The masked ball continued late into the night, and by the time the last logs burned out and the group returned home, everyone was exhausted. The children were rocked to dreamland in the gondola and carried into the mansion by Marco and Connie, which made for a nice memory. The next day, Connie slept in. As she finally yawned her way downstairs, she bumped into Randolph, who was just returning. “Ah, Constance. Do you have a moment to talk?” he asked. “Of course, but don’t you need to rest? You just got back, didn’t you?” “One all-nighter is nothing for me.” “Are you serious?” Connie couldn’t help staring. But just as he said, she found no traces of exhaustion on his face, and so she followed him into the drawing room. Once they were seated on the sofa, Randolph began explaining the events of the previous night. After Gregorio’s trial ended, Randolph left Lucia and the others to meet up with Basilio. Together with a team of investigators from the Security Commission, they began searching for several members of Daeg Gallus. By dawn, they had arrested them all. However, they made the mistake of momentarily taking their eyes off the prisoners while transporting them, and the men seized the opportunity to commit suicide. “We thought we’d checked them thoroughly, but they were hiding poison in their back teeth, it seems.” His voice revealed a shade of regret. Gregorio Vecchio had been sent under guard to a prison on the mainland, but according to Randolph, he wasn’t likely to yield much useful information. “My guess is that Daeg Gallus saw he was struggling financially and used him.” Although Gregorio had stooped to fraud and blackmail before, this was the first time he had worked with Daeg Gallus. As for his son, Carlo, he appeared to be genuinely ignorant of the whole affair. It was still unclear how the House of Vecchio would be handled, but according to Basilio, it probably wouldn’t be wiped out entirely. Instead, Basilio would take on the role of overseer. Given what a lousy, warped character Carlo was, it wouldn’t be an easy job. “By the way, Constance,” Randolph said when he had finished his story. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at her. “Do you have anything to say to me?” “What do you mean?” she asked. Was she supposed to tell him something? She couldn’t think of anything. The crease between Randolph’s brows deepened. “…I hear you went on something of a rampage yesterday,” he said. “Oh…!” Connie slapped her hands over her mouth. He could only be talking about the incident at Mezzaluna Pier. In part because the Muro di Luche had been canceled, the impromptu show had caused quite a stir. But what did that have to do with Randolph? She glanced at him. His icy stare bore into her. He was mad. Connie was astonished. He looked genuinely angry. Still scowling like a demon, he said in that familiar, low voice of his, “How many times do I have to tell you? Before you go and do something like that, you have to let me know.” “U-um, but, you see… How should I put this?” “If you have an excuse, I’m ready to listen.” “I forgot.” She was so overawed that she accidentally blurted out the truth. She was universally known to be useless when it came to that sort of thing. If something was happening in front of her, it took up her entire brain and everything else fell out the bottom. She only realized her gaffe when she heard Randolph’s extremely long sigh. It hinted at suppressed anger. “R-Randolph, I—” He shot her a piercing glare and she yelped. Then, a moment later, the biggest thunderbolt of the summer descended upon her. Incidentally, Antonio happened to witness the scene and, legs trembling and tears in his eyes, muttered, “I never imagined there were scarier things in the world than Il Rosso…” …Though he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone else. When Randolph’s seemingly endless lecture finally came to a close, Connie stumbled into the dining room. Breakfast was long over. As she buried her head in her arms at the dining table, someone said kindly, “If you’re tired, how about a meringue cookie?” “Lady Daniella!” Her dark brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she wore an apron over her dress. In her hands was a plate of cookies that looked like little stars. Connie glanced back and forth between Daniella’s face and the cookies before asking in surprise, “Did you make those yourself?” Daniella smiled shyly. “I hope you like them. Actually, I like baking almost as much as history. A little something sweet should wake you right up.” She set the china plate down softly on the table. The glistening cookies were swirled like they’d been made with a pastry bag. The other day at the coffeehouse, Daniella had pestered her friend Natalia for her secret family recipe, and the