t someone steal the boats if they’re not guarded?” The man had said these boats were unoccupied. Gondolas were powered by people, not engines. They were probably anchored in place, but that was only to keep them from moving. If someone wanted to pull up the anchor and take the boat, they could easily do so. “The forcolas are locked,” he said simply, pointing to a form protruding from the right side of the boats, covered with a sheath. “The water around here is deep, so the oars don’t touch the bottom. When the gondoliers row, they rest their oar on that rowlock as they steer. If they didn’t, the boats would tip over. Since the forcolas—that is, the rowlocks—are custom-made, depending on the size, weight, and slant of the boats, they’re not interchangeable. Think of them as the heart of the boat. When the boats are anchored, the forcolas are covered with those special sheaths so they can’t be used. You can’t see from here, but they’re locked with keys so that if someone tries to take them off, the forcola itself would break.” “Oh, I see,” Connie murmured, impressed by all the craftsmanship involved. Just then, someone groaned in disgust. “Look, up on top of the bridge! It’s Gregorio Vecchio!” Connie looked up to see two men walking together on the bridge. One was a well-dressed man in the prime of life, and the other was wearing a cape. Unfortunately, the sun was in her eyes, so she couldn’t see their faces. “Scoping out the best spots for the show, I reckon. The other one isn’t an islander,” the man said. “Probably a new bodyguard or attendant. Staff’s always changing in that house.” As the boat approached the bridge, the two men came into focus. The well-dressed man had ivory hair like Carlo. Connie figured he must have his son’s high-strung expression as well. Suddenly, as the boat passed under the bridge, a shiver ran down her back. She looked up. Gregorio Vecchio was staring blankly down at them. He saw us. No sooner had the thought occurred to her than the boat was past the arched stone bridge. “That man had a nasty look in his eyes,” Scarlett said, glaring back at Gregorio’s quickly shrinking form. Connie agreed. She didn’t know if he’d really been looking at her, but his gaze had been terribly cold. The boat made its rounds of the piers, dropping off a passenger or two at each one. Eventually, the only ones left were Connie, Randolph, and the old woman in the ash-colored robe with the hood pulled low. “Oh, Randolph, look! There’s Santa Bea Temple. I read that, in the past, trials were held there instead of at Tharu Charitable Hospital.” The same chapter of Sena Rilifarco’s travelogue that described trial by combat had mentioned Santa Bea Temple. Connie had the book with her on the boat, and since she had nothing better to do, she was using it like a guidebook to search for historic buildings still standing. This turned out to be surprisingly entertaining. “…The Republic really is a tolerant kingdom when it comes to religion,” she mumbled, slightly taken aback. Adelbide didn’t forbid the practice of other religions, but almost all the religious sites in that country were churches dedicated to the Moirai, making this a new experience for her. Soldita was a marine republic dependent on trade and tourism. It prided itself on freedom of religion and adherence to the law. Although the country was represented by a sovereign, it was famous for having a political system that divided power between the sovereign and the Grand Council. Commoners were allowed to serve on the council, and the focus on social status was said to be less acute than in Adelbide and Faris. Maybe that explained why Marco seemed so at ease around Antonio, and Antonio could interact with Ulysses without reserve. In response to her comment about religious tolerance, Randolph nodded. “The law of the land deems religious oppression a serious crime, whatever the reason,” he explained. “I heard it was put on the books after the Faris Empire dissolved, and I’m guessing the influx of refugees whose homes were destroyed by the former empire had something to do with it. The tradition of religious freedom here is said to date back to that era.” “Yes, they even had Il Rosso guarding against religious persecution and discrimination back then, I believe,” Connie added. She had read about Il Rosso. Although the system no longer existed, in the past the private investigative force had operated under the direct control of the sovereign, gaining its name from the red capes the officers wore while on duty. It was essentially the equivalent of a modern secret service. “They were like the secret police, I suppose.” Randolph said. The old woman, who had been listening silently to their conversation up to this point, placed a finger over her mouth. “Be careful. Il Rosso don’t like to be gossiped about,” she said. “…Huh?” Connie was surprised by this sudden outburst from a passenger who until now had been silent as a stone, and equally surprised by what she said. “Wh-what? B-but I thought Il Rosso didn’t exist anymore.” “Oh, not officially. They’re an immoral entity, you