Chapter 72

There was a demon in the house. A real, live demon. When Antonio heard that his father and their guest Randolph had returned from Cyon Port, he came downstairs and walked straight into a bloodcurdling battlefield. “—Say that again, Lucia.” Randolph’s face was terrifying to start with, and now it was lined with bulging blue veins. A terrifying aura emanated from his person, brutal enough to make the fiercest fiend flee. But despite being menaced by this emperor of evil’s chillingly low voice, the angel with feathery honey-colored hair and eyes like blue lakes seemed completely unfazed. “I’ll tell you as many times as you like,” Lucia said. “An unavoidable errand came up, and Miss Connie left the house.” The angel smiled pleasantly as she poured oil on the fire. Her bravery and skill sent rivers of cold sweat down Antonio’s back. “…And what exactly was this unavoidable errand?” “I believe she said she was going to get the freight back.” “The freight, you say?” Randolph asked, his eyebrows flying up. A black haze seemed to materialize behind him, elevating him from demon to demon king. Antonio yelped. “Oh, I mean the firecrackers.” “I know. What I mean is, the freight has already been transported off the island.” “No, it seems it’s still here.” “…Did Constance say that?” “No, Miss Constance was surprised to hear it.” Antonio was bewildered. Who could have told Constance Grail such a thing? She had been alone in the drawing room at the time. But Randolph didn’t seem to find this strange and instead heaved a very long sigh. “…How long ago did she leave? And did she say where she was going?” He seemed to have scrubbed all emotion from his low voice as he rubbed his temples tiredly. “She left about half an hour ago. She didn’t say where she was going. I understand why you’re worried, Mr. Randolph, but I’m sure she’ll be fine. After all, she has the divine protection of a goddess.” “I think you mean an evil spirit,” the demon said, his eyes half-closed. The angel laughed her usual tinkling laugh. “And so we decided that I would take her place in the trial!” she announced proudly. “Out of the question.” For once, Antonio agreed with the demon. But Lucia just blinked at him, puzzled. “Why?” “Because you’re still a child.” “Abby told me it’s poor manners to speak of a lady’s age.” “…Let me rephrase that. It’s too dangerous.” Antonio didn’t know who Abby was, but she seemed to have the demon’s respect. Still, Lucia didn’t seem put off by the mention of danger. To the contrary, she dove further into the conversation. “Do you mean because Carlo’s father is working with Daeg Gallus?” Randolph didn’t answer, but his silence was answer enough. Predictably, a lovely smile crossed Lucia’s face. “In that case, I think it’s even more important that I take part in the trial. Gregorio will probably be there.” “How do you know that?” “It seems he wants the gondola back. We are to bring it to the trial today, aren’t we?” “The gondola?” Randolph frowned. “Why, yes, that’s what she said. Though I’m sorry, I don’t know the reason.” There was silence as Randolph considered this. After a moment, he let out a resigned sigh. “…Fine. I’ll attend the trial. You stay here.” This was probably his idea of a compromise. But Lucia shook her head. “I can’t agree,” she said. “Lucia, this is not a game. We are dealing with a highly dangerous man—a man who would not hesitate to commit murder.” Lucia did not so much as flinch at his harsh words. “That’s exactly why I insist,” she said, her unclouded eyes looking straight into Randolph’s. “Gregorio is a very bad man, yes? But the reason he has not yet been arrested is that there is no evidence against him. I think using the trial to bushwhack him will be the most effective.” “Bushwhack…?” Antonio mumbled. He’d never heard that word before. Maybe it was something people in Adelbide said. Lucia must have heard him and offered an explanation. “It means to make a sneak attack. It’s Rudy’s specialty.” “A sneak attack, eh?” Randolph echoed. Antonio was shivering at the unsettling words coming from her angelic mouth. Who was this suspicious stranger who specialized in sneak attacks? Rudy sounded like a man’s name—like the kind of hooligan who would take off in a stolen gondola. Was innocent little Lucia being hoodwinked by him? Randolph continued with the same severe expression. “Even so, it needn’t be you who does it.” “It’s what they call process of elimination,” she answered. “You are an investigator in Adelbide. If Abby were here, she’d say that if you start