WCBD CH145

Chapter 145: At the Same Time

The clash erupted in an instant.

When Garrett charged forward and knocked Foster Ronchi to the ground with a single punch, no one expected such a thing to happen. After landing the blow, Garrett wore an expression of sheer gratification.

He did not strike again, instead standing there on his own, chuckling maliciously.

Siles glanced at him, then knelt down to help Foster Ronchi up. The young man was completely dazed, clutching his nose while groaning in pain. Beside them, the guide Isaac demanded loudly, “What are you doing?!”

“Ask his wonderful father what he did,” Garrett sneered. “I recognized you the instant I saw you. Ronchi, hah, the Ronchi family.”

Bystanders murmured in low voices, while some argued with Garrett.

Amid the clamor, Siles quietly asked Foster, “Are you alright?”

“…I’m alright,” Foster replied, still stunned, his voice trailing off in bewilderment. “It just stung for a second. Did he… did he mean my father did something bad to him?”

Siles remained silent. Foster likely assumed his silence meant he knew nothing of the matter, but Siles was actually considering the possibilities.

…Frank Ronchi, Foster’s great-grandfather.

He died over thirty years ago. He was a painter, and on that vessel lost to the deep sea, there had been artists aboard.

More pieces connected. Siles suddenly remembered Foster mentioning that his great-grandfather was never satisfied with his own paintings, which was why he never exhibited them publicly during his lifetime.

Frank Ronchi seemed to want his works to be more realistic.

If he sought realism, he likely would have sailed out in person to experience the winds and waves of the ocean firsthand. Could he have been aboard Enoch Gielgud’s ship?

Furthermore, Siles realized a problem: if an ordinary sailor had encountered strange occurrences at sea and fallen into a mad state, that event alone hardly seemed significant enough to alarm Bethune.

After all, Kingsley belonged to the Basil tribe, the most powerful clan in southern Middleton. The matter could have easily been handled internally by Basil, yet it ultimately caused an uproar reaching Bethune.

This was hardly common. Clearly, among those passengers were figures of extraordinary status.

Frank Ronchi seemed to count as one of them. Moreover, as Foster’s words had revealed, the Ronchi family was one of the distributors for those special ceramics.

…Could they be connected to the “Shadow”? Was that possible?

Judging solely from the information regarding the Ronchi family, they seemed associated with art. Could they be believers of Atkinia? Or perhaps followers of the “Shadow”?

Yet judging from Foster’s attitude, he seemed completely ignorant of certain family traditions.

This did not surprise Siles, however. The youth of these ancient families often had a distinct divide between themselves and their elders.

As they spoke, Foster finally recovered his senses. He stood up and shouted furiously at Garrett, “How did my father ever offend you?!”

Garrett fixed a sinister gaze upon Foster’s face. His punch had swollen Foster’s cheek, but that seemed to be merely venting emotion rather than satisfying him.

He said, “Go home right now and ask your father. Don’t ask anything else; just ask if he remembers the Gielgud family of Kingsley.”

“Kingsley?” Foster frowned, growing even more confused.

Garrett couldn’t be bothered to waste more breath on him. He waved a dismissive hand and walked away.

“Incomprehensible!” Foster cursed under his breath, giving chase with an irritated scowl.

Their exchange took place in the Middleton language, leaving the travelers from Konst thoroughly perplexed. Siles could roughly guess what was said. He wondered whether, after Frank Ronchi died, other members of the Ronchi family had caused trouble at Garrett’s home.

…That was certainly not unimaginable. Perhaps he should question Garrett more thoroughly later, especially regarding the passengers on that vessel.

Reflecting on it now, the identities of those passengers seemed far more critical than previously thought.

Siles thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll follow and keep an eye on them so nothing goes wrong.”

Intervening was slightly awkward given his position, but his acquaintance with Foster and the curious glances from the Lamifa University professors gave him an excuse to follow.

And so, he and the guide Isaac set off after them. A professor from Bethune University followed as well, along with two port staff members who looked thoroughly annoyed, puzzled as to why someone was stirring up trouble at the harbor.

