Bernadette noticed it too. "That just now — was that the first sign of the potion digesting?"
"Yes."
Vincent ran back through the day's events and offered a theory: "I think I understand why. You remember — the Prosecutor's ability specifically mentioned that a Prosecutor can perceive the crimes a target has committed, but cannot witness the process of the crime itself."
"Why make that specific point? Whether or not I see the crime happen doesn't affect my ability to use the Words of Order, or change the outcome of the Accusation."
Bernadette said: "I see where you're going."
Vincent continued: "In the Prosecutor's workflow, you don't personally collect evidence — but you do review everything that's been transferred to you, and decide whether to prosecute. The question is: how do you review it?"
"An ordinary Prosecutor might simply check whether the chain of evidence is internally consistent and whether there's enough of it. But Acting as a Prosecutor might require something more — finding actual evidence of the crime yourself."
"Of course, this is all conjecture so far."
Bernadette gave a quiet "mm." "True or false, we'll know soon enough by trying again."
Elly stood, gathered her things, and walked over. "Let me take you to dinner. Partner."
"Partner?"
"We're going to be working together from now on, aren't we? Partners."
"Fair enough. Where to?"
"Somewhere good."
The two of them left the Prosecution Office and boarded a public horse-tram, winding through the streets until they left the East District and arrived at Iron Gate Street in the Bridgewater District. A black building with a heavy black wooden door, a man nearly two metres tall standing with arms folded at the entrance —
Bravehearts Bar.
Vincent looked at Elly, saying nothing, but his expression said everything: You're sure about this for dinner?
Elly coughed. "Three reasons. First: this is a bar, but their hot meals are genuinely excellent. Second: I happen to have a quick errand here. Third..." She paused. "I'm a bit short on money lately."
The third reason is the real one, isn't it. Yet she'd come by public tram. Though judging from their earlier interactions, she didn't strike Vincent as someone who had money problems.
The evening rush was in full swing when they pushed open the door — a blast of warmth, a thick wave of malt and ale, the cheerful din of a crowd, and the sound of an enthusiastic rat-and-dog contest.
"Ah. I love this place."
Elly seemed to decompress the moment she stepped inside. She shrugged off her blazer, went straight to the bar like a regular, slapped down a banknote. "Two meal sets. With meat."
"Coming right up!"
She waved Vincent over and patted the stool beside her. "The steak here isn't just pan-fried and served in its own juices — they use a proper sauce. Absolutely wonderful."
Then she leaned over the bar. "Excuse me — is Mr. Darkholm around?"
The barman poured a glass of South Wels ale and slid it toward Elly. "He's here, but a lady just took him into the private room. Left side, third door. I'd suggest you don't interrupt — that lady is a small one, but she's no one to trifle with."
A small lady... Vincent felt a faint stirring of recognition. Could that be Xio?
Two meal sets appeared on the bar: white bread, gravy steak, mushroom soup. Elly pulled the bread apart, stuffed several pieces of steak inside, bit down happily, demolished the lot, chased it with the mushroom soup, and finally sat back with a satisfied smile.
"Wait here a moment."
She walked directly to the third private room on the left and knocked. "Mr. Darkholm? Are you in there?"
The door opened. A round-faced man with a cheerful expression looked out, spotted Elly, and glanced back into the room. "A beautiful young miss for you — you're welcome." Then he grinned and slipped away.
Xio watched the door for a moment, then beckoned. "Come in and tell me."
"Thank you."
Elly hesitated, then stepped inside. "Er... miss, can you actually help me?"
She was judging by appearances, which wasn't entirely unfair — Xio did look rather young. And what Elly needed was dangerous work.
Xio raised an eyebrow. "Why do you want to look into the Cornlis factory owner?"
Something about this tiny young woman made Elly feel inexplicably compelled to be straightforward. She answered earnestly: "I want to help the families of the workers who died in the explosion — get them the justice they deserve."
Xio's expression softened slightly. She often took on cases helping the vulnerable. "Are you a detective? A private investigator?"
"No, I'm a lawyer. Well — a Prosecutor now."
"What kind of evidence do you need?"
"For that explosion, the Cornlis side claimed it was caused by worker error. So if I can find proof that there was no worker error, that would be enough."
Xio shook her head. "That's nearly impossible. I've heard that by the day after the explosion, the warehouse had already been cleaned out and reconstruction started. I doubt anything was left."
Elly's eyes dimmed. "I know."
"Miss Lawyer." Xio paused, then asked: "What if, after investigation, it turns out the explosion was caused by worker error?"
"That can't be."
"Why not?" Xio pressed. "The explosion happened inside the warehouse, with only the workers present. That warehouse had been operating safely for six or seven years. An unexpected error leading to an accident is actually more consistent with how things like that happen — isn't it?"
"Of course, I'm speaking hypothetically. I understand the impulse to stand with the weaker party — but sometimes the truth is the opposite of what we imagine."
Elly was quiet for a moment. Then she said, steadily: "I'm a lawyer. I deal in evidence. If solid evidence proves I'm wrong, I'll accept that I was wrong. I'll apologise to Cornlis."
"Alright."
Xio gave a small nod. "Then let's talk price. This case is two or three months old — conventional methods won't turn up anything now. That means unconventional ones, with all the risk and trouble that entails, so..."
"Five hundred pounds."
Elly held up five fingers. "And if you find sufficient evidence, another five hundred pounds on top."
She produced a small stack of banknotes. "Here's two hundred as a retainer."
"..."
Xio swallowed the rest of what she'd been about to say. She had been angling for a hundred. The girl had immediately tripled that — two hundred in advance. Rich people really do think differently.
"Deal. I'll be in touch."
Xio stood and extended her hand. "Looking forward to working with you."
Vincent finished his meal at a leisurely pace, then watched as Xio and Elly emerged from the private room one after the other. After waving goodbye to Xio, Elly came back over, looking a little sheepish. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Charles."
"Not at all. I only just finished." He feigned curiosity. "Was that...?"
"A... friend. Had something quick to sort out."
"Ah, right."
Vincent asked no further — he had already sent the Invisible Servant to eavesdrop.
The two of them left the bar and went their separate ways home.
Back in his rooms, Vincent said to Bernadette: "I didn't expect Elly to still be pursuing that case. And within just a few days, she'd already figured out to use special channels."
He was mid-sentence when his foot stopped. Spider silk threads appeared from nowhere, filling the entire room in a dense web. Then rays of starlight converged toward the window.
A translucent figure in a black court dress flickered past — just a glimpse in Vincent's peripheral vision — and in the next instant, he felt the control of his body slip away from him.
Only for a second. Then the figure was shunted outward from his body. Bernadette's voice sounded: "Ha. A Wraith thinks it can take possession of my body."
Before the figure could do anything further, Vincent said: "Miss Sharron — why are you attacking me?"
To be continued…
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