cracking down on crimes in other countries, you’ll start a turf war.” Antonio was lost again. A turf war? But there wasn’t much grass on El Sol… “If Mr. Antonio goes, it will pointlessly provoke Gregorio’s enmity. Uly is beyond considering. That leaves me as the only choice.” Randolph looked at the daintily smiling child and pressed a hand to his forehead like he had a headache. “…I can see now why Aldous Clayton kept reminding me to look after you.” “I wish Rudy would stop treating me like a baby! Can’t he see I’m a proper lady now?!” Lucia puffed her cheeks out in irritation. “I can see your point,” Randolph admitted. “But I still can’t let you go. I’ll find someone else to represent Connie.” As the girl pouted, Antonio heard someone near the door say in a soft voice, “Lieutenant Commander Ulster?” Antonio turned around and saw it was Ulysses. He was supposed to be in bed, but he must have been feeling better. Antonio was relieved to see that the color had returned to his face. A faint smile played over Ulysses’s delicate, feminine features. “Gregorio was brazen enough to use his own merchant ship to commit a crime, wasn’t he? I think sending a child to oppose him would be a good way to bring down his guard.” “Your Highness,” Randolph said reprovingly. “Did you hear the conversation just now? He wants the Vecchio gondola back, it seems. If that’s true, then there’s a good chance he’ll use violence to seize it, regardless of the trial’s outcome. I cannot place Lucia in the line of fire in such a dangerous situation.” “Ah,” Ulysses mumbled to himself. Then he narrowed his violet eyes and smiled mischievously. “Then I’ll go with her. That will give us a reason to bring guards.” “Uly!” Lucia cried, throwing her arms around him in gratitude. Randolph watched with a sour face. “Your Highness, please remember your position,” he admonished. “I do. As you know, I’m no longer in line to inherit the crown, and I believe it is the job of the royal family to protect our subjects.” “Your subjects live in a different kingdom.” “Then let’s say I’m buying myself some favors from the O’Brians,” he joked. Lucia’s hand shot into the air. “You shall have them!” she said pertly. Then, seeming to realize the implications of this, she looked down despondently and added, “…Or, you shall have them once I’ve made my way in the world.” Ulysses blinked in surprise, then giggled. Unlike the grown-up smile of a moment before, this carefree expression better suited his age. “I’m only joking. I already owe you more than I can ever pay back, Lucia. For that reason, Lieutenant Commander, will you please let me join her?” The crease between Randolph’s brows deepened. “Oh, I have an idea!” Lucia cried. “You can help, too, Mr. Randolph!” “I thought you just said I couldn’t.” Antonio had been thinking the same thing. Didn’t she say he shouldn’t get involved because he would start a “turf war”? She giggled, covered her mouth, and then said with odd excitement, “I have the perfect strategy! I was planning to ask Lord Basilio for his help, but you’re a much better fit for the job, Mr. Randolph!” “…I have a very bad feeling about this,” he said. “Can I ask who devised this strategy of yours?” Lucia’s expression brightened. Looking up at Randolph with sparkling eyes, she began, “Why, of course it was Sc—” “I see,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry I asked.” At the arrival of the head priestess, the guards lowered their spears. They each placed a hand on their chest, bowed slightly, and returned to their stations. Berta rolled her shoulders irritably and looked Connie in the eye before gesturing to the stone stairs with her chin. Apparently, Connie was to go up. Scarlett, still occupying Connie’s body, snorted with dissatisfaction. Connie knew how much she hated to be told what to do, but right now she wasn’t gorgeous, sexy Scarlett Castiel—she was plain old Constance Grail, so Connie wished she would act a little more restrained. Connie was beside herself as they climbed the endless stairs. The reason, of course, was Scarlett’s comment by the gate. Sena Rilifarco was Cornelia Faris? What in the world could she mean? “And how, may I ask, did you get such a ridiculous idea into your head?” Berta said, having reached the top of the stairs before Scarlett. “It may be ridiculous, but it’s true, isn’t it?” Scarlett asked confidently. “Then what about Sylvia Latué?” In a corner of her mind, Connie whispered, Oh! Sylvia Latué was the blind saint who had married the son of the sovereign. It was an open