When turning a corner, Siles lagged behind at the rear, releasing Doll No. 1 when no one was looking. Moving in the shadows of the street, the doll’s light footsteps went unnoticed.

Soon, they spotted the two in a corner of the port. Foster and Garrett were scuffling, though Garrett held the clear upper hand. Despite being bruised and battered, Foster gritted his teeth and fought back.

The Bethune University professor shouted a stern reprimand, and the two port workers pulled them apart. Foster panted heavily, a ferocious glare flashing in his eyes.

That look startled everyone present, as the young student had always appeared gentle and harmless, yet now looked surprisingly fierce.

Garrett chuckled. His grin was even more insolent than Foster’s, as if deliberately baiting the young man. Had the port worker not held Foster back, they likely would have come to blows again.

The professor said something to Foster first, then delivered a stern lecture to Garrett. Foster caught his breath and slumped heavily to the ground.

Garrett shrugged, tossed out a mocking remark, and turned to leave. Siles narrowed his eyes as he watched him walk away.

Around the corner, Garrett was stopped by the doll. The petite doll tapped his shoe and placed a small roll of money on top of his foot.

Garrett let out a quiet gasp, then muttered, “That’s a bit too sneaky! If I hadn’t noticed, wouldn’t the money have been lost?”

Beaming, he seemed thoroughly delighted. He picked up the roll of money, tucked it into his pocket, and picked up the doll. Patting its head, he said, “Giving the enemy’s son a good thrashing felt fantastic.”

He rambled to himself for a while, but finding the doll unresponsive, he grew bored and set it down. Taking quick little strides, the doll scurried away.

Garrett was curious about where the doll was going, but mindful of his partnership with Mr. Ghost, he restrained himself and didn’t follow. He looked back toward the corner where several people were talking, lingering on Foster and Siles.

He pondered for a moment, let out a cold smirk, muttered something under his breath, and limped away without looking back again.

Foster sat on the ground, trembling all over. He remained silent, ignoring what the others were saying. It appeared that during their scuffle, Garrett had said something that shook his composure.

After a moment, he forced a faint smile and spoke slowly to the Bethune University professor, seemingly assuring him he was fine. Then, exhaling, he climbed to his feet.

Siles asked, “Are you alright now?”

“…I’m fine, Professor,” Foster said softly. “Just some things I had never heard of before. I shouldn’t believe what that fellow said at all. Yes, not at all.”

Siles hesitated but ultimately maintained an understanding silence.

Foster’s current state clearly made returning to the docks ill-advised. Siles bade farewell to the young man here. Foster pulled himself together and said, “Professor, I will write to you. Your understanding of the gods gave me great inspiration.”

Siles paused, realizing Foster was referring to the academic discussion on Tuesday, when he remarked that humanity and the gods were separate from the very beginning.

“I look forward to your letter,” Siles replied softly.

They said their goodbyes. The Bethune University professor stayed behind to accompany Foster, while Siles and Isaac hurried back to the port, as their ship was preparing to depart.

It was the morning of March 11. At ten sharp, their vessel set sail to carry them back to Kingsley.

Standing on the deck, Siles quietly watched Bethune in the distance. The tiered buildings and harbor gradually faded into the sea fog. As they departed, he felt that their time in Bethune had been remarkably rushed.

The academic visit, the investigation into the ceramics, and those events from over thirty years ago had consumed tremendous energy. In doing so, he had overlooked his original purpose: learning about Middleton’s history.

…Perhaps this was part of the charm of a journey. No one knew what they would encounter along the way.

Yet Siles had an enduring premonition.

He felt his ties to this nation built on sea salt and northern winds had not yet ended. Sooner or later, he would return here, return to Kingsley and Bethune, and behold the truth behind it all.

The secrets deep within the ocean, intimately bound to this world.

The cold sea breeze from the distant north brushed against his cheeks.

He watched in silence for a time, feeling the rocking seawater heavily supporting this ship filled with passengers.

