"More or less."
"Heh."
Medici laughed suddenly. "Trying to fool me with a bracelet carrying a trace of His breath?"
"That is simply the fact of the matter. I am currently the Aurora Order's representative in Backlund."
"Ha ha ha ha ha."
Medici cackled. "Little crow — do you really think that trick is going to work on me? I already caught the scent of deception on you."
Bernadette's brow tightened. "What do you mean?"
"Whatever you're planning — I'm done playing along!"
And with that, the corpse gave a dry thwap and crumpled back to the floor, lifeless and still.
"What just happened?"
Vincent was thoroughly lost. Why had Medici suddenly become convinced that Bernadette was Amon?
We're on the Hermit Pathway and the Broker Pathway — neither of us has anything to do with the Error Pathway. We're nowhere near Zaratul's Fool Pathway either. We didn't put on a monocle to taunt him.
The only explanation Vincent could come up with was his ability to linger above the Grey Fog, or the Worm of Time he'd glimpsed once in the fog's depths.
A few minutes later, Bernadette surfaced back to ground level and reapplied the starlight magic to the area.
"If what George III is offering the Demoness Sect really is a Conqueror's characteristic, then intercepting it becomes a much more manageable problem."
"How is it more manageable?" Vincent was curious.
"In this world, the parties interested in the Hunter Pathway aren't only the Demoness Sect. There's the Einhorn Family and the Sauron Family — both descended from the Fourth Epoch — and the Iron and Blood Cross Order founded over a century ago. All of them have Angel-level forces and an active stake in the Hunter Pathway. If they find out the Augustus Family is sitting on a Conqueror's characteristic…"
As she said it, Bernadette stepped through the Spirit World and returned to their lodgings, then continued: "In ordinary times, these groups might limit themselves to watching and waiting. But the moment an opportunity opens up, could they really hold back?"
"The only problem is convincing them that the intelligence is true."
Vincent smiled. "Then let's run the Shadow Box operation. A proper one."
To move someone in a high position, what mattered wasn't necessarily that the target themselves was the subject of the operation. Sometimes you only needed the right entry point — someone to open a door.
Like, for instance, the Intis Ambassador. A man worth all of five pounds.
Plant the seed there, and then — let the bullet keep flying a while longer.
...
After explaining everything to Daly at St. Samuel's Cathedral, Daly took Klein along to see the Goddess's Sword. Once Crestet Cesimir had personally examined the two pieces of jewellery and confirmed no immediate harm, he handed them back to Klein.
"What we can say with confidence is that the Trissy you encountered outside the estate was behaving unusually — something was definitely off. But what exactly the problem is, we can't determine yet."
Crestet folded his legs up on the desk with casual ease. "Here's my suggestion: report this to Alice and see how she reacts. Chances are, the reason she sent you to assassinate Prince Edessak was connected to Trissy from the very beginning."
Klein gave a serious nod. "Understood."
"As for the jewellery—"
Crestet smiled. "Think of it as a reward for your time spent disguised as a woman."
"Thank you, sir."
Klein pressed his hand to his chest and gave a small bow. He'd been quietly worried on the way here that the Church might confiscate them.
"Be very careful. Always."
"I will."
Klein was about to turn and leave when something occurred to him. He paused. "Sir Cesimir — has there been any news on Lanevus?"
"Mm."
Crestet's expression shifted. He put his feet back on the floor. "Last night, we picked up a trail. We traced it all the way to a clock tower near the docks where Lanevus had been hiding — and found the place soaked in blood, signs of a fight, and Lanevus himself nowhere to be found."
Klein pressed his lips together. "Was he killed?"
"We can't confirm that yet. But any trace of him… has completely vanished."
Crestet gave Klein a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry. We won't let Lanevus escape justice."
"And Ince Zangwill?"
Daly spoke from the side. "No intelligence on him so far. You know how it is, Klein — he has Sealed Artifact 0-08 in his hands."
"I understand."
Stepping out of the room, the weight on Klein's chest eased only slightly. He stood for a moment looking at the devout worshippers scattered through the cathedral, then turned his gaze up to the great Evernight aureole looming overhead.
After a long while, he passed through the crowd and walked out.
"How did this happen…"
A vaguely familiar voice drifted past. Klein turned toward it. He saw a stranger's face — but the voice was the stranger — a girl of sixteen or seventeen in a pale dress, walking alongside a man in a trench coat who had a certain slick swagger to him, talking about something with an expression of surprise.
"Hm?"
Looking at that young face, full of the brightness of youth, something clicked for Klein. Wait — wasn't this the girl he'd met on the steam train coming to Backlund a while back? He'd never forgotten her because her voice sounded so much like Melissa's.
"Good afternoon, miss — is something wrong?"
Seeming to feel Klein's gaze, the girl looked over, puzzled at first, then gave a polite smile. "Not at all. I was just a little surprised by something."
"You just looked a bit worried. No offence."
The girl blinked, then laughed, covering her mouth. "You're very kind. Though compared to you, 'pretty' is the most I could hope for."
Her companion, meanwhile, had stepped squarely in front of Klein with a grin, and — to Klein's instant discomfort — reached out and took his hand, then spoke in what he clearly thought was a suave baritone: "Beautiful lady, you look awfully familiar. Have we perhaps met before?"
...
That has to be the most embarrassing chat-up line Klein had heard in any world.
He immediately went cold-faced, pulled his hand back, and stepped away. "We haven't."
He left without another glance, shaking his head inwardly: What a pity. The girl seemed sweet and genuine, and she's walking around with a man like that. Good girl, wrong crowd.
He wondered what her family would think if they knew.
Once he'd put some distance between himself and the cathedral square, Klein flagged down a hired carriage and climbed in, ready to head to Alice in the North Borough. He'd barely settled into the seat when something pressed uncomfortably against his wrist through the sleeve.
He pulled back the cuff and looked.
A folded piece of paper had appeared inside his sleeve at some unknown point. Klein's eyes sharpened. He immediately thought of the man just now — had he slipped it in when he took Klein's hand?
So the flirtation wasn't a flirtation at all. It was a message delivery.
Was he a Church operative?
Klein quickly unfolded the note. Only blank space. Not a single letter.
He held it up to the light through the curtain. Still nothing.
"Is this one of those self-erasing inks that needs a specific reagent to reveal it?"
But how would I know what reagent to use…
He clapped himself on the forehead. "Divination."
He produced paper and pen and wrote his query: "The contents written on this note."
Seven repetitions. Klein closed his eyes, and in the haze and darkness of the dream state, he saw the man from before, seated with a pen, writing something on a sheet of paper.
The scene dissolved and shifted — as if a camera pushed in close — drawing him toward the man's writing hand. The nib scratched across the page with a soft, deliberate sound.
And yet: nothing appeared on the paper.
To be continued…
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