Siles stepped into 18 Hallsville Street at twelve o’clock sharp, and before long, Eric Collens made his appearance.
Siles greeted him with a touch of surprise, as his friends typically arrived at Room 52 one after another around one o’clock. Siles usually arrived earlier because he was accustomed to having lunch on the third floor.
“Good afternoon, Eric.”
“Good afternoon, Professor.” Eric walked over to Siles’s side and said, “I have a reason for coming so early today, though.”
He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Siles.
Siles paused, and a possibility promptly surfaced in his mind. Taking the envelope, he saw a familiar name written on the slightly coarse paper.
—Louisa Lampson.
After resolving the mystery of Mr. Lampson’s death aboard the “Light of First Snow” train, Siles had left a mailing address with Mrs. Louisa Lampson: 13 Milford Street.
When Siles had just returned to Lamifa City, he had asked Eric whether anyone had left any mail for him there, but there had been none at the time. Nearly a week had passed, and today he finally received a letter from Louisa.
A distinctly ominous premonition stirred within Siles. If nothing were amiss, Louisa would scarcely have written to him, especially after so much time had passed without a word from her end.
He asked Eric to wait a moment, then unsealed the envelope to read its contents. Inside was a single thin sheet of stationery, the handwriting hurried and messy, the ink blurred—perhaps by tears, or perhaps by wind and snow.
He skimmed through it quickly, his brows gradually furrowing.
…Louisa’s child had passed away.
According to the letter, Louisa had returned to Lamifa City around the end of October, roughly a week earlier than Siles. Over the past fortnight, as the weather gradually turned cold, the boy’s mental state had suddenly taken a sharp turn for the worse.
Not long ago, on the night of Lamifa’s first snow, the young boy had bolted wildly out of the house, catching Louisa completely unprepared. Yesterday afternoon, his body was found along the banks of the Canra River, thoroughly frozen stiff.
It was hard to say precisely what had caused his death, nor did Louisa’s letter state it explicitly. Writing to Siles while consumed by immense grief and despair, she was not seeking aid, but merely sharing her sorrow at her most helpless and bewildered moment.
She invited Siles to attend her child’s funeral: eight o’clock tomorrow morning, at a small chapel belonging to the Church of the Past in the West District.
Siles read through the entire letter and could not help but sigh.
Eric asked from the side, “What happened?”
“Do you remember the couple aboard the ‘Light of First Snow’ train I mentioned to you?” Siles asked.
Eric nodded.
He did indeed know. They all knew about Nona’s affair, so when Siles shared his experiences in the Ashless Lands, he had specifically touched upon the story of the Lampson couple.
Underground gangs in the West District were still collecting ancient Time Traces.
Siles then said, “Their child… has passed away.”
Eric drew a faint breath and could not help saying, “So young…”
“Yes. So young, yet already unable to see this winter through,” Siles said, gazing at the winter scenery outside the window. “This is truly tragic.”
Both men fell silent for a moment.
Once the initial wave of sorrow receded, a faint sense of doubt gradually rose within Siles.
Over these past few weeks, what exactly had happened to that child? Why had his mental condition abruptly deteriorated? Why had he run out of the house in a frenzy, only to die on the banks of the Canra River?
Was his death a purely physiological mental breakdown, or did it involve the influence of certain extraordinary factors? Had he come into contact with an out-of-control Time Trace?
These were all questions. And such questions could likely only be inquired about from his mother at his funeral tomorrow. If Louisa’s mental state was fragile, however, Siles would hardly have the heart to question her closely.
In the span of a few short weeks, Louisa had lost both her husband and her child.
In just a few days’ time, Siles was about to attend a second funeral. This was truly a harsh winter.
Owing to Louisa’s letter, the atmosphere in the room remained rather somber even as the others arrived one by one.
Madame Fuller picked up on this quite acutely and asked, “What is the matter?”
Siles recounted what had transpired.
Sorrowful expressions appeared on everyone else’s faces.
Young Darrell Hobbs stared blankly and said, “Was that child… about my age?”
“Perhaps even younger than you,” Siles said softly.
Darrell could not help letting out a sigh, saying, “How pitiable.”