see. But in these parts, Il Rosso still know everything about everyone, even babes still in diapers. They say if you do something bad, Il Rosso will come for you.” The woman cackled hoarsely. Connie couldn’t see her face behind the hood but found herself thinking of the storybook witches of her childhood. She looked tensely up at Randolph. Even he seemed to be at a loss. The strange mood persisted as the boat continued toward its island destination. Monte looked to Connie more like a gigantic rock than an island. Sheer cliffs surrounded it, and at the very top was the stone shrine. Not far from the boat landing, stairs had been cut into the cliff. On either side of the gate at the bottom of the stairs stood two guards covered from head to toe in plate armor. Each held a long spear. When the boat arrived at the landing, one of the guards walked over to it. “Visitor’s permit,” he barked. Connie pulled a rolled-up letter from her purse and handed it to the armored guard. Because Fanoom Shrine was a religious site, tourist visits were generally forbidden. Those with a strong desire to see it had to apply in advance, and only those who passed a strict screening received permission. “You may enter,” the guard said after checking the form. He then opened the gate. Connie was about to start climbing the stairs when she had an urge to look behind her. The boat was still there, but the old woman had vanished. The stone stairs were steeper than Connie had realized. With each step upward, the meeting point of the deep blue sky and the ultramarine ocean blurred. By the time she’d reached the top, she was panting. She planted her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath. “Constance, I’d like to continue our earlier conversation,” Randolph said. He must be built differently from her, because his breathing was as calm as always. “Our earlier c-conversation?” “Yes, we were talking on the boat about the Star. What are you hiding? No one else is here, so you should feel at ease to speak.” “Um, well, it’s just…” She glanced around nervously, searching for Scarlett. For some reason, the other girl was nowhere to be seen. She must have wandered off somewhere. “Constance,” Randolph said in a terribly calm voice. Connie knew in her bones that this calmness was more frightening than any outward fury. “Did you know there’s a place selling skewered giant clams near the pier by the church?” What did that have to do with anything? “Skewered…clams?” “Yes. I hear they use the morning’s haul, so it’s extremely fresh. And the sauce is supposed to be outstanding.” “Fresh clams…and outstanding sauce…?” “Yes. And at the fountain plaza, they sell fried bite-sized pieces of whitefish marinated in herbs, and bread stuffed with cream and fruit.” “Fish…and bread…?” Randolph nodded solemnly. “Of course, there’s also the gelato at the White Rose,” he added. Connie was at a loss for words. “Would you like to try some of those things?” “O-of course I would…!” She clenched her fists and nodded. Randolph frowned sadly. “Ah, but I don’t know what to do. I’m so worried about whatever you’re hiding that I don’t feel much like going out myself. I think I’ll feel up to it once my mind’s at ease, though.” It would take someone quite extraordinary indeed to keep silent in the face of such an anxious expression. “I see, so she’s searching for Cornelia Faris’s starry crown.” “I can’t believe you let him seduce you with an offer of food!” Scarlett fumed, her fists trembling in fury. Connie had given up the information with little resistance. But since Scarlett had been missing at the critical moment, she couldn’t very well blame Connie. “By the way, the Duke and Duchess Fargo seem very knowledgeable about history,” said Randolph. “Shall we ask them about it when we return?” Connie gave him a puzzled look. According to Lady Aliénore, Cornelia’s starry crown gave its possessor the power to “lay hold of the world.” She hadn’t expected Randolph to like that idea very much, and now she felt almost let down. The thought must have shown on her face, because Randolph shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll have any problems this time,” he said. “What? How do you know that?” “What could be dangerous about something a mother wants to give her daughter?” “…Maybe you’re right.” He did have a point. Even Scarlett was peering at him in surprise. “Is that why you wanted to visit the shrine?” he asked. She shook her head. “I did wonder if we’d find a clue of some sort here. But mostly I wanted to see where Lady Aliénore grew up.” Fanoom Shrine had taken Aliénore in after both her parents died in an epidemic. “Also, Sir Adolphus himself requested that I come.” She stroked the small glass bottle in her purse. She still corresponded regularly with the extraordinarily handsome middle-aged duke and had told him quite a while back about her plans to visit El Sol. That was when he had entrusted her with Aliénore’s ashes. He seemed to regret that he had never allowed his wife to visit her native island. In a letter he sent Connie before her departure, he asked