secret that she had been an imperial princess in the country she fled. “You must know Aliénore was descended from Sylvia,” Berta went on. Connie didn’t just know that—she had heard it from Aliénore’s daughter herself. “Yes,” Scarlett agreed. Apparently, she didn’t intend to deny that Sylvia was Cornelia. “But wasn’t Sylvia supposed to be frail? And hardly ever seen in public? Who would know if she lived a double life? Traveling throughout the kingdom, for instance.” Like Sena Rilifarco, who was constantly making his way to one place or another. Berta scowled like the very idea was absurd. “Cornelia was the sole surviving member of the imperial family, and thus a target of the new regime,” she said. “That was why she used illness as a pretext to withdraw from the world. Why would she go out of her way to put herself at risk?” “Well then, why did the Republic of Soldita put itself at risk by taking in Cornelia Faris? Considering the gap in power between the two countries at the time, Soldita would logically want to avoid making an enemy of a superpower like Faris.” “I suppose because the son of the sovereign fell in love with Cornelia while she was studying abroad.” “That’s a poor joke,” Scarlett replied, snorting and narrowing her eyes. “During the war, Soldita declared itself neutral, but the situation was a tinderbox waiting to explode. And back then, Soldita was a small, undeveloped republic with no political power.” “…So?” “So it made an alliance.” “With a teenage girl?” “Of course not. With Adelbide.” Berta’s face went blank. “At the time, Adelbide had just proclaimed its independence from the Principality of East Faris. Everyone knew full well it would lead to war, and they were monitoring movements in Faris. If the worst came to pass, Cornelia Faris’s bloodline could serve as a trump card. But harboring her in Adelbide itself would be too great a risk. So they made a proposition to Soldita, most likely on the condition that they would defend the smaller country if problems arose. The fact that Soldita was an island made hiding her even easier.” Scarlett was reeling this off as smoothly as if she’d seen it happen herself. “Several decades ago, Faris got wind that a direct descendent of Cornelia was in Soldita and appeared ready to intervene. Shortly after that, because of a secret promise made hundreds of years earlier, Aliénore was married off in Adelbide.” “…Has anyone ever told you that you have a very vivid imagination?” “No, but I do have a reputation for great intuition. Incidentally, Percival Grail was likely key in securing her asylum.” Connie was in shock. Percival Grail had something to do with Cornelia Faris? Had she been in control of her body, she would have surely yelped in surprise. For Connie, this was a momentous revelation, but Berta seemed uninterested. She tilted her head slightly. “I’m not all that familiar with Adelbide’s history, but didn’t he make a mark in the Ten Years’ War and receive his title for it? I’m sorry to tell you, but by then, Cornelia Faris had long fled her native kingdom.” “How am I supposed to know what was happening back then? We’re not talking about the sort of thing a person gets public recognition for. But I know there was some link between the two of them. Otherwise, Cornelia Faris would never have given a book to an upstart from Adelbide.” “He probably came across it by chance. But before we get to any of that,” Berta said, narrowing her eyes. “What’s your proof that Sena Rilifarco was Cornelia Faris?” “Oh, that?” Scarlett shrugged casually. “If you rearrange the letters in Sena Rilifarco, you get Cornelia Faris.” “What…?” “She really did love wordplay. But I can’t understand why she would want to expose her identity like that. What could she have been thinking?” Berta stared in bewilderment, perhaps because she hadn’t expected such an answer. Finally, she gave a deflated sigh and said, “She probably wasn’t thinking anything.” Scarlett brought her hand to her mouth and sneered. “So you admit that I’m right?” “I’d like to point out that I never once said you were wrong.” At these blunt words, Scarlett’s conceited expression turned to displeasure. “…You’re quibbling.” Berta shrugged, and Scarlett continued sourly. “And what do you mean, she wasn’t thinking anything?” “Well, the only way we can know about someone long dead is to read through old documents—and the one thing I know about Cornelia Faris is that she was the greediest woman I’ve ever heard of.” “Greedy?” “Yes indeed. After all, she gave up her home, her name, and