The coachman departed.
Without collecting his fare, he scurried away at an even faster pace than he had arrived.
By the time the policewoman emerged, carrying the case, and witnessed the coachman’s panicked flight, the young girl stood rooted to the spot, lost in a daze.
Mi Xia’s mind replayed everything that had transpired shortly before: the strange, burnt-looking rat she had seen outside the window that evening, the acrid smell of burning in the forest, and Director Anthea’s gaze, which had seemed like a farewell when she sent her off.
To attribute these events to mere coincidence would not be a stretch, yet she recalled the photographs the policewoman had just been reviewing, where fragments of black and white fabric on the corpses strikingly resembled nun’s habits.
‘How could this be?’ she almost uttered, only to glance up and notice the distorted and chaotic house numbers on some nearby buildings, while a faint mist permeated the air.
If she had accepted the Director’s invitation, would there have been yet another corpse among those photographed?
It was a truly absurd and unbelievable thought.
“Including the eighth nun, who has been missing for three days, all personnel from the Solis Convent have now been accounted for,” a stern female voice declared from behind her. “You forgot something. Furthermore, I must ask you to accompany me. As the captain of the First Squad, stationed at Precinct No. 2 on Canary Street, under the Fog City Police Department, I suspect you, Miss Konehl-Ghervil, are connected to a series of malicious arson cases.”
****
Three individuals were present for Konehl-Ghervil’s interrogation, held in a small, enclosed room on the second floor.
Seated on the left was the police chief of this precinct, Chief Godfrey, a middle-aged man in uniform with a slightly protruding belly and two tufts of mustache.
In the center sat a younger man named Valo-Ramsey, clad in a grey overcoat and a beret, with a few strands of yellowish-brown hair peeking out. A benevolent smile, which Konehl-Ghervil couldn’t discern if it was genuine or feigned, graced his face. His appearance brought to mind a detective; he would have looked even more the part with a briar pipe.
The policewoman, Clovie, had offered no further introduction regarding this man—neither his identity, background, nor origins. Yet, his seating position alone suggested his status was no less than that of the corpulent chief.
Policewoman Clovie herself stood to the far right, beside the table, still holding the briefcase.
Strictly speaking, it hadn’t yet escalated to a full interrogation, as they merely sat and repeated a few simple questions.
“Based on your previous answers, am I to understand that you have lost most of your memory, and only recall Director Anthea instructing you this morning to deliver this case to the police here, Sister Ghervil?”
It was the man in the deerstalker hat who posed the question, his seemingly professional smile irritating Konehl-Ghervil. He had already asked the same question no less than five times, using different phrasing and angles. If he intended to discern whether someone was lying, it should have been evident by now; asking so many times and still not understanding only proved his incompetence.
“Yes, I have stated the facts multiple times. I suggest you get your ears checked, and furthermore, I am not a nun, Mr. Blondie!”
“Pfft…” The policewoman standing nearby barely suppressed a laugh.
The previously silent chief quickly coughed to interject.
“Ahem… Miss, if you didn’t hear clearly, I can introduce him again. This is Mr. Valo-Ramsey, recently dispatched by higher authorities.”
“My ears are perfectly fine; I understand human speech. Do you also need treatment, Mr. Fat Chief?” Already vexed, and having encountered a continuous stream of strange events since arriving in this world, her thoughts were now a tangled mess, and being repeatedly questioned had thoroughly eroded her patience. She was also perplexed as to why she was being mistaken for a nun and how they knew her name.
“Well…” The chief choked slightly, lowering his voice as he spoke. “The main issue is that your answers are indeed problematic, because three days ago, the nuns of the convent already…”
Konehl-Ghervil knew what he intended to say, and to some extent, her heart had already acknowledged the event’s occurrence. Yet, her own experience remained an undeniable fact, and this was precisely what made it so perplexing.
“It is summer now. I believe such an event is not impossible. We can approach this from other angles,” Ramsey interjected smoothly, completely unfazed and showing no awkwardness from being insulted earlier.
“Are you referring to the ‘Mist’!?” The chief suddenly grasped the implication, casting a swift glance at the man in the middle, who was, after all, an expert in such matters.
“How foolish of me!” He slapped his forehead. “Fog City has enjoyed peace for so long, I didn’t think of it immediately. So, you must have a lead, then.”
“Not yet, for now…” Ramsey replied, his gaze sweeping past the chief’s unspoken disappointment and the wary vigilance of the young girl opposite him. He then removed his hat, placed it carefully on the table, and fixed his eyes on the policewoman.