After a moment, Siles composed his thoughts, shifting his attention to what had just occurred: the clash between Foster Ronchi and Garrett Gielgud.

Surprisingly, he did not feel shocked at all.

It was something he hadn’t anticipated, but when the coincidence materialized, considering the countless coincidences that had surrounded him before, he had already grown accustomed to it.

Frank Ronchi died on Enoch Gielgud’s ship? He had known about this painter’s existence since last December? He came to Bethune and happened to encounter the descendants of both that painter and that sailor?

Coincidence, coincidence, coincidence.

When coincidences occurred countless times, they were no longer mere accidents but the trajectories of destiny.

…There were simply a few more trajectories in his destiny. Nothing to worry about, ha. Siles thought calmly.

Setting aside his own reflections, Foster Ronchi was visibly rattled by the confrontation. Once he returned home, would it trigger a new wave of familial discord?

The ferocious look Foster had displayed also left a deep impression on Siles. Recalling the young man’s impressive Will stat, he couldn’t help suspecting this family harbored certain secrets of its own.

After considering it briefly, he shook his head with a soft sigh. Rather than speculating aimlessly here, it would be better to ask Garrett directly during his next visit to his dream.

The vessel they boarded for the return trip was once again the familiar Far Sea, with the same captain and crew they already knew.

Perhaps because of this familiarity, or because they had grown accustomed to traveling by ship, none of Siles’s companions suffered from seasickness on the voyage from Bethune back to Kingsley.

Dr. Chester, however, wore a deeply troubled expression, as Siles noticed.

Ever since sharing a private lunch with Elizabeth Hosier yesterday at noon, he had seemed preoccupied, distracted in everything he did.

Siles initially assumed it was just the mixed emotions of parting soon after reuniting with kin, but since the mood persisted, he asked Chester about it during lunch.

Chester paused, then shook his head with a helpless smile. “Truly, nothing escapes you, Professor.”

Siles watched him quietly.

Chester said, “It’s Aunt Elizabeth. She seems genuinely intent on coming to Lamifa City. Not that she’s seeking refuge with me or planning to live together, but… Professor, she wants to leave Middleton.”

Siles was mildly surprised. When Elizabeth had mentioned it, he thought she was merely joking, or at least not entirely serious. Yet she truly intended to do so.

Chester added, “Or perhaps she just wants to reside elsewhere for a time to clear her head. I don’t know how I should respond to that…”

He gave a wry smile, continuing after a pause, “I feel I cannot offer advice so casually. After all, that is a life choice for an elder relative I barely know.”

Siles considered this, eventually remarking, “Perhaps the Bishop has already made her decision and simply wished to share her thoughts with someone.”

“Indeed,” Chester said earnestly. “I hope she can break free from the shadows of the past, no matter what.”

Siles nodded in agreement.

Chester added, “In any case, when I took my leave, Aunt Elizabeth said she would write to me later with her final decision.”

If Elizabeth truly chose to depart Middleton, Siles wondered who would succeed her. Moreover, the Church of the Past was clearly eager to investigate the Fuliou Sea.

Their intentions had been halted by Elizabeth for now, but once a new bishop took office, the situation might change. Would that give rise to entirely new conflicts?

No one could predict the future.

Although Elizabeth’s desire to step away from her old life was understandable, the subject left both Siles and Chester somewhat subdued throughout the meal.

In the afternoon, they returned to their respective cabins to rest. Siles knew Chester would likely throw himself into playing cards throughout the afternoon and evening.

One detail worth noting was that on this ship heading back to Kingsley, Siles saw sailors playing Noel Cards with great enthusiasm. Their cards appeared to be crafted from ordinary cardboard, yet they enjoyed the game immensely.

None of these sailors knew that the creator of this card game stood right before their eyes.

This gave Siles a peculiar sensation. He realized that as Noel Cards spread, fewer and fewer people would know that the game originated with Siles Noel.

It would thus become a secret, preserved by only a select few.

…And that seemed to become yet another secret connected to the gods hidden within this deck.