her entire life just so she could keep on living.” Berta spoke fluidly, like she had explained this many times before. “I’ve studied a little history, you see. There was a time when I was looking into Cornelia’s story… As you say, Adelbide took the lead in Cornelia Faris’s search for asylum. But it seems that she herself was the one who negotiated with the sovereign of Soldita. She had the knowledge, conduct, and courage befitting a member of the imperial family. She used those as her weapons when promoting herself.” Connie sensed Cornelia’s indomitable spirit in the words “promoting herself.” “She vowed to devote herself to the Republic, and in exchange asked for eternal protection for herself and her descendants.” It was an absurd request to bring to the table, but it reminded Connie of a certain someone she knew. “And true to her word, she seems to have been one of the most outstanding members of Il Rosso. But though she promised to serve the Republic, everything she did was to reach her own goal.” “What goal?” “You said it yourself. If you have a complaint, tell it to Cornelia Faris.” “…What do you mean?” “Aliénore used to say the same thing. She said she learned it from her mother. Listen to me. Cornelia Faris was a chillingly intelligent woman. And greedy, too, and unbelievably egotistical.” Just like someone I know, Connie thought. “And though she knew better than anyone the horror of the bloodline of the starry crown, she was cold-hearted enough to pass that fate on to the next generation without a second thought.” Berta laughed cynically. “You think a woman like that would leave behind a family motto with no meaning?” “This shrine is a stronghold, isn’t it,” Scarlett said, her expression changing from suspicion to realization. Berta gave a small nod and said hatefully, “Cornelia Faris spent her life completing this shrine.” Connie guessed this meant more than simply buying the land and building the structures. “Freedom of religion and adherence to the law. As you probably know, those are both core principles of this Republic.” “Yes.” “They were part of the culture here to start with, but it was Cornelia’s great achievement to formalize them to the extent you see now. As a member of Il Rosso, she cracked down on oppressors, made every effort to improve the laws, and ultimately turned a simple religious site into a legally inviolable stronghold. You saw it in action when I turned away Gregorio’s henchmen earlier.” Connie recalled what Berta had said. If the shrine deemed someone a persecutor, it was permitted to use violence to defend itself. Berta looked up at the white shrine towering above them on the cliff. “This is holy ground, you see.” A place to protect children who might one day be forced to shoulder a cruel fate. Cornelia Faris used Soldita itself to achieve that end, Berta said. “Even the most timid of birds can soar freely so long as it has a nest to return to. That is the meaning of the family motto.” If you have a complaint, tell it to Cornelia Faris. “The truth is, neither sovereign nor criminal kingpin can easily interfere with this place. After all, it’s shrouded in a veil of awe cultivated over centuries.” “…Much like a certain family’s tradition of sincerity,” Scarlett muttered. Berta didn’t hear her. “But it’s strange,” Berta added. “To me, this place looks more like a cage.” “…A cage?” Scarlett asked. “Yes. Or if not that, then a curse binding Cornelia’s descendants.” The priestess smiled, but her expression was clouded. As Connie wondered what this meant, Scarlett said to her, “I don’t like when things get gloomy,” and slipped out of her body. “Come in. I’ll get you a cup of tea at least.” “…No, I should be going.” Connie let out a long breath and shook her head. She looked up. It was already twilight. The round evening sun tinted the sky red as it sank slowly toward the sea. She probably wouldn’t make it back in time for the trial. Still, before the decision was handed down—no, as soon as humanly possible—she wanted to retrieve the firecrackers. “Lady Berta.” Connie looked straight into Berta’s dark brown eyes. “Thank you for saving me.” As she bowed her head, she heard an irritated sigh. “How do you intend to return? The men who followed you here are surely waiting near the entrance.” “Oh…” “I suppose it can’t be helped. Follow me.” Clearly annoyed, Berta gestured for Connie to follow and brought her to the back side of the shrine. The cliff here was so sheer, a single misstep would have sent Connie plunging headfirst into the ocean. Looking