previous morning, Connie had heard she was going to get it. Judging from the neat rows of cookies, she seemed to have succeeded. Connie popped one into her mouth. It was crunchy and light, with a gentle sweetness that melted on her tongue. “…It’s delicious.” The mellow sweetness and texture like melting snow proved addictive, and she couldn’t help reaching for more. As Daniella watched her toss cookies into her mouth, she said happily, “I’m glad you like them,” and turned to leave. Connie stopped eating and called after her. “Wait, Lady Daniella…!” “Yes?” she answered, turning around. Connie stood from her chair and bowed her head. “I just wanted to thank you for everything. For these cookies, but also, I heard from Randolph that your advice was very important during the trial yesterday.” Daniella looked puzzled. “I hardly did anything, but I’m happy if I was able to help. Sometimes rumors turn out to be useful,” she joked. Connie put on a serious face as she asked her next question. “Did you hear this rumor at Lady’s Holiday?” “Yes, I overheard it by chance.” By chance. Daniella’s gossip club included members of various classes and occupations. That probably made for a wealth of gossip. But could gossip really have given her the name of someone guilty of embezzlement? Connie slowly turned her gaze toward Daniella. “Lady Daniella?” “Yes?” “Was that written in the secret recipe, too?” Silence descended between them. Daniella’s expression didn’t change as she returned Connie’s gaze. Then, after a moment, she broke into a smile. “Wouldn’t you agree it was well worth the trouble?” Connie had been expecting this answer, but the shock of actually hearing it still brought on a wave of dizziness that nearly made her sit back down. “…Um, then, who is Natalia’s grandmother?” “A man Gregorio trained from a young age, a gambler and an alcoholic.” “That’s a far cry from a grandmother…!” “You never know who’s listening.” Daniella smiled brightly. Then, as casually as a friend explaining what she’d been up to lately, she began talking. “I happened to hear that he had run up quite a debt at an illegal gambling den, so we tried to buy the info off him with alcohol.” Daniella shrugged and added, “It took a while.” “Lady Daniella, are you by chance—” Connie began. The rest was a hunch. “With Il Rosso?” The idea had struck her while she was talking to Randolph in the drawing room. When she asked how he’d cornered Gregorio, he mentioned Roberto Forte. Forte was a longtime member of the Chamber of Commerce, it seemed, and had conspired with Gregorio to embezzle festival funds. Randolph said he learned about it from none other than Daniella. Scarlett had been the first to say it was odd. One time might be coincidence, but more suggested something else. When Connie thought about it, she realized Daniella had also been the one who told them the merchant ship was loaded with firecrackers. That time, too, she’d said it was a coincidence. But in response to Connie’s question, Daniella shook her head. “Haven’t you heard, Constance? Il Rosso was disbanded.” “But then why…?” Why was Daniella engaged in what seemed like intelligence work? Connie couldn’t understand what her goal was. Who was this woman who called herself Daniella? “What’s the point of an intelligence officer the whole country recognizes?” “Ah…,” Connie said vaguely. That sort of work would be difficult if you got too famous, she supposed. “I’m more like a personnel investigator,” she said. “Personnel…?” Connie echoed, bewildered by this unfamiliar title. “Yes. When an organization hires a new employee, they look into the individual’s background and reputation with their former employer. In simple terms, that’s my job.” Connie had a general grasp of what she was saying. Apparently, Daniella had been hired by someone to look into Gregorio and his associates. The question was, who hired her? When Connie asked her, the older woman answered with utter nonchalance. “The Republic.” “The Republic,” Connie echoed. “Yes. My father had the job before me, but he hurt his back and couldn’t continue. I was appointed to replace him.” “Personnel investigations for the Republic…?” Connie repeated slowly. “Yes. It’s a straightforward job. I simply look into people whose conduct appears to threaten the Republic.” “Is that really what you do?!” Wasn’t that essentially the same as the secret police? Connie’s cheek twitched. “I believe so,” Daniella answered, looking puzzled. “And just to be clear, if you’re working for the Republic, then your employer is—” “I suppose my immediate superior is the sovereign,” she answered, as casual as ever. Connie felt even dizzier than before. An intelligence officer hired by the sovereign. In other words— “Sounds like she’s Il Rosso after all,” Scarlett said, raising