Angela sighed as well, saying, “I have already heard of quite a few elders falling gravely ill. Even the nobility are in such a state, to say nothing of commoners. People are not having an easy time of it.”
Madame Fuller nodded in agreement, adding, “Over the past week, I have attended two funerals—one for a nobleman and one for a merchant.”
Siles was slightly startled. He had assumed Madame Fuller had also attended Professor Calverley’s funeral, but as she went on to detail the two services, Siles realized they were different individuals entirely.
Angela could not help clicking her tongue slightly, saying, “That is a bit much. Though… it does not seem to be…”
She seemed to suddenly realize what she was saying, whereupon a rather nuanced expression crossed her face.
Madame Fuller cast a glance at her.
Darrell opened his eyes wide and urged, “Stop speaking in riddles!”
Angela offered a somewhat bashful smile.
Madame Fuller gave a gentle smile, then said, “It touches upon certain power struggles among the upper echelons of the Duchy of Konst.”
This statement caught them all somewhat by surprise.
Madame Fuller continued, “The current Grand Duke ascended the throne fourteen years ago. At the time, quite a few nobles actually favored the Grand Duke’s elder brother. In the end, however, that ducal heir vanished without a trace.”
Siles listened quietly. He had previously heard Carol mention the matter regarding the throne of the Duchy of Konst. Supposedly, the Dawn Revelators had backed the current Grand Duke behind the scenes, enabling his smooth succession.
No matter the circumstances, power struggles were never settled in a single stroke. In truth, before and after that point, disputes had never ceased.
“Fourteen years have passed,” Madame Fuller said. “The Grand Duke has firmly secured his seat, while that batch of nobles who opposed him back then… have reached the age where they must greet death. This is a bitter winter, a severe cold worth exploiting.”
Darrell blinked, letting out an involuntary “woah.”
Eric said with a touch of concern, “Does this imply… that the recent atmosphere within Lamifa City might not be very peaceful?”
Elders and youths truly focused on vastly different priorities.
“It is a possibility,” Madame Fuller said. “The sole question is, we have no idea to what extent those old nobles will push their retaliation. Or… whether they might leverage the power of Revelators.”
They all fell silent for a moment.
Angela supplemented in a low voice, “Furthermore… do you remember that the Withered Wasteland development plan comes with a matching Lamifa City urban development plan? Rumor has it the Grand Duke wants to use this opportunity to thoroughly pull all power back into his own hands.”
Siles fell into deep thought. He recalled the underground gangs of the West District.
Darrell looked left and right, seeing that the adults had all plunged into contemplation, and could not help saying, “The complex and filthy world of adults.”
Angela pulled a face at him, then said, “You will encounter it yourself sooner or later.”
Darrell shrugged, offering an unexpectedly philosophical take: “I am a Revelator of the Third Corridor. Acting as a heavy hitter will suit me just fine.”
Several adults gathered their gazes upon him.
Darrell let out an “er,” then asked, “Was what I said that strange?”
“It simply does not sound like something you would say,” Angela said oddly. “Are you truly Darrell? Should you not be a hot-tempered, reckless brat who knows no bounds?”
“Who is a brat!” Darrell said indignantly. “Do not slander me as you please!”
“Then why would you suddenly have such a thought?” Eric asked.
Darrell fell silent for a short while before squeezing out a sentence: “Winter has arrived.”
“Yes.” They nodded one after another.
Darrell was quiet for another moment before saying, “A great many people have died.” He added another sentence: “Not merely because of… matters related to Revelators. They just… died so ordinarily.”
He let out a slow sigh, then said, “At Marshall Middle School… the middle school I attend, Teacher Eugene passed away.”
Angela let out a gasp, saying in shock and grief, “How could that be! I had no idea about this at all.”
Darrell shrugged with forced lightness, saying, “I only heard about it right as the semester began. Because of the rain, Teacher Eugene accidentally slipped and fell… So many people die in places we know nothing about.”
“…And you feel yourself so minuscule in the face of death,” Madame Fuller said in a low voice.
Darrell moved his lips, ultimately speaking with candor: “Indeed, Madame Fuller. What a terrifying thing death is. Yet we have no way to resist it at all. I am somewhat reluctant… to face this reality. My apologies.”
The young boy suddenly apologized, yet they all understood his meaning.
