Konehl-Ghervil quickly calculated that the conversation had lasted over ten minutes, and factoring in the brief delay upon entering the dream, less than ten minutes remained until the event’s end.
Instead of willingly rousing herself from the dream, she ventured deeper, drawn towards the grandest floating garden at its very heart.
She yearned to discover what Dr. Callan intended for her to do within those fleeting ten minutes.
With this query lingering, she voiced her first observation.
“In your eyes, my importance must surely surpass that of the Baron’s eldest son.”
“What makes you say that?” A flicker of surprise crossed Dr. Callan’s face, though she swiftly masked it.
“Your actions towards him seem less about protection and more about control; the same holds true for me, only in my case, it is executed directly by you, the Chief.”
“What did the eldest son of the Cambaton family tell you?” Dr. Callan continued her inquiry, offering no denial.
“Your reasons for his house arrest, that illustrated notebook, and The Order’s desert expedition.”
“What else have you gleaned from these clues?”
The tone had become overtly interrogative, and Konehl-Ghervil realized that when Dr. Callan became serious, she commanded an intimidating presence that instilled awe in her surroundings.
From Ms. Rowan’s perspective, Konehl-Ghervil felt she ought to display some displeasure at this moment.
Connecting the preceding and subsequent events, she finally grasped the reason for her attempted assassination.
There was no other conceivable reason apart from having accepted the Hospital Department’s commission.
Those aware of her true identity included a few high-ranking officials of the Sanctuary, along with Valo-Ramsey and his subordinates.
Such individuals were immediately ruled out.
For ordinary people to carry out the assassination, they could only be those wholly unaware of her true identity.
“Before I answer your questions, do you not intend to apologize for what I’ve endured?”
She stood her ground, an air of resolute defiance about her that plainly stated she wouldn’t budge without an apology.
“…If you continue to investigate on your own, you will still face danger.”
After a brief silence, Dr. Callan turned slightly, regarding her from a subtly superior vantage.
The group had, by then, reached the ‘bridge’ connecting the floating gardens—a precarious staircase woven from thick vines. Through its gaps, one could gaze down into a seemingly bottomless void.
“Yet your commission hastened this process; the blood of an adult Green Lizard is not something an ordinary person can acquire.” Feigning anger, Konehl-Ghervil simultaneously wondered with a detached curiosity if leaping from the treacherous staircase would lead to an endless fall or merely jolt her awake.
The atmosphere solidified, thick with unspoken tension.
Konehl-Ghervil, in that moment, became the dividing line, inadvertently forming two distinct factions.
Sensing the moment was ripe, and not wishing to unduly burden Dr. Callan, Konehl-Ghervil was about to relent when Valo-Ramsey interjected, forcing a polite smile that cut through the strained silence.
“I believe I should withdraw,” he stated smoothly. “If needed, my position today remains that of a private detective.”
He wasn’t attempting to mediate, but rather, with calculated precision, sought to avoid entanglement in the brewing trouble.
Yet, any astute observer would have recognized his strategic retreat as a cunning advance.
He was, undeniably, a shrewd operative of the Epidemic Prevention Bureau.
With this calculated maneuver, Dr. Callan was left with no graceful exit, her position completely exposed.
Konehl-Ghervil felt a tiny, almost imperceptible, pang of guilt.
The male doctor, clearly not as shrewd, glanced at Dr. Schmidt, then subtly gestured with his eyes toward Ishmele-Esli at the very back, hoping she would also withdraw.
It was unclear if the unlucky knight understood, for he merely turned to Valo-Ramsey beside him and whispered.
“Mr. Valo-Ramsey, do you know of any interesting places here? Preferably somewhere free.”
“It was my oversight.” Dr. Callan exhaled a heavy sigh, her eyelids drooping slightly.
…
‘What did I just hear?’
Although she hadn’t explicitly uttered the word ‘apology,’ the sentiment was clearly conveyed.
This black-hearted doctor had actually expressed an apology.
Konehl-Ghervil maintained a calm exterior, but inwardly, she was utterly astonished.
‘Where was the apology when she docked my pay?’
“Chief…” Dr. Schmidt began, but Dr. Callan silenced them with a raised hand.
“Ms. Rowan, you are indeed very clever.”
She glanced at Konehl-Ghervil, then shifted her gaze to her two subordinates.
“Our manpower is limited, and we require assistance from the Epidemic Prevention Bureau and others. At this point, concealment will not improve any situation.”
“I was sent here by higher-ups, and from the very beginning, the worst possible outcome was anticipated.”
With the situation laid bare to this extent, the two doctors offered no further words, implicitly trusting their Chief’s judgment.
