The policewoman’s reaction was the swiftest, as Clovie drew her gun from its hip holster, shielding the young woman behind her, and retreated down the corridor.
As a local officer, she knew perfectly well that the room opposite 101, number 100, had been unoccupied for years—a vacant, ownerless property.
Could a thief have coincidentally snuck in across the hall? No, at this hour, she was more inclined to believe it was a premeditated act by someone with ill intentions, possibly even connected to the murderer.
Hem’s face darkened, and muttering curses under his breath, he swiftly moved to the railing beside Ramsey, staring intently at the opposite side, his right hand bent backward, ready to draw something at a moment’s notice.
Ghervil was arguably the least reactive person present; having rarely even left her bed since childhood, let alone experienced any attacks or dangerous incidents, she was like someone tasting wasabi for the first time without ever having tried spicy food. You could tell her it was hot and pungent, but she would have no concept until she tasted it.
Her gaze was firmly captivated by a metallic device glinting with a silver-grey sheen—the Browning pistol Clovie held in one hand, a real, living weapon!
‘What would it feel like to hold it?’
“Don’t tell me you called us out to the balcony because your nicotine craving hit and you wanted a few puffs? You damned smoker!”
“Haha, just a joke, my dear colleague, relax a bit.”
“Bastard, you should be thankful I have enough sense in my head to stop myself from wanting to crack it open.”
“I still trust your rationality quite a lot…”
****
On the balcony, Ramsey casually puffed away, his smoke swirling, while Helm’s curses echoed into the shadows of the corridor.
Both officers had lowered their guard, signaling that the immediate danger had passed.
Ghervil watched intently as the policewoman sighed in relief, smoothly returning her gun to the holster at her waist. The unforgiving leather holster encased the weapon completely, leaving not a trace visible within.
“Let’s go out now; it seems to have been a misunderstanding.” Clovie grinned, assuming the young woman behind her had been scared speechless, and reached out to grasp her wrist, only to find empty air.
Turning back, she discovered a small figure, strikingly out of place beside the two large men, had appeared on the balcony at some point.
“What exactly are you playing at?” Ghervil fanned the lingering smoke from her nose as she walked, her tone filled with displeasure.
It had to be said, the wisps of smoke, though considerable, carried no acrid smell; they weren’t choking, but rather bore a faint, delicate fragrance. She even suspected he wasn’t smoking tobacco at all.
“Did you add spices to your smoke?” Standing before the flowerpots, she watched Ramsey, who was alternately bending and squatting to examine the flowers, with a look of surprise.
“Don’t mind that idiot; he’s always like this.” Helm leaned against the railing, his hands casually drooping, his anger having considerably dissipated after a long bout of cursing.
These two…
One feigned intense observation, while the other spouted agreeable words with an air of indifference.
Ghervil felt utterly speechless.
It was one thing to withhold case information, which was understandable, but to refuse even a tiny shred of curiosity…
‘If I remember correctly, Ramsey’s agent rank is Level Four, and yours is Level Five. Are you really cursing your superior like this just to maintain a cover?’
Just as she hesitated, wondering whether to expose their charade, a hand ruffled her hair a few times.
“Don’t overthink it. Some matters even the police aren’t privy to; revealing them would cause immense repercussions. The case can be announced once it’s fully solved. Given your identity, you might be able to learn more details under a promise of confidentiality.”
‘Why did she sound so unconvinced?’
Ghervil distinctly saw the righteous woman deliberately remove the glove she had been wearing just to better ruffle her head.
“I have a small request…” Ramsey’s gaze, tinged with a hint of embarrassment, turned towards her. “If possible, I’d like to…”
“There are no ‘ifs’.” She cut him off directly. “The Dean has cared for me since I was very young, and these are the last things she left behind. If one day I recover my memories and discover a few pots of these roses are missing or damaged, I believe I would live with guilt for a very long time.”
‘Though I have plenty of guilt even now.’
She subtly glanced at Helm, who was leaning his entire body against the railing, out of the corner of her eye.
The man’s head was tilted back, the balcony bathed in ample light, his stern face unobscured by his hat brim. From her angle, she could vaguely see his eyes staring blankly into the distance. His stubble was short and messy, likely unshaven, and he had prominent nasolabial folds. His overall demeanor made him look at least ten years older than the black-and-white photo on his ID.
“That is indeed regrettable, and I understand completely. But Ghervil, don’t you wish to solve the case sooner?”
Straightening up, Ramsey’s voice pulled her back from her brief reverie.
She tilted her head slightly; something felt strange. She seemed to see the man enveloped in the morning’s radiance, his expression utterly devout.
‘What in the world? Is even the Goddess on his side now?’
Ghervil couldn’t fathom why such an absurd thought had crossed her mind.