her eyebrows in exasperation. True, the position was now called something much less dramatic, but the job description was nearly identical. “Then what about Lady’s Holiday…?” Considering the nature of Natalia’s recipe, it could hardly be your average gossip club. Connie gasped as a possibility occurred to her. “Y-you’re not all Il Rosso, are you…?!” she shrieked, turning white. Daniella stared at her in surprise. “Oh, no, it’s just a gossip club.” “Th-that’s a relief.” But no sooner had Connie exhaled than Daniella added, “On the surface, that is.” Connie froze. “W-what do you mean?” “The club was originally founded by Cornelia Faris as an intelligence agency.” “Cornelia again…!” Connie covered her face with her hands. Most of the trouble on this island seemed to originate with Cornelia. Connie was starting to develop a phobia of that woman. “…If memory serves,” Scarlett began, “Sena Rilifarco founded the club for women who had too much time on their hands. But that’s just the cover story. The truth is, the club’s members gathered the information needed by Il Rosso.” Scarlett smiled wryly. “Though not all the members are investigators,” Daniella went on. “Which reminds me, I believe you have a similar organization in Adelbide.” “We do?” “It’s called the Violet Association. I hear the two groups interacted once, decades ago, before I was a member of Lady’s Holiday.” Connie suddenly thought of Kimberly Smith, dressed from head to toe in pink. “…Wait a second. Then Lady Berta—” Wasn’t Berta Neuen the president of Lady’s Holiday? “Would you like to know?” “No, never mind.” Connie shook her head, not wanting to know any more than she already did. She pretended not to hear the ghostly voice that said, “I can pretty much guess the rest.” “But is it all right that you’ve told me as much as you have?” Connie asked nervously. Was she perhaps going to be “accidentally” disappeared after this conversation? Daniella nodded, smiling. “I’m just a personnel investigator. Basilio knows that, too.” “He d-does?” That was slightly reassuring. “Also,” Daniella added, “I think I said as much before, but…” She paused and turned to Connie with a broad smile. “We’d be happy to welcome you into our club whenever you like.” Connie’s face tensed. “…You’re joking, right?” “That’s for you to decide.” Daniella smiled, but Connie couldn’t tell if it was playful or serious. “Well, I’d better be going,” Daniella said, turning to leave. As she rested her hand on the door, she turned briefly, as if she’d just remembered something, and added, “Have a good holiday.” For a while after the other woman had left, Connie sat at the table in a daze. Presently, Randolph walked in, dressed in lighter clothes. Guessing something had happened, he asked Connie, “What’s wrong?” “L-Lady Daniella…” “The Duchess of Fargo, you mean?” “She’s actually like Il Rosso, but not Il Rosso…and…” “You’re babbling,” Scarlett pointed out, exasperated. But Randolph seemed to understand. He nodded, his expression blank as usual. “Yes, I know.” Connie was shocked. “You knew…?!” she asked, stepping toward him. He withdrew slightly, looking embarrassed. “Yes. I mean, no, I didn’t know the details, but Lady Smith once told me that there was a secret intelligence organization in Soldita, so…” Apparently, he had guessed from the freight incident and the information about Gregorio’s crimes that Daniella might belong to that organization. “…Constance?” She snapped out of her daze. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” she said accusingly. “You didn’t ask.” “That’s the problem with you…!” Randolph gave her a puzzled look. She was about to tear into him furiously when a maid entered with a wagon bearing a light meal. “Before I came in, I asked the kitchen to prepare a snack. Would you like to share it with me?” he asked. Connie glanced at the wagon and caught sight of a sandwich—ham and cheese between thin slices of toast. Her stomach grumbled at the sight of the melty, glistening cheese. “…Didn’t you just have cookies?” Scarlett asked, sounding fed up. But Connie was of the opinion that dessert didn’t count. Forgetting how angry she was, Connie eagerly sat back down in her chair. The maid was serving up two portions of everything. Randolph must have figured she was hungry and ordered enough for the both of them. The maid set out cutlery on the white tablecloth and gracefully arranged the meal. Connie blinked as a cup of steaming coffee piled with fresh cream was set before her. It was just how she liked it. Randolph’s was black, so hers must have been a special request. Connie smiled and picked up her cup. The liquid inside was sweet and light and just a little bitter. As she turned happily to Randolph, she noticed that his plate was already empty. Her smile faded. “You’re