Chapter 48
Berin didn’t understand what we were talking about and just looked back and forth between us. Hassel then told him about the incident that had happened in the back alley last time. After hearing my story, Berin nodded, saying that if they were illegal immigrants, it made sense.
“Perhaps they really are descendants of Marck. But still, you can’t prove it just by appearance.”
I thought for a while, then snapped my fingers.
“No—that’s not true. There is a way!”
“What way, Secretary Shanael?”
“When we first saw that painting, everyone assumed it was the sky reflected in a lake. But if they are truly descendants, they would have inherited Marck’s keepsakes for generations. Surely, at some point, they would have heard the story of that painting. That it isn’t the sky—it’s a clam shell. And right now, only we know that secret, since the painting hasn’t even been displayed in the museum yet. If it’s children, their answers will be even more straightforward.”
Berin’s eyes widened.
“That makes sense. If the keepsakes really were passed down, their parents must have mentioned it at least once.”
Hassel nodded thoughtfully and stood up.
“Then I’ll go and confirm it myself. I know the orphanage where those children are staying.”
“Can I come along too?”
“Lady Shanael, you aren’t allowed to leave the palace without permission.”
“I’ll just use an outing permit.”
“If that’s the case… then let’s go together.”
“Besides, I can leave without permission if I want. I have immunity, remember?”
“Immunity only means you won’t be imprisoned or tried for crimes. It doesn’t mean His Highness has renounced the right to control you. He said you must remain within the palace walls. In the future, he could easily confine you in a tower or on a secluded island. You wouldn’t be punished, but you’d be isolated. I advise you, for your own safety, not to take unauthorized outings.”
“……Thank you for the warning.”
I almost got myself in trouble thinking I could wander around freely.
As Hassel pulled on his coat, I tidied my things and took mine as well. To be honest, it wasn’t so much that I wanted to see the children—it was more that I wanted to leave the palace, even just for a little while.
* * *
Together with Hassel, the museum director, and his secretary, I headed for a monastery on the outskirts of the capital. Behind it stood an orphanage run by the Empire. The director’s secretary carried Marck’s painting, wrapped carefully in thick paper.
We explained the purpose of our visit to the head nun and asked to meet the children. After a short wait, she brought another nun who would guide us.
“Please follow her.”
“Thank you.”
We were asked to wait in the first-floor reception room. Soon, the nun returned with the children we had met before.
“These are the ones. Their names are Tiemo, Hyonir, and Mahct.”
The youngest, Tiemo, had been the one bedridden last time. Back then, his coughing had been so severe I was worried, but now he seemed healthier—running about with only faint rash marks left on his body.
“Then we’ll talk with the children for a while, and let you know.”
We moved to the long table where the children sat. The museum director and his secretary positioned themselves sternly at the head, setting the painting on the table but making no effort at a warm greeting. Seeing that, I went to the girl—the middle child—and spoke first.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“So, your name is Hyonir? Have you been well?”
“Yes. Sister, thank you so much for helping us last time.”
The girl bowed politely. In contrast, her older brother Mahct sat slouched at the table, glaring at no one in particular.
Hassel didn’t force conversation with him. Instead, he helped Tiemo back to his feet after the boy tripped, and even carried him on his shoulders when he cried. Watching the little one, healthier now, I asked Hyonir gently:
“Is your brother better now?”
“The coughing stopped, but he still takes medicine. Sister… why are you here today?”
“We wanted to ask you something.”
“What is it?”
But before she could answer, Mahct snapped angrily.
“Hyonir, don’t answer them!”
Like a hedgehog bristling with spines, he wouldn’t let us get close. Hyonir lowered her gaze apologetically.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why is your brother so upset?”
“Recently, a sponsor came forward to adopt me… I think it makes him anxious.”
“I see…”
The girl hesitated, twisting her little hands, then whispered:
“The sponsor is wealthy. If I get adopted, they promised to take care of my brothers too…”
At that, Mahct flared up.
“That scoundrel said he’d discipline you by beating! Absolutely not!”
But Hyonir looked more afraid of poverty than punishment.
“We have food and shelter now, but my brother turns eighteen in two years. The orphanage only keeps us until then—because the Empire considers eighteen old enough for military service. Once he leaves, we all have to go. And then… we’ll have nothing.”
I stroked her hair tenderly. She was so small, only up to my chest, yet burdened with such heavy worries. I wanted to save enough money to help them when the time came.
“Don’t decide too quickly. You don’t know what kind of person that sponsor really is. And besides—you wouldn’t want to be separated from your brothers, would you?”
Her large eyes shimmered as she nodded. In that moment, their odd-colored eyes shone golden, radiant and precious.
Just as I was about to comfort her further, a sharp cough interrupted.
“Enough pleasantries. It’s time for my questions.”
The museum director, pen in hand, opened his file. The children shifted nervously, so I reassured them softly:
“These people just want to ask you something.”
Hassel sat down with Tiemo on his lap.
The director spoke coldly, ignoring their young age.
“Are you from the Kingdom of Mustang?”
The children flinched at the mention of their homeland, a defeated nation. I quickly soothed them.
“Don’t worry. Nothing bad will happen because of these questions. Please be honest. We’re trying to find the true owner of a painting.”
The word painting caught Mahct’s attention.
“Owner of a painting?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of painting?”
Before I could answer, the museum director cut in sharply.
“Just answer what I ask. Was the painter Marck your ancestor?”
I expected the children to say yes. But none of them answered immediately. And then it hit me—Marck had lived a century ago. He wouldn’t be their grandfather, but much further back. It wasn’t strange that they didn’t know.
The director, however, sneered.
“Of course not. No need to show the painting.”
“No! Show them anyway. They’re children—they might not realize otherwise.”
But the director dismissed me and motioned for his secretary to put the painting away. Hassel stopped him with a firm hand on the frame.
“Follow procedure.”
The director clicked his tongue but continued his interrogation.
“Do you have any heirlooms passed down in your family? Especially paintings?”
“Yes, we did!”
“Where are they? Show us at least one.”
“We… don’t have them anymore. They were sold.”
“Sold, eh? Then nothing to compare.”
He marked a large X across the form.
“How many were there?”
“Two.”
“For how much?”
“One my father sold for ten gold, I think. The other… I was tricked, and it went for only three.”
The director tapped his pencil against the table irritably.
“Ten gold, three gold… Hmph. At that price, the painter couldn’t have been anything special. Likely just a street artist of slightly higher skill. Even descendants could imitate the style closely enough.”
He had already decided—their family had nothing to do with the true masterpiece, Sky Lake.
To be continued…
