Chapter 10.4

Cutting through the cold dawn air, Jane naturally headed for El’s Maze.

‘Don’t go alone anymore. Take me with you.’

Ian’s words lingered, but Jane shook her head to dispel his concern. She’d been coming here for years. She was only going now because she was frustrated about Ian—she couldn’t possibly bring him along. Thinking this, Jane stepped into the maze.

Narrow, dark alleys tangled like a spiderweb, a place where if you took a wrong turn, you could wander for hours—Jane crossed it without hesitation. Of course, she hadn’t always been able to do that.

Five years ago, when she first drifted into the maze, she’d had a hard time.

It wasn’t intentional. Wandering aimlessly, she’d ended up there by chance, and, lost, she’d looked up at the sunset sky and thought.

“…Weren’t you supposed to be staying at Hixston Manor, Jane?”

“Why?”

“…No, never mind.”

Maybe this place suited her better than the Rephelia Mansion, which had slowly eaten away at her life.

Thanks to that, the maze she’d come to from time to time was now so familiar it was second nature. Rick, the maze’s resident, looked displeased as Jane entered his bar.

Wiping a dirty glass, he spoke.

“If you came for the documents, as I said, you’ll have to wait longer for anything detailed.”

Jane didn’t care. Rick had never welcomed a customer who came just to drink.

‘Selling moonshine is just a cover, after all.’

The reason was so obvious it was transparent. Still, a customer is a customer, isn’t it?

Jane confidently crossed the bar and sat at her usual seat, replying,

“I know. Oh, and what you told me came in handy. The youngest of the Ports family really does teach theology at Horaiden Academy.”

She hadn’t come just to thank him, but it didn’t hurt. Rick shrugged.

“That’s hardly even information. You’ll faint from shock when you get the documents.”

“…Why do you make it sound so dramatic? What are you planning to tell me?”

“Jane. If I took twenty gold coins, I have to provide value. Losing trust in this business means quitting altogether.”

“Well, that’s true. Oh, and let’s be clear—I’m not living at Hixston Manor, I’m only staying because the Duke begged me.”

Rick looked at Jane as if to say, what nonsense is that? Anyone would think Jane was benefitting from staying at Hixston Manor. Especially if they knew even a little of her circumstances.

But Rick didn’t forget that the Jane sitting across from him, fiddling with her robe, was a client worth twenty gold coins. If she’d just been the Jane who bought a glass or two of moonshine, maybe not, but now she was a valuable customer.

Having finished his calculations, Rick chose to agree instead of arguing.

“…I didn’t know that.”

He was so agreeable that Jane narrowed her eyes and regarded him warily.

“Rick, did someone threaten you to be nice to me?”

“How about just drinking, Jane?”

“Oh, fortunately, I guess not.”

What a surprise! Swinging her feet from the stool, Jane accepted the glass Rick pushed her way. As always, it was half-filled with moonshine. Taking a mouthful of the harsh liquor, Jane dug into her robe and pulled out a bundle of parchment and a pen. Seeing Jane bite the nib, Rick, still holding his glass, said,

“You should break that habit, Jane. Writing in a cheap bar like this…”

“Why? Don’t I look like an artist? An artist suffering for her art!”

Suffering for art. She looked more like an artist addicted to alcohol. As she waved her inked pen in the air, Rick hesitated for a moment. Should he tell her to stop talking nonsense, or applaud? The decision didn’t take long. He was wiping a glass, so he couldn’t clap anyway. He chose the easier route.

“Such artists tend to die young.”

“Where’s the Rick who used to pour expensive drinks?”

“He’ll come back for another twenty gold coins.”

“…Isn’t your price a bit high?”

Jane grumbled softly, then immediately began scribbling. Rick, noticing she was absorbed, fell silent.

A cheap bar, a battered wooden bar, sitting on a stool too high for her feet to touch the ground—Jane spent the sleepless dawn that way, with a handful of parchment and a pen.

***

Four in the morning. Just as Jane left El’s Maze.

Ian watched her messy golden hair in the dawn sky and sighed. He hadn’t expected her to listen to him.