already done eating?!” “Yes. I picked up the habit of finishing my meals quickly at work.” “Don’t you think you should slow down on your days off, at least…?” “I have an errand to run after this.” “An errand?” It seemed he had to report the events of the previous night to the justice of the peace. “The Security Commission has an office on Mille Street. Lord Basilio has been summoned as well.” “The Security Commission…?” “Soldita’s police agency.” He explained that it was like the Royal Security Force in Adelbide, with the power to investigate and fight crime. “Are you going soon?” “No, the Security Commission is sending a gondola to pick us up.” “I see.” “And besides, Lord Basilio hasn’t come back yet.” No sooner had he said these words than Basilio walked in. “Lieutenant Commander Ulster, the gondola should be here soon…” His gaze fell on Connie, whose cheeks were bulging like a squirrel’s with a bite of sandwich. He seemed surprised. “Miss Grail?” “Good morning, Duke Fargo,” she said, delivering this ladylike greeting after hurriedly gulping down the food in her mouth. “Considering the time, I’m not sure whether to say good morning or good afternoon. But in any case, I’m glad you’re here.” A cool smile spread over his handsome face. “A forgotten item of yours was delivered. Would you mind taking a look at it when you’re done?” “A forgotten item?” “Yes. What do you think it is?” he said, smiling meaningfully. Connie traced her memories of the previous day. She recalled dumping her purse out on Mezzaluna Pier to find something flammable. Something might have gone missing then. If it was delivered to the mansion, it must be something immediately recognizable as hers. “Could it be the biscotti I brought along in case I got hungry? I did write my name on the paper it was wrapped in so no one else would eat it.” “Of course not. Are you truly an idiot, Connie?” Scarlett asked. Basilio, apparently thinking she was joking, gave a short laugh. “It’s a rowboat. Where in the world did you get such a thing?” Connie tilted her head, then gasped. “Ah…!” She had completely forgotten about the boat Berta Neuen had lent her to escape. “The young man who returned it said it was tied to a post near Wilda Street. Seems the knot was poor, and the rope had come partly undone. He thought it would be dangerous to leave it as it was, so he brought it here. I think he was from the Chamber of Commerce. Said he saw you rowing furiously down the canal yesterday. He remembered you because you’d been on the vaporette to the shrine with him and you chatted a bit.” Randolph leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Where’d you get a boat?” “It belongs to the shrine. Lady Berta lent it to me when Gregorio’s henchmen were chasing…me…” As she spoke, the blood drained from her face. “Constance?” “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking I’d better return it as soon as possible if I don’t want to pay some kind of late fee…” But even as she spoke, she realized the fee was likely nonnegotiable. This was Berta the miser they were talking about. She seemed hellbent on squeezing every last coin from Connie’s purse. “But if I show up without warning, I’ll probably be turned away…” She was at her wit’s end. The problem was those cold-blooded gate guards. They just refused to listen. Even when a poor, weak maiden begged them to rescue her, they didn’t bat an eyelash. They probably didn’t even have hearts. And they were carrying those deadly-looking spears. How in the world was an ordinary unarmed civilian supposed to reason with them? As she was pondering this, Randolph walked over to ask Basilio something. After exchanging a few words, Basilio smiled cheerfully and left the dining room. Randolph returned to Connie’s side. “Constance, I have good news.” “You do?” “We’ve received permission to visit the shrine. Someone is supposed to deliver the pass today.” “Oh!” Connie exclaimed. Basilio must have succeeded in expediting the application, as promised. Randolph said he’d asked Basilio to send a vaporette to transport the rowboat, as well. “It should be here in a few hours. He said you can ride on the vaporette, so you can go with the boat to the shrine.” “I feel bad for asking so many favors of Basilio… Are you sure it’s all right?” “How else will you return the boat?” “I thought I’d row it back,” she said quite seriously. “You what?” Randolph looked at her as if he had just discovered a small, pitiful animal. Without saying a word, he placed his hand on her head. Incomprehensible. Just then, Basilio returned to give Connie the pass for the shrine. “Tell Lady Berta hello for me,” he said with another meaningful smile. “And tell her thank you for looking after Daniella.” Soon after, the Security Commission gondola came for the