Silence hung over them for a brief moment.
Finally, seeing that the mood was truly dismal, Angela said, “Then let me share a piece of good news.”
“What good news?” Eric asked.
Angela blinked, her tone turning lighthearted: “Do you remember that marigold cup?”
They were all taken aback, then nodded.
After Brewer Darrow’s death, a detective had gone to investigate near the Darrow family residence. A servant belonging to a nearby neighbor had salvaged a cup engraved with marigolds and a long wig from a trash bin.
“Before the winter break, I asked Millie—that is Millicent Austin, a friend of mine who enjoys studying plants and flowers—to look into concepts associated with marigolds.”
This caught all their interest.
Siles asked, “So, Miss Austin uncovered useful information?”
“Yes.” Angela nodded. “At first, we only found very common concepts that we felt held little value—for instance, marigolds were believed to induce prophetic dreams… which sounded thoroughly fantastical.
“Later, however, in an ancient text, we uncovered a rather fascinating notion. Have you all seen marigolds?”
They all nodded. It was a plant of the Asteraceae family, its petals usually bearing a strikingly vivid orange hue.
Angela continued, “Perhaps owing to the marigold’s overly bright color, some referred to the plant as the ‘Bride of the Sun,’ believing that shade to be proof of the sun’s favor.”
…”Bride of the Sun”?
Siles could not help a slight start.
Angela went on, “The reason we felt this information held value was because… Brewer’s death was directly tied to his fiancée, and this moniker hints that the marigold seems connected to the stars.”
At this point, she paused.
Siles said slowly, “Lusmi, the God of Stars and Light.”
He thought to himself that Brewer had previously mentioned records within his family—chaotic lines high in the sky, things hidden amidst storm clouds—which were sufficient to call Lusmi to mind. The marigold seemed to corroborate this from another angle.
“I am of the same mind,” Angela said in a hushed voice.
The Bride of the Sun. The marigold cup.
Siles felt as though an idea was forming, yet amidst his chaotic thoughts, it was difficult to articulate clearly. He temporarily noted these two key points in his mind, intending to seek inspiration gradually later on.
Just at that moment, Eric also spoke up: “The Second Corridor intends to unseal the relevant archives regarding the Darrow family. That decision has been finalized. After a short while, I will be able to apply to consult the relevant materials.”
“Wonderful!” Angela could not help exclaiming. “When the time comes, we can investigate this matter according to our own ideas. The Second Corridor’s attitude toward this incident has been far too lax.”
“Precisely,” Darrell could not refrain from adding. “Clues that even a detective could uncover were missed by both the police department and the Second Corridor.”
In response, the adults maintained a calm and balanced perspective.
Siles, however, pondered in his mind: was it truly because the latter two had been overly negligent?
He could not help thinking of that detective, Jon Mansfield. Jon possessed a Psychology skill as high as 86 and had the keen instincts of a detective; he would certainly spot things ordinary people could not.
Naturally, Siles had never discussed the Darrow family with that detective, nor did he know whether Detective Jon had investigated the case.
Setting that aside, he felt he could contact the detective who had obtained the marigold cup through Jon or Maynard, thereby examining the cup at close range.
Siles wanted all the more to equip the [Frame of Akamara’s Spectacles] to discern the true nature of that marigold cup.
The topics this afternoon were exceedingly heavy, touching upon death, power struggles, and the conspiracies of Old God followers. Even though they had made new discoveries, they remained unable to maintain a cheerful mood.
Siles said, “In a while, once the weather improves slightly, I plan to take my students on a sightseeing excursion nearby. Do any of you have recommendations?”
Angela was aware of this and added enthusiastically, “Anything works! Museums, art galleries, exhibitions… preferably something novel.”
They knew Siles was Angela’s professor, so her supplementary remarks caused no surprise.
Madame Fuller thought for a moment and said, “In a while, there appears to be an art exhibition from a foreign nation hosted in the exhibition halls of the Lamifa Museum. If memory serves, it should be open to the public free of charge, albeit with capacity limits.
“Professor, if you wish to take your students, I can reserve a half-day slot for you in advance.”
Siles was pleasantly surprised to learn this. He expressed his sincere gratitude to Madame Fuller, then said, “You may choose a Friday afternoon in December, whichever proves convenient.”