toward it, she glimpsed a steel ladder between the trees. It was simply made, fastened slipshod to the roughly hewn rock face, and barely wide enough for one person. She looked down; cold wind blew up at her. The ladder looked like it led all the way to the ocean. Of course, falling would mean instant death. The blood drained from Connie’s face at the dizzying view. “Do you know why she designed such a conspicuous front gate and posted armed guards there?” Berta asked as Connie stood rooted to the spot. “To make it easier to escape in an emergency.” She explained that the bay at the bottom of this ladder was on the opposite side of the island from the front gate, and there was a cave nearby with an emergency boat waiting inside. “I’ll feel bad if anything happens to you. Take the boat.” Berta extended her palm. Connie laughed dryly, withdrew a few coins from her purse, and put them in Berta’s hand. Then, more to make her own feet move than anything else, she whispered, “I—I guess I have no choice.” There was no other way out. She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. Then, shaking like a newborn fawn, she put one foot hesitantly on the ladder. Rung by rung, not looking down, she descended until finally she reached solid ground. As Berta had promised, there was a cave by the shore. In it was something long and narrow, covered in black cloth. When she peeled the cloth back, a time-worn rowboat appeared. “This is…,” Connie began. Scarlett frowned. “Can you manage this thing? I think the pedal boat would be—” “No, this is perfect…!” Connie declared. The boat was neatly symmetrical, not like a gondola with a wider left gunwale. Connie rowed boats like this every summer in the Grail domain. “In fact, I’ve been called Constance the Swan…!” “Are you sure they didn’t mean to say duckling?” Incomprehensible. Regardless of her spiteful remarks, Scarlett was taken by surprise once the other girl began rowing. Connie looked back at Scarlett and laughed proudly but nearly rowed straight into some rocks when she did. “Eeek…!” she yelped, hurriedly reversing course. “Look where you’re going! Didn’t Randolph Ulster tell you not to get distracted by the scenery?!” Connie finally made it back to El Sol just before the sun set. She tied up the boat on a nearly empty side canal off the high street. She’d wanted to go straight to Mezzaluna Pier, but the men following her knew she was traveling by boat. The canals were probably being watched, so she decided to walk to the bridge instead. Though the sky grew darker as she walked, lanterns hung at even intervals along the streets, the stalls were bustling with people, and the crowds showed no sign of thinning. Peering around cautiously, Connie passed through Mille Street and caught sight of the bridge shaped like a half moon. A rope was hung across the road to keep people out, but it wasn’t guarded, so she slipped under it. Grabbing the railing, she inspected the canal underneath. Maybe because the event had been canceled so suddenly, quite a few gondolas were still bobbing on the water. Gregorio Vecchio’s gondola must have been among them, but of course, she had no idea which one it was. Almost none of the gondolas had crests, presumably because they were meant for incognito excursions. She had no idea what to do. As she racked her brain, Scarlett pointed to one of the boats. “I’m sure it’s that one.” “…Huh?” Her slender finger was pointing to a black gondola anchored near the center of the canal. “H-how do you know…?!” Connie blurted out. “All the boats are about the same size, but that one isn’t rocking in the wind. That means it must have something very heavy in it.” Connie gaped at her. “Close that stupid-looking mouth of yours,” Scarlett scolded her. Connie clapped a hand over her mouth. “But what should we do now…?” The freight was on the water. There weren’t any boats nearby that looked usable. “Do you think we should swim?” she asked. “You idiot. Even if we managed to get near, how would we carry the freight?” “Oh, right…” “Also, I’m sure they have a lookout posted. They’ll spot us if we do anything stupid.” That would be a shame, after they’d made it so far. Connie bit her lip. If they didn’t put an end to this here, more people might get hurt. Gradually, her sadness boiled over into anger. In fact, if it weren’t for this situation, everyone would be having a good time at the festival right now! And yet— As she clenched her fists, Scarlett called out to her. “Hey, Connie.” Her jewel-like eyes sparkled with amusement. Connie