two men. Connie waved good-bye to them before returning to her room to get ready. A few hours later, she was once again walking into Fanoom Shrine. She passed by the gate guards without issue, and when she reached the top of the stairs, panting, the beautiful, ageless priestess was waiting for her with arms crossed and a grumpy expression. “Oh!” Connie yelped. Was it her imagination or did Berta look mad? She must not have been imagining it, because the woman immediately thrust her hand out. Connie had barely left the boat! “Your entrance fee?” she demanded in place of a greeting. “And the late fee for the boat.” As miserly as usual. Connie was prepared this time. From the bag slung over her shoulder, she withdrew a small glass jar and set it gently in Berta’s palm. “…What is this?” she asked. The blue glass was etched with intricate, elegant designs. It had clearly been made to order by a master of the craft. “The most valuable thing I have,” Connie answered. It was the bottle Adolphus had given her before she left for El Sol. Inside the beautiful glass were Aliénore’s ashes. Berta stared suspiciously at the bottle in her palm before her eyes suddenly widened in realization. She scowled as if she’d just swallowed a bug. “…For someone who looks so meek, you’re awfully cheeky.” “I hear that a lot,” Connie answered with a smile. Berta looked caught off guard. “By the way, I’m not accepting returns.” “…I see. I suppose I’ll throw away the contents and sell the bottle, then.” “I know you wouldn’t do something like that.” Berta frowned. “How do you know?” “After all, you hate sage, don’t you?” “Sage?” Connie nodded. She’d heard about it at the coffeehouse. If she remembered right, it was a woman named Anette who had told her. Judging by the way she talked, she was an old friend of Berta’s. Lady Berta detests sage. If she so much as sees those silver-green leaves by the side of the road, she makes a detour to avoid them. She also said Berta disliked the shrine’s special lemonade, which was made with sage. Berta seemed confused by this abrupt comment. “True, I detest it, but what’s your point?” “I was thinking about why you grow an herb if you hate it so much.” The road leading to the shrine was lined with pale purple blossoms that waved in the breeze. The stems, which reached to Connie’s waist, were lined with the tubular flowers. It was a patch of sage. Berta blinked in confusion. “…I’m not the only person who lives at the shrine. Sage is quite useful. It prevents meat and fish from spoiling, and it helps remove foul odors.” “And it soothes sore throats and calms anxiety.” “…What’s your point?” “I heard the lemonade at the coffeehouse is based on a closely guarded shrine recipe. You invented that recipe for Aliénore, didn’t you?” Berta was silent, her brows drawn together. Sage wasn’t the only herb in the lemonade. Thyme, marjoram, and chamomile were mixed in, too. All were remedies for ill health. Aliénore had been sickly from birth. Connie guessed that she had needed medicine to get through the day. But young children have sensitive palates and often refuse to drink decoctions of medicinal herbs. Connie figured Berta had turned the decoction into lemonade to make it easier for Aliénore to drink. “A person who did something like that would never throw away Aliénore’s ashes.” Most important, Berta’s lemonade was delicious. The strong flavor of the herbs was balanced by the lemon’s acidity so that it became a pleasant accent, and the sweet honey tied everything together. It really was a perfect recipe. Berta must have worked long and hard to get it right. And she had done it all for one person. “What a silly girl you are,” the priestess scoffed. “I hear that a lot, too,” Connie said, smiling. Then, turning serious, she said, “May I ask you a question?” Berta nodded almost imperceptibly. “Do you know about Cornelia Faris’s starry crown?” Berta shook her head slowly. “Of course not,” she answered flatly. “Though I know the words themselves almost certainly refer to Cornelia’s bloodline.” Connie, too, knew that the phrase originally referred to the legitimate successor to the imperial throne—someone who carried the blood of the tribal chiefs and royal families Faris had conquered, as numerous as the stars in the sky. “But that’s not what you mean, is it?” Berta asked. According to Scarlett, Aliénore had used the term to refer to something other than its original meaning. “When we asked you about the starry crown before, Lady Berta, you said it was a curse. Why?” She had said it the first time Connie visited Fanoom Shrine, with Randolph. Did that mean she knew something? Berta shrugged. “No reason, really. I simply think that whatever it refers to, bloodlines or otherwise, it can’t be anything good.”
Chapter 75
21 min read