Konehl-Ghervil assented to accompanying Penelope-Rose-Cambaton to meet Dr. Heinz-Blumberg.
This was a decision forged through careful deliberation.
While the case had branded the doctor and the priest as traitors, there was no direct evidence to support this claim; before their disappearance, neither had committed any truly unforgivable acts.
Covertly cultivating the Blood Rose was ostensibly forbidden, yet it was an open secret, largely ignored by all; thus, this particular transgression was negligible, a charge that could be conveniently invoked or dismissed.
The theft of lizard blood, however, was a distinct charge. Assuming, for now, that it had been entirely dedicated to cultivating the Blood Rose, Govet-Ghervil had informed her that a Blood Rose grown from adult green lizards, infused with the blood of a blessed individual, served as an antidote to the curse.
Given that Father Kern-Aylmer was a blessed individual, the conditions were perfectly met, suggesting that their application of this knowledge could potentially redeem their transgressions.
Yet, if it had been employed for nefarious purposes…
This was precisely the enigma Konehl-Ghervil was determined to unravel.
The town’s labyrinthine roads, though seemingly complex, offered direct routes; one needed only to walk in the general direction of their destination, and it would not be long before they arrived.
Even before they reached their destination, she had already surmised where they were headed.
It was the cluster of abandoned, dilapidated residences, accessed through a narrow alley bordered by crumbling earthen walls, that they eventually stopped before a familiar door.
The very same residence of Sausy-Alamany she had visited that morning.
With a hat woven from reed leaves perched upon her head, Esli approached the door.
Through their recent interactions, a silent understanding had blossomed between them.
Konehl-Ghervil paused, implicitly deferring to Esli’s judgment regarding any potential danger.
Penelope, having assumed Sali’s guise, understood Esli’s caution and willingly stepped back, allowing her space to assess the situation.
Esli’s approach was more straightforward; clutching her axe, she edged closer, pressing an ear to the door, her expression gradually morphing into one of peculiar bewilderment.
“There’s someone inside,” she announced, glancing back at her companions.
“He’s returned.”
Penelope stepped forward and tapped softly on the door.
“Dr. Heinz-Blumberg, it’s I.”
From within, leisurely footsteps approached, and with a soft creak, the aged wooden door swung open.
Upon seeing the man who opened the door, Konehl-Ghervil’s suspicions solidified into a preliminary conclusion: perhaps the doctor was indeed responsible for the resurrection of the deceased.
His face was remarkably clean, devoid of any trace of madness or idiocy.
Dressed in a typical local robe, his expression remained singularly dull and vacant.
‘Sausy-Alamany’ fixed his gaze upon Penelope, remaining silent for a moment. His head then performed a subtle sweep, and only once he was certain they were alone did he finally speak:
“You’ve mistaken my name.”
“My apologies, Mr. Sausy-Alamany,” Penelope uttered, offering a slight bow. She then turned, gesturing to the two behind her.
“This is Sister Konehl-Ghervil from Solis Abbey, whom I have, with some persuasion, enlisted as an assistant. And this is Knight Esli, a senior knight of the Order.”
‘Sausy-Alamany’ regarded Konehl-Ghervil, his pupils widening almost imperceptibly. His mouth parted as if to speak, but the words faltered, and he ultimately settled for a low, deferential bow.
“Greetings, Sister Konehl-Ghervil. I shall endeavor to explain everything I know regarding this matter.”
Konehl-Ghervil realized that, in his subconscious, this man was holding her to the same standard as Dean Anthea, implicitly seeking accountability.
It seemed he had somewhat underestimated the standing of the Abbey and the Dean’s formidable reputation.
“Perhaps we might discuss this inside.”
“Certainly.”
He stepped aside, offering a polite gesture of invitation.
As Esli walked past him, he posed an unexpected question.
“Has the Order dispatched only a single knight?”
“You misunderstand,” Esli replied. “My sole mission is to safeguard Konehl-Ghervil. Once the truth is ascertained, I shall report it faithfully.”
Esli was far from foolish; Konehl-Ghervil typically shared most of her intelligence, enabling Esli to draw her own conclusions. When confronting mythical creatures, it was undeniable that the Order’s support would be crucial.
The hospital department was understaffed, and the Epidemic Prevention Bureau, though specialized in combating plagues, possessed only limited efficacy against such an elusive foe.
Stepping inside, it was less that the room had been tidied, and more that it had been entirely replaced.
The furnishings were complete and pristine, the floor unblemished by scratches, and every trace of the putrid, decaying refuse had vanished.
