26 March 1686 of the 6th Era, Regina Road, West District

  Antony had to use every last bit of his willpower to stop himself from grinning as he watched Charlotte marvel at the slice of cake in front of her. Multilayered, made of chocolate, with abundant whipped cream on top and decorated with fresh berries, and with a small scoop of ice-cream on the side. It really was impressive, but it was the adoration plastered across Charlotte’s face that was the true crowning moment. It was worth the detour just to see that. Besides, he was beginning to feel the gentle pangs of hunger, and eagerly used her innocent question as a pretence.

  It was the first time in a couple of months where he had time for himself, free to spend it whichever way he wanted. And right now he wanted to spend it eating cake and drinking tea at one of the best cafes in Ledavia. They even managed to find a spot right next to the large window overlooking the Regina Road, a marvellous street full of fashionable boutiques and jewellery stores. Later in spring, it would be adorned by blooming apple trees, with daffodils and tulips of the wildest colours meticulously planted underneath them to create a vibrant alley worthy of the Queen’s gardens. Today, of course, the trees stood barren.

  I really could get used to this again.

  Antony picked up his cup, trying to chase the sudden thought away. Not that it was a terrible idea… No, it was a terrible idea. A horrible idea, even.

  “Everything alright?” Charlotte noticed his lost expression.

  “I just can’t get his confession out of my head. Do you think he really meant what he said?”

  “I don’t know,” she picked up the dessert fork, broke off a small piece of the cake, and put it in her mouth. “It tastes even better than it looks.”

  “I’m glad,” he pretended to sigh in relief, then took a bite of his own cake, finding it worth every penny.

  “He provided a reason that sounded plausible enough, but,” Charlotte continued meanwhile, “I don’t think it matters much, either. What does matter is the fact that he wasn’t telling the entire truth. Drawing our attention to one single detail so that we wouldn’t ask any more questions. Refusing to talk about past events, instantly beginning to shout… I knew that question was a very dangerous one to ask, but his reaction wasn’t something I expected. His overall behaviour is weird for someone who desperately wants to be saved.

  “It is also interesting that he immediately went to accuse Lord Welz’s children and only then gave the typical ‘I don’t know who else could have wished him ill’ excuse.”

  “He had ample time to think about it while being imprisoned,” Antony offered. “Especially if he wasn’t on particularly good terms with them to begin with.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t like that eagerness.”

  Antony watched her mindlessly pick up a loose strand of her hair and wrap it up around her finger, then tug on the sleeve of her dress, then do a dozen more little motions, as if she were using those to get her thoughts aligned.

  “I think I understand what you’re trying to convey,” he tried to help her. “It was not what he said, but how he said it. While his displeasure was genuine, it was almost as if he chose the most plausible subjects and pointed his finger at them.”

  “Having known him for some time, would you describe this behaviour as typical for him?”

  “He has always been rather outspoken,” Antony admitted, having given the matter some consideration. “I’d say he did make some off-hand remarks from time to time, but… who doesn’t? In any case, maybe he knows a bit more than he cared to tell us. Overheard one of the siblings complaining about their father, for example, or, as often happens, saw something he wasn’t supposed to see while handling correspondence. You know…”

  “It is a possibility, yes,” Charlotte hastily wrote down the idea. “Now, this aside, there’s one thing that really bothers me about all of this.”

  “Just one?” She glared at him, and Antony quickly lifted his hands, “I might have overdone it with sarcasm.”

  “There’s definitely one thing among many that puzzles me,” she propped her head with her hand, looking outside the window. “Was this premeditated murder, robbery, robbery turned murder, or something else entirely? I know that I’m asking too much of you, but do you remember what the weather was like during the days leading to the fifth? Were there signs of an incoming storm, or outright warnings maybe?”

  Antony hesitated with the reply, briefly closing his eyes, “I believe there were. There were definitely talks about possible cancellation of a number of festivities due to bad weather.”

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  “So… Whoever it was, they knew that the streets would most likely be even emptier than usual. Then they find out, either by being a member of the household, or by having someone within the household, that Lord Welz sent everyone away. Apart from the secretary.”

  “Lord Welz might have told them that he was sending everyone away,” he reminded her, “if it was someone he wanted to meet in secret. After all, he was wearing his morning coat all buttoned up, if Mr Brook is to be believed.”

  “True. Wish I could see the room the way it was on the day of murder,” Charlotte said, somewhat annoyed.

  “Have you thought of a way to meet Lord Welz’s children?” Antony asked, suddenly changing the topic.

  “I am getting help from the church with that in exchange for looking into another matter,” she sighed. “I should have demanded cake.”