had a bad feeling about that look, and it wasn’t baseless speculation—it came from cold, hard experience. “Daeg Gallus wants those firecrackers, right?” Connie nodded, breaking out in a cold sweat at the ominous power in Scarlett’s voice. What she said was true. Daeg Gallus had killed innocent people and sunk a ship for the freight on that boat. The flames of the watchfire atop the bridge suddenly flickered in the wind. Scarlett’s amethyst eyes caught the red glow of the flames. She smiled her most seductive smile and spoke a line befitting an infamous villain. “Then let’s make sure they never get the chance to use them.” Ugh, I hate this place. Carlo Vecchio grimaced at the pompous atmosphere of the courtroom. He felt restless and nervous, as if something were crawling around in the pit of his stomach. It was an ominous feeling, as if he’d accidentally stepped into a hole someone had randomly dug by the side of the road and now he was plunging toward an abyss. His luck had been off since morning. He’d had a hell of a time peeling the boiled egg he was served at breakfast, and there was a crack in his favorite teacup. The moment he stepped out of the mansion, his shoelace tore, a bird shit on him, and a black cat sitting on top of a garden wall raised the fur on its back and hissed when he walked past. Days like this typically did not go well. The courtroom was in the former auditorium of the charitable hospital. Its height spanned multiple stories, with a round skylight in the ceiling and tapestries of the sun and moon hanging on the wall. Through the glass overhead, Carlo could see stars shining in the night sky. Long tables were set to the right and left of the judge’s bench. Carlo was seated at the plaintiff’s table, which was on the left if you were facing the judge. Needless to say, Gregorio was next to him. Probably because it was Carnival, there were hardly any spectators in the courtroom. Most of the people there had some connection to the case. Toward the back, Carlo saw Antonio Fargo, his frivolous-looking servant, and a boy with blond hair and blue eyes. The boy had a breathtakingly delicate, handsome face. Several guards were nearby, evidently protecting the boy. Sprawled rudely in the front row, and looking very much like they had something to hide, were Giacomo and Tomas—two henchmen Gregorio had trained from a young age. Donatello, who was sitting on the raised judge’s bench, banged his wooden gavel. Court was now in session. “Representatives, come forward,” he ordered. But it was not the impudent, plain girl with the pale green eyes who rose from the defendant’s table. Instead, it was a child with honey-colored hair and rosy lips. Her face, as pretty as a porcelain doll’s, was still childish, as sweet and innocent as a flower bud. “You must be Constance Grail’s representative. Your name?” “Lucia O’Brian.” She did not shrink from this room full of adults, but instead answered in a voice as dainty as a silver bell. Even Carlo, who hated children, was charmed. However, he knew well that there were people in the world who could not be moved even by such sweetness. “You’re telling me to argue my case to this child?” The mocking voice was coming from immediately beside him. Carlo shrank back as quickly as if cold water had been poured down his back. “Obviously that Gale girl or Rail girl or whatever her name is has no common sense. If she did, she wouldn’t have stolen someone else’s property to start with. I suppose I wasted my time hoping for more. You’ve brought my gondola, I hope?” The girl called Lucia seemed unmoved by Gregorio’s overbearing tone. “Of course I have!” she answered pertly. Gregorio stroked his chin in satisfaction. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m a busy man. Let’s get down to business. Carlo, stand up.” Carlo rose slowly. The second he did, pain shot through his instep. He grimaced. “See that, Judge? My son’s cheeks are hollow, and he’s got black circles under his eyes. He’s so terrified he can’t sleep at night. I checked the records from the trial by combat, and that—sorry, what was her name?” “Constance Grail, Gregorio Vecchio.” “Yes, that’s it. Miss Grail’s statements clearly crossed a line. What she did was an act of violence.” Without raising an eyebrow, the white-haired judge shifted his gaze to Lucia. “Do you have a counterargument?” The little girl tilted her head slightly before asking Gregorio, “Is the person Mr. Carlo is afraid of really Miss Connie?” “What did you say?” Her clear blue eyes kept peering at