“Officer Clovie, could you share your findings?”
“Of course.” Already prepared, the policewoman retrieved a rolled-up parchment from her pocket and handed it to Konehl-Ghervil.
“This was found inside the case you delivered. It was lying right on top.”
Konehl-Ghervil took the paper, her brow furrowed as she scrutinized the man opposite her. He truly was a ‘blondie’; she had initially thought a significant portion of his hair was brown, but now, seeing it fully, only a small part at the ends was light. No, that wasn’t quite right; the very tips were more golden in hue.
Unrolling the parchment, she felt utterly numb upon seeing its contents. The black sections were a smeared mess, while the red parts resembled the patterns on the case, likely stamped. A small row of text was completely jumbled and illegible.
‘My literacy is worse than an infant’s…’
“…Could you please tell me what this is? I… I can’t read…”
Claiming illiteracy was not an ideal excuse, but it was barely plausible. If she were to reveal the truth and be asked to describe or sketch those twisted, grotesque patterns, she might well be branded an anomaly, a heretic. What she would face then was anyone’s guess. Imprisonment for study or a trip to the gallows—she wanted neither.
The air solidified. The two police officers stared at Konehl-Ghervil with an almost peculiar gaze. Many people on this street were illiterate, but such a condition was utterly unthinkable for a nun, let alone one from *that* convent.
‘Was it due to that strange amnesia?’
Having determined through his experience that the young girl was not lying, Ramsey perceived this as an excellent opportunity to build rapport. He removed his leather gloves, spread his palms, and adopted a benevolent posture.
“This is a certificate of inheritance, or rather, a will. Forgive me for presuming to read its contents without your permission, but I can vouch for the authenticity of the seal affixed to it.”
He recited the contents, his gaze fixed on the young girl:
“Upon my death, all my assets shall be legally inherited by Konehl-Ghervil, the last remaining member of the Solis Convent.”
‘So the case contained Director Anthea’s legacy!?’ Konehl-Ghervil’s mouth hung slightly open, a flicker of disbelief in her eyes.
Director Anthea that morning had certainly not seemed like someone about to utter a deathbed wish or entrust a will.
“While we are inclined to believe your account, there is now sufficient evidence to prove that you are indeed the eighth nun of the convent,”
Ramsey continued.
“This might be related to your amnesia. The Solis Convent has always had eight nuns. Although they rarely leave the convent and are not well-known to the public, it is a widely known fact. With you, there are precisely eight now.”
“But… I…” For a long moment, Konehl-Ghervil struggled to form her words.
“Don’t rush; I know what you’re trying to say.” The blond man gestured with his eyes for the policewoman to return the case to her.
“Firstly, you never denied the identity of Konehl-Ghervil from the outset. Secondly, well, just open it and see for yourself. Rest assured, as a matter of courtesy, only the sole policewoman present has inspected the contents of the case beforehand, and no damage was caused.”
The case was placed before her, its clasps on either side of the handle unlocked, with two grooves perfectly designed to secure them.
Her hand, somewhat hesitantly, reached out to touch the cold metal of the clasps. As she slowly opened it, her eyes fell upon several folded nun’s habits, both black and white. The length of the collars and sleeves indicated they would fit her figure. Tucked between these garments were several white undergarments, a few pairs of white nylon stockings, and the grey nightgown she had worn and changed out of.
She stiffly lifted her head to look at the policewoman, who maintained a polite smile, and understood why the Director had specifically instructed her to deliver it before this officer went off duty…
Yet, at this moment, she felt no inclination toward embarrassment.
Beneath the clothes lay another compartment, evenly divided into two sections. From a gap in the left section, several glittering silver coins spilled out, alongside some gold and copper ones. Without a doubt, these were currency.
They must have spilled out due to the dragging and kicking the case had endured.
Opening the other section revealed a set of keys and the vial of pupil-color-changing potion, securely nestled in its slot.
‘How shameful, that I had actually suspected the Director’s invitation was for…’
As her spirits flagged, a hand gently ruffled the top of her head, and the policewoman offered soft words of comfort.
“Perhaps your memory loss was the Director’s doing, intended to erase some unpleasant sights you witnessed. She might not have wanted you to directly confront this cruel and terrifying disaster, given your young age. But rest assured, beyond our police force fulfilling its duties, with this identity, the Church will not stand idly by.”