The thought startled Siles. When he first spoke of the secrets in the cards, he had never considered himself. Yet as time passed and circumstances unfolded, he was swept into the mystery as well.

…Beyond being a prophet, he seemed to have turned into a soothsayer. Good grief, he thought.

Back in his cabin, Siles considered how to spend his time. He initially thought about working on his novel, but remembering the book he had just acquired that morning, he gladly decided to read first.

Just as Kogsol had said, the author was a lady from Konst named Joan Macmillan. She was born around the 300th year of the Age of Mist, and her father had been a renowned explorer who traveled through many parts of the Fisher World.

Joan and her mother accompanied her father on his travels, eventually settling in Middleton for a time, as it faced the sea and Joan was very fond of the place.

Her parents later returned to Konst for retirement, while Joan stayed in Middleton to marry and raise children, truly becoming part of the land.

Because Joan was born and raised in the Duchy of Konst, Siles easily noticed in her autobiography that she experienced, felt, and perceived Middleton’s culture from the perspective of an outsider from Konst.

Overall, unfamiliar with local customs, Joan and her family faced considerable hostility and exclusion initially, though over time they gradually integrated into Middleton society.

They first settled in a port city in northern Middleton, but the bitter cold proved unbearable for Joan and her mother, prompting their move to Bethune.

At that time, Joan was around twenty, an inexperienced young woman. She clashed frequently with her parents over moving, as nowhere seemed to meet her exacting standards.

Bethune was full of novelty, especially with its beautiful sea. Joan quickly befriended several local girls, remaining in close contact with some of them until the end of her days.

At twenty-one, having mastered the Middleton tongue, Joan entered Bethune University as a fine arts student.

There, she met a young painter named Frank Ronchi.

…Reading up to this point, Siles paused. He wondered in amusement if destiny was simply impatient to thrust every related clue right before his eyes.

Joan Macmillan and Frank Ronchi fell in love, but they could not marry because the Ronchi family refused to allow a foreign woman to become the future wife of the family patriarch.

After their parting, Joan languished in gloom for a long while. She believed she had found her soulmate, only for their love to be thwarted by unforeseen obstacles, a bitter experience that left her disheartened.

When Joan’s father learned of this, he sought out Frank and gave the young man a sound beating. Joan recounted the episode in her memoir with a mixture of amusement and warmth.

Afterward, Joan gradually stepped out of the shadow of heartbreak. She chose to accompany her father on adventures in the Ashless Lands, even carving out a modest reputation for herself across the northern territories.

Even Joan herself was astonished by her own growth in capability.

Three years later, at twenty-five, Joan returned to Bethune. By then, she had transformed into a capable, spirited explorer. No longer encumbered by heartache, she described her past romance in a completely new light.

In her memoir, Joan wrote: “Frank Ronchi was somewhat neurotic, fond of charming women with sweet words and his eccentric philosophy, fundamentally nothing more than an overgrown playboy.

“If you ask me, the men of the Ashless Lands were far more mature than him. At least they wouldn’t court me and promise marriage while knowing full well their family would never permit the union.

“…Truthfully, he was like a spoiled noble scion, yet I had never even heard of the Ronchi family before; they were remarkably low-profile.”

After this passage, Frank Ronchi rarely appeared in Joan’s memoir, as she turned her focus to her new life.

When she returned to Bethune at twenty-five, her parents were preparing to leave. Joan chose to stay. She had few acquaintances left in Konst, but possessed a circle of friends in Bethune.

Her parents did not press her to leave, and so began Joan’s independent life.

She spent time adjusting to living away from parental shelter, writing excitedly in her memoir, or perhaps diary: “Living with parents versus living on your own are two entirely different worlds.”

Over the next few years, Joan lived comfortably alongside her companions. Two or three years later, she met another man, a young sailor who harbored a deep longing for the Ashless Lands.

Having heard rumors of Joan’s exploits in the Ashless Lands, he sought out the taverns she frequented and tried striking up conversations with her.

Joan wrote: “When my husband first spoke to me in that tavern, I took him for a fool, since no one discussed the Ashless Lands in such a place; he seemed like an utter simpleton.”