“No problem,” Madame Fuller replied smoothly.
“I am already looking forward to it!” Angela said. “Do you know which country the exhibition hails from?”
Madame Fuller recalled carefully, then said, “It seems to be from a nation beyond Kansas… a coastal nation, as I recall.
“The reason I know of it is that my husband’s business has a fair bit of connection with the collectors’ market, so I heard that certain collectors are already eagerly anticipating the exhibition.”
Siles thought to himself: Middleton?
He had once heard Emmanuel introduce that nation—militaristic, coastal, and its populace were reportedly devout followers of Amois, the God of Warriors and Pirates.
Originally, the Duchy of Konst would not have had interactions with such a nation, as evidenced by the fact that even the merchant Lanmere had never conducted business with them.
However, as the Withered Wasteland development plan progressed, communication and exchanges between nations were growing increasingly frequent out of necessity.
First and foremost came cultural exchanges.
Framed in that light, Siles could not help developing an interest in this December exhibition himself.
They chatted briefly on topics related to social culture, even touching upon certain funeral etiquette. Adopting a less heavy mindset, Madame Fuller shared quite a few interesting anecdotes with them.
For instance, residents of the Duchy of Konst had historically practiced earth burials, but as land grew scarce, cremation gradually became the more common custom among commoners.
“The nobility still practice earth burials, however,” Madame Fuller noted.
Darrell said with a slight touch of dismissal, “In the end, they merely turn into a handful of dust inside their coffins all the same.”
The remark made them all want to smile.
Before long, this gathering drew to a close. Before departing, Eric said he would strive to bring the unsealed Darrow family materials over next week.
They were all quite looking forward to it.
After bidding farewell to his friends, Siles put on his gloves and scarf and returned to the History Society. At 18 Hallsville Street, he was always the first to arrive; at the Dawn Revelators, he was always the last.
The other three, however, were entirely accustomed to this.
When the Dealer appeared, the Knight, the Newsboy, and the Noblewoman were discussing matters regarding the Ashless Lands.
Last week, when the Dealer mentioned having traveled to the Ashless Lands over the previous fortnight, they had inquired about his experiences with great curiosity. This time, however, the topic of their discussion caught the Dealer somewhat off guard.
“The map will need to be altered,” the Newsboy said in a somewhat complex, low tone. “The secret of Corinna Canyon, the fall of the House of Hales… the Non-existent City, ha, was actually a scam.”
The Dealer greeted them, then took his seat. He thought to himself that it appeared the deeds of Hoodoka’s followers had become common knowledge.
The Newsboy’s attitude, however, surprised him somewhat.
“The map will need to be altered.” Could the Newsboy be engaged in work related to maps of the Ashless Lands?
He did not dwell on the matter.
The Noblewoman soon said, “Unbelievable.” She nodded toward the Dealer. “Mr. Dealer, when you mentioned this last week, I thought you were exaggerating somewhat. Though… the Ashless Lands seem to be just like that; no amount of exaggeration would be misplaced.”
“Even so,” the Newsboy said with a hint of defiance, “for a cartographer to commit such an act merely to express his love to his wife… it is simply too absurd! His mistake was even exploited by scheming individuals, resulting in an even more dreadful disaster.
“Do you not find that thoroughly detestable?”
The Noblewoman asked with a sharp edge, “Whom do you mean is detestable? Barnett, or those masterminds behind the scenes?”
The Newsboy was suddenly at a loss for words. After a moment, she said listlessly, “Never mind… it is nothing.” She displayed a somewhat lazy demeanor. “Rather, Noblewoman, your expedition team made another trip for nothing.”
The Noblewoman let out a scoffing laugh, saying, “Investments come with the risk of falling through.”
Since she brought up investments, the Dealer hesitated briefly before asking, “Noblewoman, I presume you possess greater experience in commercial ventures?”
“Naturally. What of it?” the Noblewoman said. “Do you wish to do business?”
“No, I merely intend to open a relatively simple shop,” the Dealer said. “Do you think selling children’s educational toys would be a viable idea?”
The Noblewoman blinked, then said in deep confusion, “What are children’s educational toys? No, what does ‘educational’ mean?”