Gregorio, unintimidated by his threatening attitude. “To me, it seems like he is afraid of you, not of Miss Connie.” “Wha—” Gregorio was shocked into silence—but only for a second. Then anger flushed his face and he made to speak, but Lucia ignored him and turned to Carlo. “Mr. Carlo, how did you get those bruises around your eyes? And you seem to have injured your foot as well. It looked very painful when you stood up.” “He fell because he was tired from not sleeping. Didn’t you, Carlo?” Gregorio answered. There was finality in his voice. Carlo took a breath, pushing down the emotions surging inside him. “…Yes, Father.” Carlo wasn’t as shocked as he might have been. Anyway, he’d known it from the start… …this wasn’t going to be a good day. “My son agrees that while he would like to sue for hospital fees, he was partially to blame for the incident, given how it came about. That’s why we are asking only for the return of the gondola.” “Wouldn’t an apology do?” the girl asked very quietly. “What?” “If you’re truly doing this for Carlo, isn’t an apology from Miss Grail—the one you say hurt him—what he really needs?” “Excuse me?” “You seem very angry right now, Mr. Gregorio. But I don’t think you’re angry because Carlo has been hurt. Why do you want the gondola back so badly?” Gregorio stiffened, then clicked his tongue in irritation. The sound was surprisingly loud, and Donatello narrowed his eyes at this disrespectful behavior in his sacred court. “Gregorio Vecchio, answer the defendant’s question. Is there some reason?” “Well, it’s…” He floundered briefly before pasting a cunning smile on his face. “Because it was unjustly stolen from us, of course. Miss Grail is no different from a highway robber. We must right this wrong. Honorable Judge, you know I’m doing this for the sake of my injured son, don’t you?” Lucia interrupted. “I’d like to hear what Carlo thinks.” “It doesn’t matter what he thinks!” Gregorio shouted. He must have responded on reflex. A guilty expression quickly appeared on his face as silence fell over the courtroom. “If you’re saying you’re here to right a wrong,” said Lucia, breaking the lull, “then you’re the one who should be on trial, Mr. Gregorio.” She had a willfulness in her eyes far beyond her years. “Your Honor…this sudden outburst is obviously in contempt of court,” Gregorio objected, looking stunned. The voice that answered him was terribly calm. “I can see their hands,” Lucia said, staring straight at Gregorio. “There are so many of them. Mr. Gregorio, you’ve done a lot of things in your life to make people hate you.” “…What are you talking about?” he asked, confused. The girl closed her eyes and acted like she was listening to something. “Tonino,” she suddenly whispered. It was a person’s name. Without context, the word set the courtroom on edge. “Ricardo, Diego, Giovanni.” Yes, these were names, clearly. Carlo was wondering what the girl was up to when it suddenly hit him. They were the names of the ship’s crew. “Angelo, Giulliano—” She was reciting the names of the men who had been aboard the merchant ship when it sank the other day. Carlo had met these men occasionally through the Vecchio family business and was familiar with most of their names. But how did this girl know them? “They’re crying that their throats burn.” Gregorio gasped. Carlo didn’t understand what she meant. The boat had sunk, which meant the crew had surely died from drowning. “Y-Your Honor! This child is crazy!” Gregorio screeched. “What she’s just recited are the names of men who worked at my company and who died in the recent shipwreck! This profaning of the dead must not be tolerated! I, at least, will not stand for it! Giacomo! Tomas! Throw this repugnant child out of the court!” He turned to face the spectator seating and pointed in a frenzy at his henchmen. Giacomo and Tomas stood up. Lucia’s eyes widened. At that very moment, the courtroom door flew open, and a man walked slowly in. “What…?” A mask covered the man’s face. His military boots slapped the floor as he strode confidently between the spectators. Everyone in the room was struck silent. Even Judge Donatello appeared frozen in shock. The masked man was wearing a cloak as red as blood. Could it really be— “Il Rosso…?” Tomas murmured in amazement. Carlo thought he sounded idiotic, but the very same question was occupying his own mind. The pitch-black mask that brought to mind the grim reaper. The red hood that fell low over the man’s face. The well-proportioned body, evident even beneath the cloak, and the