Yet this simpleton caught her interest. Around the same time, Joan had grown weary of life in Bethune, longing once again for the thrill and peril of the Ashless Lands.

So she set off with the young sailor to the Ashless Lands, exploring the northern reaches together. They even sailed out to sea once, though without finding anything of note.

Soon, Joan fell in love with the sailor and married him. They returned to Bethune, where Joan took up teaching at an art academy, and her husband found work at the harbor docks.

However, they had no children. Joan was remarkably frank on the subject: “Seeing those students at school gives me a headache; I cannot imagine raising a living child myself.”

They lived peacefully in Bethune for decades, occasionally visiting the Ashless Lands when time permitted, or traveling to Konst to reunite with Joan’s family. As they grew older, they ceased their travels and settled permanently in Bethune.

The contents of the memoir shifted toward everyday domestic trivialities. Siles read about the fabric of ordinary life in Bethune with keen interest, finding it a vastly different perspective from his brief, whirlwind visit.

In the quiet of her later years, Joan mentioned an amusing anecdote.

She wrote that after hearing an old friend speak of Frank Ronchi’s death, she shared the news with her husband upon returning home. Her husband grew jealous, suspecting she still harbored feelings for her former lover, which amused Joan for quite some time.

Yet she did describe her youth with genuine nostalgia, not out of lingering sentiment for Frank Ronchi, but for the girl she had once been.

She noted that Frank Ronchi ultimately perished in an ocean tempest, due to “his rigorous standards for his art. He wished to gaze upon the sea that haunted his dreams one last time before dying.”

This matter brought Joan a measure of melancholy, much of it stemming from Middleton. With death now visibly looming, Joan thought of Konst, of Middleton, of the Ashless Lands, and of this vast Fisher World.

She wrote: “No one knows under what circumstances we will ultimately meet our end, much like how no one knows what conclusion our world will ultimately face.

“When I close my eyes to welcome death, it feels as though the world meets its doom as well. Yet I know full well that the ends of this earth are far, far beyond my reach, an abyssal sea the small boat of my life could never hope to attain.

“There were those who once believed this planet was flat. Perhaps the ocean waters cascade down like a waterfall at the edge of that flat expanse. Yet the world is no plane, though my life surely is.

“At the edge of this planar road, the small boat of my life will plunge straight down, shattering into pieces from then on.”

Siles felt a quiet stir of emotion at her words.

Closing the book, he glanced out the window, noticing that evening had crept up unawares. He had come to understand Middleton from an entirely different perspective.

…As well as Frank Ronchi.

During dinner, Siles could not help but turn over the matter of Frank Ronchi in his mind.

In the eyes of others, this celebrated Middleton painter was a stubborn, great artist; viewed through another lens, however, he was a cowardly, irresponsible playboy.

In the final chapter of his life, he resolved to venture into the deep sea to fulfill his lifelong dream, only to lose his life there. When the towering storm crashed upon the small vessel of his life, what had he been thinking?

Yet this was not what truly occupied Siles’s attention. He had noticed a remarkably subtle detail.

After falling in love with Frank, Joan Macmillan experienced a noticeable surge in personal capability.

Her Will did not appear to have changed drastically, but such growth in spiritual strength certainly did not arise out of nowhere. Could it be because… she gained Spirituality?

Because of Frank Ronchi?

Siles suspected as much. When the two met, both were fine arts students; had they critiqued one another’s paintings?

Yet Siles had once examined Frank’s artwork himself and found nothing amiss. Could it be… some manuscripts? Sketches? Things drawn unconsciously?

Perhaps those sketches carried strange, terrifying elements that wrought a change upon Joan’s soul.

In any case, Siles grew increasingly suspicious of the Ronchi family.

Their refusal to allow a future family head to wed a foreign woman clearly indicated that this family harbored secrets unfit for outsiders, particularly foreigners, to know.

Their fixation on Joan’s foreign nationality suggested that a native of Middleton would find the family’s secrets much easier to accept.