The air now carried the scent of a regularly inhabited dwelling, a blend of incense with a subtle hint of dust and sand.
The bedroom door stood ajar, revealing that the strange symbols on the walls had completely disappeared.
Such transformations could assuredly not have been wrought by ordinary means.
A significant distinction between a true dream and a common one lay in its imperviousness to human manipulation.
Within Bishop Gomor’s dreamscape, with but a modicum of practice, most individuals could transmute a mere petal into an intricate mask.
“They must have located a dream node, thereby gaining partial control over this dreamscape.”
Govet-Ghervil offered this as a reminder, then, fearing her words might be misunderstood, elaborated further.
“It refers to a critical historical juncture within the dream, though this is merely a conjecture; other possibilities certainly exist.”
“Such a method exists, then…”
Having found a seat in the living room, Heinz-Blumberg returned, bearing several cups of mint green tea.
“Mr. Blumb… Mr. Sausy-Alamany,” Konehl-Ghervil began, correcting herself. “Could you enlighten me on how you managed to seize control of this dream?”
Konehl-Ghervil cast a sweeping gaze across the transformed room, directly adopting Govet-Ghervil’s hypothesis.
“Indeed, you have discerned it.”
Once seated, Heinz-Blumberg wasted no time, immediately sifting through a stack of parchment he had procured.
“In essence,” he explained, “our method involved becoming an integral part of the dream itself—not literally, of course, but through a meticulous act of impersonation.”
He slid forward several parchments, meticulously inscribed with neat Fint characters.
Konehl-Ghervil accepted them, her brow furrowed in concentration as she perused each one.
The parchments detailed Sausy-Alamany’s personal history and idiosyncratic habits.
They chronicled everything from his interpersonal interactions and conversational quirks to his daily sleeping patterns and precise preferences for every type of food.
One entry, in particular, noted that Sausy-Alamany had a four-in-five chance of consuming food directly after using the privy, without bothering to wash his hands.
Even the subject himself would likely be unaware of such minute details.
“We invested a considerable amount of time gathering this intelligence,” Heinz-Blumberg elaborated, “meticulously imitating and embodying these traits. This allowed us to deceive the dream itself into believing we were ‘native’ inhabitants, thereby achieving a profound manipulative effect.”
Heinz-Blumberg offered more parchments, but Konehl-Ghervil declined to examine them, apprehensive of what other bizarre revelations they might contain.
After all, what sane individual would ever run naked and wild through the town streets?
The absence of any internal doubt affirmed the viability of their unconventional method.
“We selected Sausy-Alamany because he was among the first individuals to experience this phenomenon two years prior,” Heinz-Blumberg explained, maintaining his slightly hunched posture and vacant gaze. “As our impersonation deepened, I found myself gradually recovering his memories.”
Observing him, Konehl-Ghervil recalled Dr. Callan’s earlier description: this man was reclusive, a soul ill-suited for social interaction.
He spoke without so much as a blink, making any attempt at conversation with him a truly daunting, almost spectral, endeavor.
“Then you, too, lack any recollections of the expedition team within this town?” she inquired, striving to ignore the unsettling sensation of being scrutinized by what felt like a wooden automaton.
“Indeed,” he confirmed, “nor can I recall the precise moment I first entered this dream.”
His assertion mirrored Penelope’s almost exactly.
Seizing the moment, she lowered her head, contemplating the possibility of prior collusion between the two. For now, she withheld further questions.
A profound silence descended upon the room.
The two men simply stared at her, unblinking.
The discomfort intensified.
Esli, having emptied her cup, rose to pour herself another, then settled back into her seat with a decisive thud, offering a pointed reminder.
“Are you not going to inquire why they absconded with the lizard blood?”
“It appears to have been intended for a curse,” Heinz-Blumberg stated, “though my teacher never explicitly divulged its precise purpose. I merely lent my assistance.”
His response was entirely consistent with Heinz-Blumberg’s reserved nature.
He answered only what was asked, nothing more.
Prompted by Esli’s interjection, Konehl-Ghervil recalled a crucial question.
“How much do you truly comprehend about this curse?”
“The curse I am aware of… it must be connected to that peculiar lizard.”
“Therai—Erg—Gunnolrs—” she intoned the name, her voice low and resonant.
The man, who had seemed as inert as wood, finally stirred. The corners of his mouth twitched involuntarily, and his eyes widened in sudden recognition.
“I remember now!”
He leaned forward, propelled by a surge of excitement, inadvertently knocking over his teacup.
“A fragment of my memory reveals that it was this very name that unleashed the curse, annihilating the town!”