Without a word from either Valo-Ramsey or Clovie, the two police officers instinctively assumed a proper stance, waiting guard outside.
Both seasoned veterans, they understood precisely when to act and when to refrain.
Ghervil had no grounds for refusal.
They had already shown considerable deference by not leveraging their official police authority to exert pressure.
****
In the ground-floor hall, she poured plain boiled water for them.
Tea was unavailable; she hadn’t had time to purchase any, never imagining guests would arrive so swiftly.
Only after closing all the windows, drawing the curtains, and switching on the lights did Ghervil finally settle onto the opposite sofa.
“So, you intend to gather information under the guise of friendship,” she began, addressing the man who had placed his pipe on the table.
Her gaze then shifted to the other man, who sat alone in a corner of the sofa, legs crossed, remaining conspicuously silent.
“Or are you here to interrogate me as police officers?”
Upon entering, Valo-Ramsey and Clovie had both displayed varying degrees of curiosity, surveying the house independently.
The other man, however, had kept his attention fixed solely on her.
Were it not for the sake of the other two, she would never have allowed him inside.
“I’m pleased you’re willing to consider us friends,” Valo-Ramsey remarked, having completed his survey.
He lifted his cup, blew lightly on the surface, and took a small sip.
“Indeed, we view you in the same light, and that includes Helm.
He means no harm; he simply… doesn’t quite know how to interact with a kind and beautiful nun.”
‘Helm,’ she surmised, ‘must be the man’s name.’
Ghervil cast a skeptical glance his way, and, sensing her gaze, the man shifted uncomfortably, pulling down his hat brim as he glared fiercely at Valo-Ramsey.
“Get to the point,” he snapped.
“And stop calling me by my name; not everyone is like you!”
Seizing this opportunity, Ghervil discerned the man’s general features: short black hair, a high nose, stubble, and a hint of ferocity in his eyes.
‘And what did he mean by ‘like you’?’ she wondered.
As Ghervil’s curiosity piqued, Valo-Ramsey, his expression unwavering, rose and bowed slightly to her.
He then produced a small, dark brown notebook from his jacket, confidently flipping it open to a page bearing a black-and-white identification photo.
“Allow me to reintroduce myself: Valo-Ramsey, a Level Four Agent of the National Epidemic Prevention and Control Bureau of the Elephant Kingdom.
Perhaps you’ve heard of our other designations elsewhere.”
“This photograph…” Ghervil murmured, a bewildered expression on her face.
It was difficult to reconcile the image with the relatively clean-cut man before her; the man in the photo had greasy, clearly styled hair.
As for his expression, his eyes were dull, not even looking at the camera, conveying a complete lack of spirit—as if he’d been dragged in for a photo after days of sleepless work.
“Though I was quite reluctant at the time, I later thought it looked rather handsome,” Valo-Ramsey mused.
“Their photography skills are indeed commendable.”
“…” Ghervil wondered how he had the audacity to utter such a statement.
“Epidemic… does that refer to illnesses contracted from the mist?”
‘It seemed peculiar that members of such a formal official organization were called ‘agents,’ as if they were embarking on an expedition.’
‘Shouldn’t they be ‘epidemic prevention officers’?’ she thought.
“For instance, during the ‘plague’ that swept through this city over a decade ago, we deployed a massive contingent of personnel.
At times, it’s not merely about diseases; practically anything connected to the mist falls under our jurisdiction.”
Valo-Ramsey’s reply caught her by surprise.
Plague was typically caused by a confluence of factors: urban overcrowding, poor sanitation, severe pollution, and an overabundance of small rodents and fleas.
She recalled the Black Death that had claimed millions of lives in medieval Europe.
It was no longer the Middle Ages, and while street sanitation was somewhat lacking, it was far from the conditions that would trigger a plague outbreak.
‘Even if it did appear, what connection would it have to the mist?’ she mused.
‘It seemed this so-called ‘Epidemic Prevention Bureau’ had a rather broad scope of authority.’
“Here’s mine,” Clovie said, handing over a notebook with a blue cover.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about the police identification.
She couldn’t decipher the textual information, and compared to Valo-Ramsey’s, it simply had fewer official stamps and anti-counterfeiting marks, belonging to a different system—just an ordinary credential.