All right, it seems this world has not yet developed the notion of ‘giving children a head start at the starting line,’ the Dealer thought to himself.
He pivoted, saying, “You may view it as toys created specifically for children.”
The Noblewoman stroked her chin, stating uncertainly, “Perhaps there is some prospect… after all, no one has developed products in that domain before. Toys—that is an unexpected industry.”
The Dealer asked in some surprise, “Do parents not purchase toys for their children?”
The Knight smiled from the side, saying gently, “Noble families have no need to purchase them outside; commoner families lack the means to purchase them outside.”
The Newsboy nodded in agreement: “Indeed. If you truly wish to open such a shop, you must control the pricing extremely well.”
The Dealer grew thoughtful, offering them his thanks.
He suddenly realized a highly intriguing question: if he leveraged Deep Sea Dreams to manifest fictional objects from his dreams into reality—such as countless Rubik’s Cubes…
…Would his business not be overwhelmingly lucrative?
He experienced a moment of wavering, only to realize with shame that it was terrible. This was likely the first time someone had contemplated utilizing an Old God’s power for commercial profit. Menavaca’s followers notwithstanding.
The topic of opening a shop reached its conclusion, but it led them into discussing life in Lamifa City.
The Noblewoman naturally brought up Grand Duke Konst’s Lamifa City urban development plan.
“Supposedly, the Grand Duke wishes to improve the residents’ living conditions,” the Noblewoman said. “That is news from the Merchant Guild. Furthermore, certain projects might be open for public bidding, such as transportation or other infrastructure construction.”
The Newsboy nodded, saying, “That is a fine idea; it could make the project’s outcomes far more thorough.”
The Noblewoman could not help sneering: “What are you thinking, little Newsboy? This is merely a ploy by the Grand Duke to consolidate his own authority. Those old nobles will be kicked out of the circle of interests, and a new circle of interests will be born within such a development plan.”
The Newsboy blinked, seeming on the verge of speaking, yet looking somewhat at a loss.
After a moment, she seemed to finally hit upon what she wanted to say: “Your new husband—is he not a nobleman?”
“Er…” The Noblewoman looked up at the ceiling, then said in a low voice, “That was an issue I had not considered. Supposedly, however, his relationship with the Grand Duke is quite good. At least, that is what I heard.”
The Dealer thought to himself that it was indeed so. Angela had disclosed some of the Grand Duke’s thoughts to them on multiple occasions. That was information only someone very close could possess.
They lamented briefly over the power struggles of high-ranking figures.
Afterward, the Knight suddenly realized with keen insight: “If that is truly the case, will the History Society and the Dawn Revelators be dragged into such a vortex of power?”
They could not help exchanging glances.
Fourteen years ago, the current Grand Duke had successfully succeeded to the ducal seat precisely with the backing of the Dawn Revelators. Although Mr. Summer had vanished afterward and the History Society’s ethos had grown increasingly conservative, regardless, it indeed bore a connection to them.
The Noblewoman stroked her chin with great interest, then burst into laughter: “By your reckoning, I am quite eager to learn how those fellows will react.”
She was naturally referring to those hidden members of the Dawn Revelators.
Speaking of the Dawn Revelators, the Dealer was reminded of a problem that had plagued him for a long time—before the Greyson incident broke out, he had written to the Dawn Revelators’ contact point asking for assistance.
Yet the Dawn Revelators had seemingly dispatched no one to help.
At the time, he had assumed Chendo was sent by the Dawn Revelators, but Chendo had actually come to Lamifa City merely while pursuing clues regarding the Ashless Lands. Would the Dawn Revelators truly remain indifferent to what transpired at the palace banquet?
After some thought, the Dealer brought the matter up.
“Such things are hard to say,” the Newsboy said in a distinctly sarcastic tone. “They might simply have missed your letter, or perhaps they deemed you were making a mountain out of a molehill and could not be bothered to pay you any mind.”
The Dealer was caught off guard, then let out a gentle sigh, saying, “That is not impossible either.”
“Let us not speak of such disappointing matters,” the Noblewoman said crisply. “The current members of the Dawn Revelators are nothing more than rats hiding in sewers. Do not blame me for describing them so—they are merely eking out an existence by riding on Mr. Summer’s strength and prestige.