And what was unique about Middleton? Pondering the question, Siles concluded it could only be a secret concerning the Fuliou Sea.

…Was Frank Ronchi’s only sea voyage, and his last, truly so simple?

Was it truly as everyone claimed that he resolved to sail out at the twilight of his life merely out of devotion to artistic realism?

Or was he like Herd Dryson, the young man who received a confidential letter from a mysterious granduncle and set out on a journey, fulfilling an obscure family mission?

Siles entertained the notion, though he knew it would be difficult to verify, as it would be known solely to core members of the Ronchi family.

It might even be like the death-worshiping noble families of Lamifa City, where such secrets were passed to the next generation only on the patriarch’s deathbed.

In this way, the secret could be guarded with the utmost rigor.

…Regardless, he needed more information. What felt even more perilous was that they still did not know what those cultists of the “Shadow” lurking in the dark intended to accomplish.

They might have succeeded in curbing the spread of the tainted ceramics in Middleton, but that was merely a minor matter.

After dinner, Siles sought out Knight Commander Bunyan to ask about the Church of the Past’s follow-up plans. Bunyan replied with complete candor: “We originally intended to collaborate with Lady Elizabeth to deal with the Old God followers.

“However, her point was well made. Middleton is far too unfamiliar to us, so our prior assumptions were rather naive.

“Once we return to Lamifa City, I plan to consult the Bishop. Perhaps we should adopt alternative methods and pursue a more roundabout investigation.”

Siles nodded and remarked, “I hope this matter can be resolved soon.”

“As do I,” Bunyan said.

Yet they remained a great distance away from Lamifa City.

At eleven the following morning, they arrived in Kingsley. The city was just as they had left it, yet now stirred an unexpected sense of familiarity within them.

Perhaps it was because they were about to depart and might never return. It felt like a final farewell.

With time running short, they could not afford to linger in Kingsley for another day. After disembarking, Professor Bella and the translator Johnny headed to the railway station to purchase tickets back to Biedel City.

Siles took the opportunity to remind her once again that he needed to alight at a specific station in Kansas.

Professor Bella paused before recalling the arrangement. Siles did not elaborate on his purpose, merely stating he had personal affairs to attend to in Kansas.

Professor Bella did not pry, simply urging him to make every effort to return to Lamifa City before the term began.

“I will,” Siles assured her. “Please don’t worry.”

“Then I will purchase a separate ticket for you, allowing you to disembark at that station,” Professor Bella said gently. “Please stay safe while in Kansas.”

Siles thanked her warmly.

They enjoyed one final seafood feast in Kingsley before boarding the train back to Biedel City. The prospect of the long journey dampened everyone’s spirits somewhat, though they took comfort in knowing they were heading back toward Lamifa City.

They had private compartments once again, which made things far more convenient.

Once back in his compartment, Siles took some time to organize his findings from this journey to Middleton and the matters requiring follow-up: the sea chart charted by Garrett Gielgud, the secrets potentially concealed by the Ronchi family, and Herd Dryson’s future actions.

Beyond those, other concerns demanded attention: the disappearance of the archaeological team, Madame Heidi’s star map, the affair of Ebenezer Konst fourteen years ago, the whereabouts of Alfonso Carte…

Siles felt a dull ache in his head. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he had to admit he had invited far too many complications upon himself.

Yet as he laid these matters out together, a question suddenly struck him: the disappearance of the archaeological team, and the confidential family letter received by Herd Dryson.

He recalled that when discussing the enigmatic Mr. Dryson with Chendo, one question had continually puzzled them: after the events at the House of Hales, what had Dryson encountered that prompted him to send that letter to his family?

It had to be an event that took place in the Ashless Lands between last November and this February.

And it was during that exact window that the archaeological team had vanished.

…A coincidence?

Siles found it hard to draw a definitive conclusion. After pondering a moment, he drew a line in his notebook connecting “Herd Dryson” with “Disappearance of the Archaeological Team,” capping it with a question mark.

Could there be a connection between the two?