She had initially intended to decline, but was advised to review it as part of official procedure.
Finally, there was the identification of the man known as Helm—he casually tossed it towards Ghervil, nearly letting it fall to the floor.
Rolling her eyes, Ghervil’s gaze first landed on the raised pattern on the cover: two moons in the center forming a keyhole shape, flanked by two horizontally positioned hourglasses, one above and one below.
She opened it to the page with the photograph.
“Also serving the National Epidemic Prevention and Control Bureau, Level Five Agent, Helm-Scard,” the man’s impatient voice announced.
‘Hmm?’
‘Scard?’
It was rare, almost impossible, for different families in the same region to share a surname.
Upon closer inspection of the photo, she noted a definite resemblance to the coachman.
“You… what relation is Bate-Scard to you?” Ghervil found herself unconsciously gripping the hem of her skirt.
Three… no, five official members had come to her so formally to investigate an incident, and one of them was very likely related to the coachman.
Recalling his state when she encountered him on Canary Street Market the day before yesterday, some unsettling thoughts began to form.
“Indeed, Sister, it’s just as you suspect,” he confirmed.
“I am that fool’s elder brother.”
“Then your purpose in coming here…”
“Ahem,” Valo-Ramsey interjected, cutting off their conversation with a cough.
“I believe it’s imperative that we get straight to the matter at hand; delaying important business would be quite undesirable, wouldn’t you agree, my dear colleague, Mr. Helm?”
The man with the stubble visibly recoiled from his words, fixating on him with a look of intense displeasure and disdain before remaining silent.
The female officer produced a notebook, ready to take notes.
Seeing that neither had objections, Ghervil ceased her questioning, their behavior having largely clarified the situation.
Considering her lack of expertise, their reluctance to divulge details was understandable, and perhaps even appropriate.
Nevertheless, a pang of guilt still arose within her; if Scard’s accident was indeed caused by exhaustion brought on by excessive fright, she would, in some way, be inextricably linked to it.
“Ghervil,” Valo-Ramsey’s voice deepened, knowing he hadn’t fully concealed the truth from the young woman, “could you recount in detail what transpired after you encountered Mr. Bate-Scard, particularly on Wednesday morning?”
“No problem…” she replied, realizing she wouldn’t extract any further information from them.
Resignedly, she began to recall, “The first time I met him was on Tuesday morning, just after I had left the Solis Abbey… or rather, its vicinity…”
Over the course of more than an hour, she recounted the entire sequence of events in meticulous detail, even including her suspicion that her presence had somehow caused the coachman’s distressed state.
During her narration, Valo-Ramsey posed questions, while Clovie diligently supplemented the records.
When she described how she had frightened off the rogue with a prayer, and then offered the coachman money in the Goddess’s name, Helm, who had been silent all this while, actually burst into laughter.
“Is that how you conned those fools?”
At this, Ghervil could no longer tolerate it, for among those ‘fools,’ his own brother was surely counted!
“Helm-Scard, your words are as vile as you are!” the young woman declared, ending the interrogation with a burst of indignation.
After a prolonged silence, her resolve gradually faltered, and she finally understood that Helm was merely attempting to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere of the questioning, his mocking tone clearly forced.
There was no other choice; this task fell to him, as the other two had to consider the feelings of the victim’s family.
“What you’ve told us largely aligns with our current understanding, but there’s one last matter,” Valo-Ramsey stated, having reviewed the interrogation notes.
He produced an exquisitely sealed iron box from his pocket, secured by no fewer than four locked clasps.
Unlocking them one by one, he revealed an oval-shaped object resting on a soft cushion inside—black, curled, and wrinkled, resembling paper.
Using tweezers, he carefully grasped a corner and lifted it out.
Ghervil clearly saw that it was, in all likelihood, a withered flower petal.
‘But why would a withered petal turn black?’ she wondered.
‘And where have I seen something like this before…?’
“We found this Blood Rose petal beneath Bate’s bed,” Valo-Ramsey explained.
“Preliminary analysis indicates it’s a raw material for a mind-controlling drug, but its active components have already been extracted.”
“For it to be effective, it would need to be restored to its original state.”