overbearing aura that seemed to say, I’ll cut you down if you come too close. Tension ran through the court, and Carlo gulped. Giacomo snorted theatrically. “You fool, Tomas. That’s no more than a story to scare children.” “B-but look at his clothing!” “A costume, no more. They sell them at the night market.” He was right—Il Rosso didn’t exist anymore. But then who was this man? The mask hid his expression, but there was something weird about him, as if ominous black flames were rising from his whole body. “Giacomo Conte, Tomas Bonato.” The man’s voice was flat and completely emotionless. “He knows our names…!” Tomas exclaimed, clearly upset. “The boss just said them!” Giacomo snapped. Right. Gregorio had said their names, and the man must have heard him. Wait, no. Carlo’s face twitched. His father had said only their first names. So how did the man know their last names? Cold sweat trickled down Carlo’s cheek. “Giacomo, you have twice inflicted bodily injury on persons in the Anselm District slum. Tomas, you committed theft at a jeweler’s shop on Regalo Street.” It must have been true, because not only Tomas but Giacomo, too, turned white. “What of it? What’s that got to do with this?” Giacomo shouted, evidently trying to hide his fear. When the man answered, his voice was as cold as a steel knife held to the men’s necks. “I know what you’ve done.” A chill ran down Carlo’s back. Every Solditan had heard that famous line at least once. It was the stock phrase of Il Rosso, the one they used in puppet shows at festivals. You didn’t have to be a real Il Rosso to say it. But the domineering aura of the masked man made it impossible for Carlo to brush it off as a bad joke. It seemed Tomas could no longer handle the pressure. In a voice close to tears, he shouted, “I was just following orders!” “Hey, Tomas…!” The muscles in Giacomo’s face tensed. “Master Gregorio told me to do it!” Tomas continued. “He told us to take the firecrackers on the merchant ship to Mezzaluna Pier! We planned to move them again as soon as the men from the Maritime Bureau stopped hanging around! We never imagined the gondola with the hidden key would be taken to the Fargo residence!” The hand of the clerk recording his statement froze. He looked at the judge. “Gregorio Vecchio,” the masked man said, taking a step forward. “You know a man by the name of Roberto Forte at the Chamber of Commerce, I believe? He confessed everything.” The next instant, Gregorio took off running like a frightened hare. But the masked man must have been expecting this, because he cut off Gregorio’s path, grabbed his hands, and twisted his wrists outward, with the thumbs pointing down. Gregorio screamed in pain. Ignoring him, the man brought him to his knees and tied his hands with practiced motions. Giacomo and Tomas tried to run, too, but the guards sitting with the spectators easily caught them. As Carlo stared in astonishment, he heard the boys in the back talking. “I’m glad they fessed up so quick. I knew Lucia could do it. The clerk wrote it all down, and the judge is a witness. I’m sure he’ll be prosecuted right away.” “The demon king is so scary!” Carlo was certain he’d be arrested next, but for some reason he wasn’t. The man in the red cloak removed his mask in front of the judge’s bench and, still looking dour, apologized to Donatello. “I’m sorry for causing a disturbance in your court.” “I was told in advance that a witness would be coming. Although I must admit I didn’t expect a member of Il Rosso to appear.” Carlo recognized the man’s sharp eyes. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the same man who had been with that obnoxious young woman Constance Grail. In other words— They’d been set up. Carlo sighed. So his premonition had been right. This had been a truly bad day. But for some reason, he felt like a weight that had been crushing his heart for a long time had grown somewhat lighter. Embarrassed, he looked up at the ceiling. Beyond the round skylight, a star like a crown shone a little brighter than the others, as if guiding him through the dark sky. In the wake of this surprise detective drama, courthouse staff bustled in and out of the room. According to the clerk, island police officers would be arriving soon. Grinning, Lucia ran up to the young man in the red cloak just as he finished talking to Donatello. “Mr. Randolph, you were incredible!” “Ah, Lucia. Nicely done.” “Like I told you, I’m a proper lady!” she giggled. Scarlett’s plan had been simple: intimidate them into confessing. That was all.