‘I didn’t think she’d come back here so soon, either.’

Ian struggled to suppress his bitter feelings. Who was he to warn Jane? The choice was hers. Even so, he tasted bitterness in his mouth. He watched Jane’s back for a long time before finally turning away.

Ian entered Rick’s bar, just as Jane had left. Rick, about to say they were closed, recognized the man removing his robe and frowned.

“If you’re looking for Jane, she just left.”

“I think you know I’m here for something else, Informant Rick.”

Oh dear. Rick smiled gently. At least a worthwhile customer had arrived, so he could keep the bar open a bit longer. He gestured for Ian to take a seat and asked,

“So, what information do you need?”

Clinking, Rick set out a clean glass and poured a full measure of expensive liquor for Ian. Ian glanced at the reddish drink and snorted.

“You serve cheap moonshine for two gold coins.”

“This is a special drink for this kind of customer. So, you’re here for a commission, aren’t you?”

Ah.

Ian didn’t touch the glass, but pulled a small pouch from his coat. Clink. The coins inside made a noisy sound as he set it on the bar. Rick, narrowing his eyes, watched the pouch closely as Ian spoke.

“I want to hear everything you know about El’s Maze.”

“…That’s a rather vague request.”

“I mean the underground maze, is that specific enough?”

Oh dear. Rick frowned, as if thinking this was a real headache. Ian, watching him, smiled. These days, few people knew about El’s Maze. In that sense, Ian had found the right man.

***

The title of Duke Hixston came with its responsibilities. It had always been so, but with Ian, it had reached its peak.

Vivianne liked to say he was “the model noble you’d only find in the age of chivalry.” Chivalry and noble duty had faded into fiction in these times. In that sense, Ian thought Vivianne’s words didn’t fit. No noble of the chivalric age would have solved problems in such cunning, crude ways.

“Jane?”

At any rate. Early in the morning, before sunrise, Ian sought out Jane’s study. Having stayed up all night, his eyes felt gritty as he forced them open and frowned.

“—Jane?”

Even to a soft knock, there was no reply. After a moment’s hesitation, Ian entered the study. Whether the window was open or the fireplace out, a chill greeted him first. He frowned instinctively and looked toward the desk, then stopped dead.

The figure slumped over the large desk looked so small. Only after checking the closed window did Ian move toward the fireplace. Like flint striking, a small spark caught in the fireplace and soon crackled to life. The red-stained ring that had glowed so many times shattered with a crisp, silent sound.

If Vivianne saw, she would have been furious, but Ian did not even glance that way. Shaking the hand with the ring whose gem had vanished, he simply kept walking further inside. The fragment of magic stone crushed under his shoe cracked crisply. Still, Ian’s gaze remained fixed straight ahead. Or more precisely, somewhere on the desk—

“…Ha.”

His fixed gaze softly swept the surroundings. The large desk. On top of it, five or six sheets of paper were scattered carelessly, crammed with scribbles. Between the sentences, lines drawn with nervous irritation, the empty spaces filled with nothing other than the sunlight-colored hair that hadn’t yet come to mind. It looked like sunlight spilled across the desk. Ian knew it was a silly thought, but he couldn’t help thinking it.

“How much did she drink, that she didn’t even make it to her room?”

Soon, frowning in concern, he sighed. His expression was dissatisfied, but his voice was so quiet it could barely be heard. Forgetting that the floor was covered in thick carpet, Ian muted his footsteps as he approached the desk.

The sound of her uneven breathing, the hair sprawled over her back, her face scrunched as if dreaming, muttering something—he quietly watched Jane. His gaze slowly traced her round forehead, brushed over her nose, lingered between her long eyelashes—then, for a while, did not move from her red lips.

And then.

“…Cold.”

When he understood her small murmur, Ian flinched and curled his fingers. He sighed again. Well, of course, she was cold. It would be strange if she weren’t. Suppressing the irritation that welled up, he turned to find a blanket.

His mouth felt dry. There was a brittle, parched anxiety, and Ian tried hard to suppress it.

“Ha.”

This time, he truly lost his words.