  “You really do like sweets,” Antony murmured, realising too late that Charlotte heard him.

  “I do. I also like cats, flowers, and small dogs,” she looked at her now empty plate somewhat regretfully. “And I really do hate the colour black, even though my attire could convince you of the opposite.”

  “Why do you–”

  “My line of work. Someone’s passed away, the cause being as unnatural as it can be, the family is devastated and, in many cases, scared they would be next. Half the time not without reason, either. And then the person in charge of the investigation waltzes in wearing a bright blue dress and a ribbon in her hair. Don’t get me wrong, people can dress however they want, and I’ve seen a few clerics of the Golden Moon wear, uhhh, bright pink,” Antony could have sworn that by “some” Charlotte meant someone very specific. She meanwhile continued, “But she is the goddess of life, harvest, and fertility, people expect them to be jovial and bubbly. Mine watches over death and knowledge, and hers is the power to grant peace. Most of us prefer to follow a simpler and less colourful dress code.”

  “And when you’re not working?”

  She glanced at him, her entire pose indicating that the question was a bit too personal, but still replied after a short delay, “Depends. Issue is, I cannot always plan my free time. I have had the wonderful experience of having to leave a theatre performance. It was a warm summer evening, too, so you can probably imagine how comical it looked. A woman in a full ball gown, with an elaborate hairdo, wearing pearl earrings and a necklace the worth of which I don’t even want to talk about, appearing at a crime scene and named leading investigator to the confusion of everyone present.

  “Innards everywhere, half the building collapsed, whatever remains of it scorched beyond recognition… A typical result of a necromantic spell gone wrong, and I needed to ascertain that the one who was conducting the ritual was also the one now lying on the floor in pieces. Gods, I was so annoyed. I was really looking forward to that play.”

  “Been there. Even worse if they never run it again. You do get days off, at least?” Antony gave her an understanding look.

  “Even weeks off. I’m complaining right now, but really, it’s not that bad. Everyone knows that a tired exorcist is more prone to making mistakes, and when it comes to what we do, mistakes will be fatal,” her voice became sombre. “Either way, for the time being, the Nightmare Poets and the local exorcists from the church have everything well in hand with that case. I don’t see how I could be of much use to them,” she languidly leafed through her notebook, more to keep her hands busy, when something once again caught her attention. “Weird.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “The description of that ruby is vaguely familiar, but I cannot remember where I have heard it before,” Charlotte traced her finger along a line.

  “Some auction description, perhaps? Or someone from the upper circles mentioning they saw it once and would have loved to wear it?”

  “Not exactly. It’s not even the ruby itself,” Charlotte frowned, then rubbed her temple, wincing in pain.

  “Are you–”

  “I’m fine, don’t worry,” she mustered a smile. “The stark change of weather conditions is getting to me, I am afraid. There’s something about how Mr Brook phrased it that’s bothering me. The ‘special light conditions’ bit. Ugh, it’s no use trying to remember it right now. How much time do we have?”

  Antony opened his pocket watch, “We’re making it just fine. If you need to run some errands I could use a Sending spell to let him know we’ll be late.”

  She shook her head, “No. Let’s get going. Why was that dragon making faces at you from across the street?”

  “Dragon?” Antony stopped mid motion, looking confused.

  “The one that tried its darndest to pass for a white cat,” Charlotte seemed equally dumbfounded. “It was sitting on that side of the street, basking in the sun, but from time to time I could have sworn that…”

  “Ah, you mean Greg,” he brightened up. “We go a long way back. He probably found a new coin on the flea market and wants my help with acquiring it.”

  “You do that for him?”

  “In exchange for his services. Few pay much attention to a cat just minding its own business,” he explained, then added, “Didn’t know you could so easily see through illusions.”

  “I wouldn’t say easily. It sometimes happens that,” she paused, a series of emotions passing across her face. “It’s not important either way. I’m paying, and I won’t hear a single word of protest. You went out of your way to arrange yesterday’s dinner, and I still feel very bad about leaving so early.”

  Antony opened his mouth, but quickly decided that arguing was, indeed, futile.

  “Then may I invite you for another dinner tomorrow?”

  “I’ll think about it. Provided Lord Blackwater doesn’t take you hostage.”

  *****

  As they left the cafe and continued unhurriedly walking towards their destination, Antony could not shake the feeling that there was more to her pause. For a moment there, her body was tense, as if she had sensed danger and was calculating how to respond to it, but then abruptly forced herself to calm down and continue as if nothing happened. However, no matter how hard he thought, he could not understand what could have caused such a reaction. Was there something he said or did? Or, maybe, she simply saw an unpleasant acquaintance?..