As night deepened, he let his thoughts rest. After washing up, he changed clothes and tidied his luggage. He took care to bring Doll No. 1 out of his bag.

By now, Doll No. 1 had become almost synonymous with Mr. Ghost, a development Siles was glad to foster. Cementing Mr. Ghost’s distinctive traits to keep the persona an impenetrable secret was the far wiser approach.

Doll No. 1 stirred to life, hopping about on the bunk. Siles watched quietly before shaking his head to calm the doll down. Returning it to the suitcase, he settled into sleep and drifted into the deep-sea dreams.

The deep-sea dreams remained ever unchanging, even with several plants sprouting upon the red soil of the isolated island.

He habitually checked on the plants, only to pause abruptly. To his surprise, one of the plants had withered. Walking over for a closer inspection, he realized it was Jonathan Bryant’s vine.

This follower of Death, the former Minister of Finance of the Duchy of Konst, had driven himself down the path of madness out of sheer terror of dying, claiming the lives of countless young innocents.

Now, Jonathan had died without a sound.

Perhaps standing upon the red clay of this isolated island, he was the very first person to discover the old man’s death.

The realization drew a faint sigh from him, directed solely at the reality of mortality itself, for such an end awaited everyone. Jonathan Bryant, however, deserved no pity.

After a moment’s reflection, he gathered his focus and looked toward the other dreams. He noticed that Hal Goss was dreaming, wondering if the boy from Biedel City had a new story to exchange with Mr. Ghost.

Furthermore, both Chendo and Garrett were dreaming. All of these required his attention.

He stepped into Chendo’s dream first.

“You’re here,” Chendo said, standing by the window as he turned to face Mr. Ghost. “Good evening. I could hardly wait to see you.”

“Good evening, Chendo,” Mr. Ghost said. “Let me guess: you must have good news.”

Chendo paused, an affectionate smile spreading across his face. Laughing softly, he asked, “Indeed. Can you guess anything more?”

“Progress in the Tauohetia Cemetery?”

“Of course.”

“It seems there is more. Have you found Alfonso, then?”

“I have a few leads. Keep guessing.”

“Madame Heidi?”

“Ah, you’ve deduced it all,” Chendo whispered. Stepping forward, he leaned in to embrace Mr. Ghost. “I am utterly captivated by your intellect.”

Mr. Ghost chuckled. “Merely reasonable deductions.” He kissed him lightly and asked, “Shall we go over them, then?”

“I want to save the greatest accomplishment for last, so we’ll begin with Alfonso,” Chendo murmured, resting his chin on Siles’s shoulder and nuzzling him affectionately. “The Praia family traced Emmanuel’s hometown.

“They confirmed that some time ago, Alfonso visited the area and laid Emmanuel to rest. It likely took place toward the end of last year. Alfonso stayed there for a short time, then vanished without a trace.

“I suspect he may have returned to the Ashless Lands, or set off to wander elsewhere. If he wanted to leave Kansas, taking the train was his most likely option.

“So I contacted the Dexter United Railway Company. They are currently looking into whether the name ‘Alfonso Carte’ appeared on any travel registries over the past several months.”

Mr. Ghost listened quietly. Stroking Chendo’s braid in quiet praise, he whispered, “I strongly suspect something may have happened to Alfonso.”

Toward the end of last December, Alfonso had returned to Kansas carrying Emmanuel’s ashes to arrange his burial. By Alfonso’s own earlier account, he was supposed to write a letter around that time to report on his circumstances.

Yet that letter had never arrived.

Moreover, nearly three months had passed with no word from Alfonso whatsoever. That made the silence all the more ominous.

Chendo frowned as well. “Could his disappearance be connected to the unresolved affairs at the House of Hales?”

Just as Mr. Ghost was about to answer, he paused.

He recalled the question that had occurred to him not long ago.

Between last November and this February, the disappearance of the archaeological team took place within this window; the mysterious Mr. Dryson had likewise met with unexpected complications during this time, prompting him to send a letter home.

…And Alfonso’s disappearance had occurred during this very same period.