“Fourteen years have passed. Should a few more years go by, once certain old men become certain Mr. Summer truly will not reappear, this current state of peaceful coexistence might instantly crumble.”
The Knight nodded in agreement.
The Newsboy sighed, saying, “Reality is so complex. I wish I were bathed in bright sunlight right now, rather than discussing these dull adults’ topics with you on a day filled with wind and snow.”
“Adults’ topics,” the Noblewoman said. “Do not jest. Among the four of us here, your age is either the oldest or second oldest.”
The Newsboy said, “So you admit you are the oldest?”
The Noblewoman: “…”
She glares fiercely at the Newsboy.
Both the Knight and the Dealer could not help laughing. The bickering between the Newsboy and the Noblewoman always brought them amusement.
The conversation proceeded unhurriedly.
The Newsboy casually mentioned, “Though it is just a jest, you should all take care to keep warm and mind your health recently. Mr. Dealer, your voice sounds somewhat hoarse; were you sick not long ago?”
“Yes, a minor ailment,” the Dealer said softly.
The Newsboy nodded, then shook her head: “That is no light matter. In weather like this, at a time like this, falling ill might not necessarily be curable.”
“What are you implying?” the Noblewoman asked, puzzled.
The Newsboy said, “Only that Darwin Hospital in the West District has run out of beds recently. People even have to queue up just to see a doctor. Some are even queuing up on behalf of others to earn money…”
As she spoke, she shook her head.
The Noblewoman wore a disgusted expression. She said, “Perhaps this time the Grand Duke’s urban development plan will arrange for several more hospitals in the West District?”
“Who knows,” the Newsboy scoffed. “The West District is the turf of certain noble bigwigs, not the Grand Duke’s domain. If this high-level struggle allows the Grand Duke to claim that territory, I would actually feel it is for the better.”
Hearing this, a thought stirred in the Dealer’s mind, and he asked, “The West District is the turf of certain bigwigs?”
“Yes,” the Newsboy said. “Have you never heard of the underground gangs in the West District?”
“I know of them,” the Dealer said, his mind subconsciously drifting to the Knight beside him.
During the final class of their introductory course, he and Carol—who was the Knight seated beside him now—had gone to the West District together to investigate the museum gatekeeper theft case.
At the time, when they realized the matter was very likely connected to the West District’s underground gangs, Carol had noted that the underground gangs in the West District were backed by a prominent figure from the East District, and that prominent figure was a Revelator.
Afterward, they had even conducted a brief investigation into the members of the Council of Elders, and Angela had ultimately narrowed it down to two—or rather, three—suspects.
Jonathan Bryant, the Duchy’s Finance Minister; Houston Constantine, representing military power; and Eugenia Biedel, the businesswoman seated right in this room as the Noblewoman.
Setting the Noblewoman aside, the Dealer realized that if the underground power in the West District was inherently opposed to the Grand Duke, then Jonathan Bryant, the Duchy’s Finance Minister, appeared to be an exceedingly suspicious candidate.
The Newsboy continued, “You may have heard of the West District’s underground passages—a dense, crisscrossing subterranean transport network. Do you think the Grand Duke can truly tolerate an underground network beyond his control?”
That sounds exceedingly aligned with a Finance Minister’s needs—conducting shady business, does it not? the Dealer thought to himself.
Listening in, the Noblewoman suddenly sneered: “Speaking of which, the Greyson incident provided the Grand Duke with a convenient pretext to clean up the West District.”
They were all startled.
“Have you forgotten?” the Noblewoman said. “Greyson Food Company originally made its start in the West District. Furthermore, I heard the company’s factory is also located there.
“The Greyson incident caused such a stir, and many residents are still suffering from anorexia, refusing to eat… Do you think the Grand Duke might use this opportunity, under the guise of targeting Old God followers, to crack down on certain industries and underground transactions in the West District?”
Framed that way, it was indeed possible, the Dealer thought.
Moreover, another matter crossed his mind.
Bolin Elgar was the palace steward. The culmination of the Greyson incident had ultimately taken place in the castle kitchen. Could the Grand Duke truly have been entirely ignorant of Elgar and Clarence’s scheming?