Continuing onward, Dr. Callan finally recounted the true circumstances.
The matter was straightforward: on the very day Kern-Aylmer and Heinz-Blumberg disappeared, the entire stock of adult Green Lizard blood, carefully stored in the Hospital Department’s underground facility, vanished simultaneously.
Later, in Aylmer’s home basement, a mature Blood Rose, cultivated for a considerable time, was discovered.
All evidence indicated that he or they had been cultivating Blood Roses with lizard blood since long ago.
Regardless of their ultimate intentions, this was undeniably the blood of an evil entity.
Stealing the blood of such a malevolent entity was, without question, an act of grave betrayal.
Her dispatch as Chief was therefore to prevent the ‘scandal’ from spreading and, if necessary, to purge the ranks.
Currently, the most direct victims of the Green Lizard blood were the two assassins themselves.
Those cursed by this blood and dying from its effects would simply melt away, leaving not even bones behind.
Konehl-Ghervil’s next mission, therefore, was to develop an antidote for the curse, and ideally, to uncover their true purpose in cultivating Blood Roses.
This chilling description immediately brought to mind the black sun depicted in the illustrated notebook, where areas touched by sunlight were smudged with dark pencil lead, creating the unsettling impression of melting bloodstains.
As for Mrs. Penelope’s disappearance.
Dr. Callan’s conjecture was that Mrs. Penelope had uncovered certain secrets during the June expedition, and was either silenced or had chosen to hide.
The illustrated notebook left behind served as compelling evidence of a secret discovered.
However, the crucial parts had been meticulously torn out, and the Hospital Department was currently engaged in a frantic search for them.
“I had intended to tell you after the dream ended,” Dr. Callan admitted, “as I wanted you to experience a local specialty.”
“A specialty?”
“Follow me, and you’ll see. Consider it an advance payment for your mission.”
Above the grandest floating garden, several imposing Gothic buildings, crafted from hundreds of stones, stood tall and silent.
Many people bustled in and out, but the longest queue snaked towards a pavilion nestled in the central garden of the buildings, where fragrant floral scents mingled with faint musical notes.
Dr. Callan, with an air of authority, led them directly to the front of the queue, stopping just outside a circular metal fence.
Along the way, those patiently waiting in line, upon seeing the bird-beak masks (TL Note: Referring to the distinctive masks worn by plague doctors, often associated with the Hospital Department), dared not speak their simmering anger.
Konehl-Ghervil was surprised to find that inside the pavilion, there was nothing more than a simple stone table and two matching stone stools.
Everyone who entered the pavilion’s perimeter would vanish into thin air, only to reappear precisely thirty seconds later.
Some emerged with faces beaming with unbridled joy, while others hung their heads in profound dejection.
“I’ve experienced it once,” Valo-Ramsey offered, “and it’s terrifyingly accurate.”
Valo-Ramsey, it seemed, enjoyed a touch of mystery.
“I don’t understand why old man Gomor would squander his power in such a place,” Dr. Callan remarked, shaking her head from the side.
“Still speaking ill of me, Crimson Lotus?”
A low, ethereal chuckle emanated from within the pavilion.
“I have never made an exception for anyone to jump the queue here.”
“Not even for me?”
Grinning, Dr. Callan made to step over the fence and enter the inner area.
“Wait a moment.”
Konehl-Ghervil grasped the hem of the woman’s black robe.
This unexpected action caused Dr. Callan to pause in surprise for a moment, and with a slight parting of her lips, she stepped back.
“It only happens once a year; it would be a shame not to try.”
Realizing her impropriety, Konehl-Ghervil quickly withdrew her hand, looking at Dr. Callan with newfound seriousness.
“What can one do inside?”
“You may ask him one question, and any question will receive an answer.”
“But not necessarily the answer you desire,” Valo-Ramsey added. “For instance, someone once asked how to receive a blessing, and the answer was ‘to be chosen by the Goddess.’”
‘Isn’t that just a charlatan?’
Konehl-Ghervil now had a general understanding.
“Any question” seemed an exaggeration.
It likely involved some form of dream manipulation combined with deception.
Similar to Govet-Ghervil, if a question concerned a real-world event, it could provide an answer.
Dr. Callan, however, should not be interested in such matters…
Their eyes met, and Konehl-Ghervil quickly realized that Dr. Callan wanted her to ask about clues related to the case.
She nodded, indicating her agreement.
Just as Dr. Callan was about to cross the fence, a voice from within the pavilion finally relented.
“Do not be so hasty, Crimson Lotus. No exceptions are permitted during the allotted time, but it does not say they cannot be made outside of it.”
“Considering your standing, I can reserve a time slot for one question.”