The time was probably between nine and ten, so the sunlight shouldn’t have been this intense.
“I can swear to the Goddess that I personally have no interest in the Blood Roses whatsoever.” The affable voice emanated from the man once more.
Tsk.
The sunlight grew even more dazzling.
She shielded her eyes with her hand.
“Since you’ve put it that way, it’s not… impossible…” Under his intense gaze, she felt utterly uncomfortable, and even time itself seemed to slow to a crawl.
This was forced compromise.
Suddenly, she understood why Helm disliked this fellow so much.
“You’ve finally come to your senses!” The man excitedly took a drag from his smoke, then eagerly pulled out a new metal container, preparing to unlock each clasp.
“Not so fast. I have a condition.”
Halting his movements, Ramsey’s throat bobbed. The young woman’s mischievously upturned lips gave him a bad premonition.
‘So even a nun can make such an expression…’
Stepping two paces to the side, positioning herself between Ramsey and the flowers, she raised her right hand, curling her fingers except for her index finger and thumb, and made a ‘bang!’ gesture towards the man.
“I want to trade one petal for a handgun!”
Leveraging those few pages of ‘identification’ to her advantage, this was her true objective, the hidden agenda behind the seemingly simple request.
A single petal was truly nothing. If Ramsey refused for that reason, she would simply offer it as a gift. Rather than a flower that was merely ornamental or already withered, she much preferred to see the culprit brought to justice sooner.
Whether it was her imagination or not, Clovie, who had been observing from the side, felt the young woman’s gaze drift towards her waist, specifically to the holster hanging there. Clovie instinctively touched the holster, reassured only after confirming it was still bulging and not empty.
Helm also cast his gaze over, shifting between Ghervil and Ramsey. He didn’t understand why the young woman wanted a gun, yet he was curious if the other man would agree.
Ramsey’s face twisted into an unsightly grimace.
‘This ‘small request’ seemed utterly impossible. Every agent’s gun had its own serial number. Trading a petal for a handgun…’
His mouth twitched.
‘You certainly know how to strike a bargain, my dear nun.’
“We naturally can’t give you our service weapons, but I can help you acquire a handgun, or even more potent weapons than a handgun.”
Ramsey’s words astonished and surprised the other two. Even a lightweight Browning pistol required extensive training for a beginner to master. What could be more potent? A revolver? A shotgun? Or perhaps a rifle?
“You’re a madman!” This was Helm’s curse.
“If it really comes to that, I could apply to the police department, though approval is highly unlikely…” This was Clovie’s quiet suggestion.
Ignoring both of them, Ramsey continued to look at Ghervil; he had his own plans.
“What do you say? There’s no better deal than this.”
“Deal!”
She answered without a moment’s thought. Was there even a need to hesitate for something like this? Who wouldn’t want a cool weapon? It was a huge profit!
She hadn’t intended to push the matter, so this was an unexpected pleasant surprise.
Thus, under two astonished gazes, the man bent down to the young woman’s ear, slightly lowering his hat, and whispered for about half a minute.
After listening, Ghervil’s entire demeanor soured.
He had said that someone had once seen Dean Anthea use more than one type of firearm during missions. Those guns hadn’t been found in the abbey’s ruins, so their remaining storage location could only be this house.
“These weapons are legal and compliant, or rather, they are inherently yours; you possess legal inheritance rights.”
The whisper continued in her ear,
“Whether you can find them is entirely up to you.”
The backyard cellar, the third-floor attic—the only two places in this house she hadn’t yet visited.
‘Could they be hidden in these spots?’
Whether they were there or not, she wouldn’t know until she went. The cellar was fine, but the third floor… she didn’t have a key.
Ghervil realized she had been played. That fellow’s earlier ‘constipation-like’ face had truly fooled her.
‘Cunning scoundrel…’
Without her needing to say anything, Ramsey carefully and conscientiously plucked a single rose petal and stored it away.
The other two, inferring from her reaction that she had been tricked, remained silent, fearing she might renege on the deal.
She walked the three of them downstairs to see them off.
At the moment of parting, she remained persistent, looking through the fence at the departing group and pressing her question.
“Could you tell me about Mr. Bate-Scard, he…”
This wasn’t the first time she had experienced something similar. At Ghervil Cathedral, the faithful had concealed her parents’ death from her, and she didn’t want to relive that kind of feeling.
As expected, she was refused.
Ramsey leaned out of the passenger side window of the car and waved at her.
“I suggest you first find the treasure left by the Dean, my friend.”
Clovie gave a slight bow in apology, opened the driver’s side door, and got into the car.
Finally, Helm, ignoring the tall and short male officers’ urging to get in, turned back, lifted his hat brim, and gazed at her.
“Put away your petty schemes, Sister.”
“Don’t think too highly of yourself.”