The Dealer disliked the narrative that “great figures are deceived and remain entirely oblivious to masterminds’ conspiracies.”
That was the royal palace!
Furthermore, during the rainy season in July of this year, the Grand Duke’s entire family had departed Lamifa City. That had clearly afforded Elgar far greater leeway to unscrupulously leverage his identity to develop the Greyson Food Company.
During typical rainy seasons, the Grand Duke’s family rarely left the capital for extended periods.
…All in all, the Grand Duke maintained a subtle, ambiguous attitude toward the Greyson incident—neither supporting nor opposing it—and after it concluded, he appeared all the more indifferent.
A thought surfaced in the Dealer’s mind, only to fade away slowly.
He decided he did not wish to make wild conjectures. However, what if…
He was stunned for a moment, ultimately drawing a deep breath.
What if the Grand Duke had deliberately allowed Elgar to carry out such a plot, using it in the end as leverage to move against the West District?
It was a chill down one’s spine in a whole different sense.
After the conversation at the Dawn Revelators concluded, Siles stepped out of the History Society and walked slowly along the tree-lined avenue toward the Fane residence. On a dreary winter evening, cold winds swept up withered yellow leaves at street corners, making Siles recall the [Flowing Wind] ritual.
A rather peculiar thought occurred to him: ordinary leaves could not be preserved long, but if winter leaves were made into specimens and kept until the following summer, would the wind reproduced by them… be a cold wind?
Would that not be air conditioning’s cooling mode?
He actually contemplated the idea quite seriously.
In the end, Siles let out a sigh—the earthling seemed increasingly integrated into this world, even beginning to consider the feasibility of an otherworldly air conditioner. He wondered whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
He quickly tossed the thought aside and went to the Fane residence for dinner.
He noticed some needlework laid out on the living room table and inquired about it. Sure enough, it was Mrs. Fane’s recent pastime. She seemed to have taken a liking to such handicrafts, including pottery, sewing, and metal engraving.
She mentioned visiting 13 Milford Street in the West District from time to time to study related techniques with Mrs. Collens. The hobby had originally been taught to her by Mrs. Collens.
Speaking of this, Mrs. Fane even expressed straightforward disdain for her husband’s knitting skills.
“A stray dog probably wouldn’t care to wear it, wouldn’t you say, Bertram?”
Bertram chuckled helplessly again and again, finally saying, “So long as your craftsmanship is fine enough, my dear.”
Siles could not help smiling. He recalled that back when Mrs. Fane was still sharp-tongued, he would often hear such remarks, delivered with that sarcastic edge characteristic of middle-aged women.
However…
A thought suddenly stirred in Siles’s mind, and he asked Mrs. Fane, “Speaking of which, Mrs. Fane, would it be possible to hand-weave a hair tie?”
Mrs. Fane looked at him with some surprise, then said, “Of course, Siles. I can provide you with materials right here. Learning from scratch might take a bit of time, though.”
Siles nodded, replying earnestly, “That is no problem. You may give me a brief lesson later.”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Fane replied.
After dinner, Mr. Fane and Mrs. Fane did chores together in the kitchen. Once again, it was Siles and Anthony chatting in the living room.
Anthony glanced at their retreating backs, then pursed his lips: “I truly feel like a third wheel in this house.”
Siles could not help letting out a light, amused cough.
“Did you catch a cold?” Anthony glanced at him. “Thanks to the five hundred ducal coins you gave my friends and me, they probably won’t fall ill this year. You can’t go falling ill yourself, though.”
“Just a minor cold,” Siles said helplessly.
Anthony nodded, then suddenly remembered something: “By the way, Jimmy asked me to pass a message to you.”
Siles was slightly startled and asked, “What is it?”
“He asked if you still remember… the tramp Byrne? Horn? Something ending in ‘rne,’ anyway.” Anthony could not quite recall the name clearly. “He said he mentioned this person to you during the previous investigation into Greyson.”
“The tramp Byrne…” Siles said softly. “Yes, I remember. What about him?”
“Jimmy said he spotted the fellow in the West District again,” Anthony said. “When you have time, go ask Jimmy directly about the situation. He was acting all cagey when he told me, looking almost afraid of that tramp.”
Siles could not help feeling a surge of curiosity.