“You suspect he was influenced, perhaps even controlled, by some drug?” Ghervil asked, incredulous.
“Could such a thing truly exist?”
While drugs that induced confusion and hallucinations certainly existed, the idea of mind control was something she hadn’t even heard of in the technologically advanced twenty-first century, let alone in the present era.
“Do you find it absurd?” Helm retorted, once again donning his surly expression, clearly poised to lecture.
“There are plenty of people who have never heard of the Epidemic Prevention Bureau, not because of ignorance or foolishness, but because they simply aren’t privy to this information.”
“Qualifications do not determine superiority or inferiority among people; rather, differences in systems and responsibilities lead to varying informational needs,” the female officer interjected, unable to bear it any longer, confronting the man.
“Farmers and laborers are also crucial components of this nation, and I believe Ghervil, before her memory loss, was aware of certain divine miracles of the religious orders that you might not know.”
Ghervil was somewhat surprised that Clovie would speak up for her at this moment.
It appeared that agents of the Epidemic Prevention Bureau outranked police officers, making Clovie’s intervention akin to insubordination.
Helm, whether in agreement or simply unable to find a suitable retort, remained silent, his lips pressed together.
Ultimately, Valo-Ramsey intervened to defuse the tension.
He leaned forward slightly, picked up his pipe from the table, and gestured subtly as he spoke.
“It’s merely a suspicion; we lack conclusive evidence,” he explained.
“To my knowledge, there are not many people in all of Mistfall City who are qualified—perhaps I should rephrase that—who possess the ability to cultivate Blood Roses.”
“As it happens, Director Anthea is one of them.”
!
She immediately realized something, and Valo-Ramsey’s knowing glance and upturned lips confirmed her suspicions.
Three minutes later, all four individuals appeared on the spacious second-floor balcony.
Ghervil remained at the farthest position, a measure of protection, as they feared the flower might have a detrimental effect on her.
Ghervil, however, found their concern excessive, believing them to be overly cautious.
She had, after all, recently cleaned the area, making direct contact with the plant, and had experienced no ill effects whatsoever.
Furthermore, if the plant truly posed a threat, would the Director cultivate it in such an exposed location?
The balcony was only three or four meters above the ground, easily noticeable from a distance, and the idea of smelling its scent was preposterous, as it barely emitted any fragrance now.
“That’s precisely what we’re looking for,” Valo-Ramsey declared, a smile spreading across his face after a brief period of close observation and sniffing.
“Have you cleaned this area before?” Clovie asked, turning back to whisper to her.
“Fallen leaves and petals might also inherit the characteristics of this flower.”
“I have cleaned it… but I never saw a single withered leaf or petal on the ground or in the flowerpot…”
“Perhaps they were simply blown away by the wind…”
They communicated almost exclusively in whispers.
Given Valo-Ramsey’s focused observation, with Helm positioned between them, he might have heard something, but to have heard them clearly would imply a hearing ability beyond the norm.
“They weren’t blown away by the wind; I can now state that with absolute certainty,” Valo-Ramsey announced.
“The organization’s secret archives record that once a Blood Rose reaches a certain stage of growth, the number of its petals and leaves remains perpetually fixed, like human limbs—incapable of regeneration, unless… someone deliberately breaks them off.”
“You’re just revealing secret archives so casually?”
It wasn’t always beneficial for ordinary people to know certain secrets, a point on which she rather agreed with Helm.
Some secrets, merely by their existence, could cause widespread sensation or panic among the populace.
If they pertained to treasures, they could even incite conflicts among various factions.
Nodding, Clovie tacitly acknowledged Ghervil’s concern.
“It’s not exactly a ‘secret’ in the strictest sense, merely information that ordinary citizens aren’t meant to know,” Valo-Ramsey clarified.
“You are different, and so is Officer Clovie; until this is definitively classified as something other than a regular case, the investigation will primarily remain with the police department… however…”
Valo-Ramsey squinted, walking to the edge of the rooftop.
He then retrieved a sachet-like object from an inner pocket of his overcoat, shook some of its contents into his pipe, and, with shoulders slumped, clamped the pipe between his teeth, gazing straight ahead.
“However, I’ve just discovered a new problem: our neighbor across the way seems quite interested in our pure and kind nun.”