her to “give my greetings to Lady Berta, the head priestess.” That, apparently, was the name of the woman who had taken on the role of Aliénore’s mother. The limestone shrine was forbidding. A dense grove of trees surrounded it, so that Connie felt she was in the middle of a forest. Pale purple flowers waved like ears of rice beside the path. “Lemon trees!” Scarlett exclaimed suddenly. Ahead of them was a cluster of trees with glossy green leaves. “Lemon trees?” “Yes. They bear fruit from winter to spring, I think. My mother loved lemonade. And she said she often played in the forest.” “Really? Randolph, would it be all right if we walked around here?” “Yes, you’ve still got some time before your appointment, so I don’t think a little detour would hurt.” They had arranged a tour of the shrine, but since they weren’t yet familiar with the taxi system, they’d taken an early boat. “My mother said she was good at climbing trees. Although once she tussled with a sea eagle that had claimed this area as its territory, and she fell. Luckily, she got caught in the branches and wasn’t badly hurt. I wonder if that was the tree.” “It sounds like Aliénore was a surprisingly wild little girl…,” Connie said. Hadn’t Scarlett said her mother once punched the Duke of Castiel? Connie frowned nervously, but Scarlett was smiling. As they walked on, Randolph suddenly muttered, “There’s something here.” Connie followed his gaze and saw a stone marker hidden among the trees. “…A gravestone?” It did look like someone’s grave. As she walked toward the sun-dappled granite marker, she saw that the words “Sena Rilifarco” were engraved on it. “I can’t believe it,” she blurted out. “It says Sena Rilifarco.” Unless there was another person with the exact same name, this was the grave of the man who had written her travelogue. “Didn’t the man on the boat say that a merchant built this shrine?” Scarlett pointed out. “But it’s such an odd coincidence…” Just then, someone called to them. “Are you lost?” Connie froze. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the old woman with the hood standing in the woods. Randolph’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Aren’t you the woman who…” “…was on the boat?” Connie asked, finishing his sentence. The woman’s small form and hoarse voice were unmistakable. “You can’t possibly be acquaintances of the man in that grave, can you?” “What?” “I know you heard me. See the name written on the gravestone? Sena Rilifarco. He was an upstart—a very wealthy merchant who brought the sovereign rare goods from foreign lands. The fellows on that boat said he was like a saint who gave his own money to build this shrine, but in fact the opposite is true. It was all an act to stop people from hating him for making too much money.” Connie blinked in surprise. According to the men on the boat, Sena Rilifarco was a pious and good man, but now she wasn’t so sure. “…Why is his grave out here?” Randolph asked, glancing around. They were deep in the woods without so much as a paved road nearby. No one would find this place unless they were lost. “It was his dying wish. Perhaps he didn’t want anyone to visit his grave,” the woman said. Connie tilted her head in confusion, and the woman laughed sarcastically. “Legend has it Sena Rilifarco was an awful misanthrope. He was single his whole life, of course. After his death, the kingdom confiscated most of his huge fortune, but some was transferred to his apprentices, as his will instructed. This shrine was among the things the apprentices got.” “You’re very knowledgeable on the subject.” “That’s because I’m a descendent of one of the apprentices.” The old woman turned toward Randolph and Connie. “We haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? I’m Berta Neuen.” She pushed her hood back, releasing a long ponytail of black hair. A pair of intense, dark brown eyes pierced Connie. The woman’s exposed face was quite a bit younger—and more beautiful—than Connie had expected. She remembered Adolphus’s letter. Give my greetings to Lady Berta. “Are you Aliénore’s…?” Connie began. But that would make her close to fifty, and she didn’t look anywhere near that age. True, she acted like an older woman, but her features were firm, without any sign of wrinkles or age spots. This ageless beauty was just another way she was like a witch. Berta narrowed her eyes slightly at Connie’s unfinished question. “…I did once take in a child whose parents had died. It was decades ago. I have nothing to do with her anymore.” Her words didn’t give Connie much to work with. Maybe this wasn’t Aliénore’s surrogate mother after all. She was uncertain, but she forged ahead anyway. “Um, actually, I have been entrusted by the Duke of Castiel with her ashes.” Berta frowned crossly and clicked her tongue. “What an obstinate boy he is.” “O-obstinate…?” “It’s been over ten years since he first wrote to me saying he wanted to send Aliénore’s ashes. Of course I said no. But no matter how many times I turned him down, he kept on sending the same letter like nothing had happened.”
Chapter 64
26 min read