Chapter 10
The Man Who Will Kill Me (3)
‘An information broker like you? What a joke.’
What had Hans said back to Joseph’s biting remark?
‘Everyone in the Black Wolves is kind and good-natured. That’s the only reason they put up with someone as lacking as me.’
Hans really was shameless.
‘A kind and good-natured informant? Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Exactly. That’s why I keep saying the Black Wolves are all unbelievable people.’
The trivial exchange suddenly resurfaced in Joseph’s mind, and he frowned.
When Elliot reported the Black Wolves’ retirement, Joseph had felt as though the axe he trusted had struck his own foot. Considering that their only connection was a few commissioned jobs, the surge of emotion made no sense even to himself.
“Investigating Lady Hildegard inevitably means we can’t avoid the Crow Marquisate. Shall we at least proceed with inquiries related only to the lady?”
Anze poised her pen and waited. Joseph gazed at her absently, recalling something from a few days earlier.
Berkshire Department Store was as crowded as ever.
People loitered before the newly refurbished displays, chatting or waiting for companions. It felt as if the war were merely a distant rumor.
The newspapers still carried daily reports of soldiers killed or missing, but the public—once plunged into grief and silence when the war began—now seemed determined to forget.
After a quick briefing from his aide on the estate’s affairs, Joseph’s next stop was Berkshire.
The shares in the department store he’d bought just before the war had turned out to be unexpectedly lucrative. Everyone had tried to dissuade him, insisting people would tighten their belts once fighting broke out, yet the store’s profits had multiplied several times over.
For every person ruined and cast into the streets, there were others who seized opportunity: the Crow Trading Company supplying war goods, and the information brokers like the “Black Wolves,” trading secrets amid imperial chaos.
Before the war Joseph would have avoided such people, but lately his thoughts had shifted.
The world was changing. Nobles who once ruled through titles were fading, replaced by the supremacy of capital.
It was a world where, truly, money could buy anything.
And yet, ironically, the first thing many newly rich commoners purchased was a noble title.
Reviewing documents in his carriage, Joseph noticed they had stopped moving.
Raised voices and a commotion drew his attention; he looked out toward the department store. A carriage and a pedestrian were apparently quarreling at the entrance.
“Your Grace, it may take a while,” the coachman called.
Joseph’s brow furrowed.
On the battlefield he had often dreamed of these ordinary days—family meals, shopping, even the tedious business tasks that now felt so dull.
“Discipline has slackened,” he muttered.
Life was immeasurably easier than at the front, yet his fatigue only deepened.
“Come out and fight, why don’t you!” someone shouted, the noise rising.
Through the din of a woman’s shrill voice and what sounded like a coachman’s reply, the street was a tangle of stalled carriages. Perhaps he had chosen the wrong day to visit.
He clicked his tongue and turned back to his papers—then something flickered at the edge of his vision.
Joseph snapped his head up and leaned toward the window.
“…!”
He froze.
A small young man, unusually short for a male, wearing a checkered beret, a worn beige vest, and brown trousers polished shiny at the seat, slipped out the store’s rear door and looked around cautiously.
The youth frowned as he watched the commotion among the long line of carriages at the front entrance.
Joseph’s mouth fell open. He moved his tongue as if to speak, but no sound came.
His throat tightened.
“…Hans.”
He was certain Hans was dead.
He had seen the body with his own eyes.
The name escaped in barely more than a whisper, almost inaudible even to himself.
Joseph hurriedly opened the carriage window.
Some nearby nobles recognized him; a few removed their hats in greeting, but Joseph saw no one except Hans.
While he watched, Hans hesitated among the passersby, then turned down a back alley, apparently deciding the crowded main exit was too troublesome.
“Hans!”
This time his voice rang out, but Hans was already melting into the crowd.
Joseph leapt from the carriage.
“Your Grace! What is it?” the startled coachman called, but Joseph pushed past and ran.
By the time he reached the alley, Hans was gone.
Resting his chin on his hand, Joseph glanced at the woman beside him and spoke slowly.
“One more thing.”
Anze inclined her head slightly to show she was listening.
They said they’d repair the house for free, she thought.
Of course, she intended to bill separately for any extra requests. Remembering the repair costs, she felt a twinge of guilt—but with the duke’s wealth, her cheekiness would seem trivial.
Joseph’s next words, however, caught her off guard.
“Hans.”
Anze stiffened and turned toward him.
“Hans…”
A forced smile flickered on her lips, but Joseph didn’t notice; he was lost in the memory of the figure he had seen that afternoon.
“You might not remember—it’s been months. One of the Black Wolves who came to rescue me. Quick-witted, ill-tempered, narrow-faced and delicate-looking, always looking as if he might collapse at any moment.”
Before Anze could even bristle at the description, Joseph continued.
“Couldn’t cook to save his life, though he was ridiculously eager… ah, never mind, that’s not the point. Anyway—do you remember someone named Hans?”
“Of course, Your Grace. He was capable and admirable.”
Joseph finally turned to her, eyes searching, as if he had more to say.
“Did you not hear what I just said? Or are we talking about different people?”
“…I meant the same Hans. But that mission was his last. I remember everyone in the Black Wolves mourning him.”
“Did Hans have any siblings?”
Anze frowned at the unexpected question.
Why ask this now? The mission had succeeded, and Hans was officially listed as dead.
“Most of the Black Wolves have no families. Even if they do, that’s personal. I can’t reveal such things.”
The answer sounded insolent, but Joseph merely nodded slightly.
“That makes sense.”
Anze tilted her head, surprised he didn’t rebuke her, when he went on.
“I saw someone today who looked exactly like Hans.”
“You must have been mistaken.”
Was her reply too quick? Joseph’s eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on her face before he crooked a finger. Hesitant, Anze stepped closer.
“Closer.”
She stopped only when nearly touching his knee. As before, she noticed how unusually warm the Duke of Seid was; she could feel his body heat even across the remaining gap.
Apparently dissatisfied with the distance, Joseph reached out and gripped her shoulder with a strength she couldn’t resist.
“No—he was Hans.”
Anze averted her eyes from the icy blue stare, lifting her notebook like a shield.
“So what do you want me to do about it?”
“Find him.”
“Hans is dead. We even held a small funeral.”
“Are you doubting my eyes?”
“Your Grace yourself confirmed his death, didn’t you?”
“Exactly. That’s what’s strange.”
“…What?”
What does it matter whether that weak, ill-tempered man is alive or dead? Why search for someone like me?
The curse she dared not speak glimmered in her eyes instead.