He had met Jimmy in mid-October, at which time Jimmy told him that the tramp Byrne believed Greyson’s food was filthy, and thus refused to let it touch his lips.
Byrne had ultimately vanished on Dawson Street.
The tramp Byrne was a very peculiar character card in the TRPG campaign. His peculiarity lay in the fact that unless a specific event was triggered, players using this character card would never know that the tramp Byrne’s true allegiance lay with the apostate Hamlin.
In other words, the tramp Byrne was a character with a hidden identity, hostile to the Church, and secretly scheming certain plots.
As the Keeper, Siles was well aware of this.
When he first arrived in this world, to save the Doctor, Siles had chosen to directly inform the Church of the Past of Hamlin’s whereabouts. That had earned him the friendship of the Church of the Past while simultaneously rendering the entire TRPG script worthless in an instant.
Though the script had lost its value, the setting and background still remained. Siles knew that the tramp Byrne was not as simple as he appeared on the surface.
He thought to himself: Byrne had clearly vanished before—in all likelihood because Hamlin was captured, prompting Byrne, as an accomplice, to temporarily lay low to ensure his own safety—so why had he reappeared now?
After the Greyson incident had drawn to a close, right as winter descended upon Lamifa City?
Siles felt a wave of unease at the potential answer to this question.
As it happened, he was heading to the West District tomorrow to attend the funeral of Louisa’s child. Siles thought he could drop by Ernestine Tavern along the way to have a chat with Jimmy.
Siles made up his mind.
Once Mr. and Mrs. Fane finished their household chores, Siles spent time learning a few weaving techniques from Mrs. Fane. He clumsily mimicked the motions, and once confident he had mastered them, he departed with the materials Mrs. Fane generously gifted him.
Before he left, Mrs. Fane specifically instructed him: “You can weave the main body of the hair tie first, then take your time deciding on an ornament to attach. I must say, Siles, I didn’t expect you to want to weave a hair tie.”
“…A gift for my lover,” Siles said softly. “His hair is somewhat long.”
Mrs. Fane smiled with understanding. She said in a tone of near gentleness, “With such care on your part, the two of you are bound to find happiness.”
Siles rubbed his nose in embarrassment. He quickly bade farewell to the Fane family, stowed the hair tie materials in his bag, and caught a hired carriage back to 6 Hayward Street. The fireplace brought him a comforting warmth in short order.
Naturally, so did Chendo, who was waiting in the room.
Chendo was sitting on the sofa, leafing through a book out of boredom. Hearing Siles return, he stood up and warmly greeted Siles, who was clad in the chill of the outdoors.
“I guessed you would return around this time, so I came over specifically to light the fireplace for you, and to check on how your body is faring.” He said with self-satisfied pride, “It seems I have your schedule down to a science now.”
Siles could not help smiling. He had once found such behavior from Chendo rather childish, but as a lover, he adored Chendo like this. It allowed him to feel the other man’s earnest sincerity.
It was something Siles felt too embarrassed to put into words.
“You feel somewhat cold,” Chendo murmured.
“It is very cold outside,” Siles said. “Fortunately, it hasn’t snowed. I wonder what tomorrow will bring; I have to make a trip to the West District tomorrow.”
He shared tomorrow’s schedule with Chendo while taking off his coat and putting away his bag—he paid special thought to the hair tie materials inside, though he did not let it show, intending to reveal it only after the weaving was finished—and then sat down on the sofa.
Chendo followed him step by step, like some clingy, fluffy animal that felt content only when its fur adhered to its master’s pant legs. He said, “Sounds as though Lamifa City hides many secrets as well.”
“Indeed,” Siles said softly.
At that moment, Chendo suddenly reached out and touched Siles’s ear. His hand was warm and cozy, but Siles’s earlobe still carried the chill from outdoors.
“Still a bit cold,” Chendo said almost tenderly.
Before Siles could react, Chendo leaned in close. He first extended his tongue to gently lick Siles’s earlobe, then took it into his mouth. The warm touch sent a momentary wave of numbness through Siles.
He heard Chendo’s teasing, low chuckle.
Chendo said, “Warming it up for you. Do you need the other side done as well?”
Siles: “…”
He was a man of normal physiological function, after all… Good heavens.
