TAJ 14

14.

The newspaper rushed out a special edition. They had received a tip that bodies of vagrants were being found one after another downstream of the Freus River.

The already agitated public—stirred by the boy’s body found in Lake Rota and the disappearance of the daughter of the Rom merchant guild’s leader—would certainly be inflamed by this sensational news.

“Serial Murders of Vagrants! Were They Covered Up Because They Were Homeless?”

What a provocative headline.

Clive skimmed the headline of the newspaper Ed had brought in haste, then tossed it onto his desk, deeming it not even worth reading further.

Unlike most people who reacted with fiery anger, Clive displayed a cold, icy rage—something Ed still hadn’t gotten used to. Carefully watching his superior’s mood, Ed quietly cleared the paper away.

“They must’ve written it recklessly without proper investigation. They lack even the basic integrity of journalists. Please don’t mind them.”

Clive ignored Ed’s attempt to console him and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

Since childhood, he had been educated by renowned scholars, receiving a high-quality education, and had always been regarded as one of their most outstanding students.

Even after enrolling in the academy, he was consistently evaluated the same way—always calm, logical, and achieving the best results.

He’d thought himself lacking compared to his older brother, but he had still been someone others admired. Living up to the expectations of his parents and those around him, he believed he was doing well.

To someone who had lived such a life, this feeling of self-loathing was unfamiliar.

As if being swallowed into a sticky swamp, he forcefully brought his fading consciousness back to clarity.

He had to think—calmly, again.

The vagrant incidents had begun about a year ago. The first case was a woman’s body with no wounds, ruled an accidental fall.

She had begged on Belford Street during the day and slept under the Bottley Bridge downstream of the Freus River at night.

She was quiet and reserved, never getting into trouble with others.

The next victim was a man strangled with no signs of defensive wounds.

This man was often drunk, loitering along the riverbank. He frequently fought with other vagrants and harassed passing women.

He had even been warned by patrols several times. His identity was easy to confirm, but beyond that, no useful leads were found.

At first glance, it seemed the killer was targeting victims from the Freus River area, but then came a man found beaten—someone who lived far from the previous two victims.

Instead of the west side of Shudehill, where the river was, this man had roamed the northern area near the public carriage terminal, begging by day and sleeping in the stables by night.

He was known to extort money from women and children.

What kind of person was this killer, to roam all the way from the west to the north of Shudehill?

“You need to leave now.”

Ed’s prompt made Clive open his eyes.

He had to attend a bimonthly meeting, presided over by Lord Norton, where the retainers gathered to discuss various matters concerning Shudehill.

Clive rubbed his face with a heavy heart.

But only for a moment. As he rose and put on his jacket, his face regained its usual cool, sharp expression.

“The citizens are growing uneasy.”

“We need to catch at least one of the culprits soon—either for the vagrant murders or the Lake Rota case. Before Miss Gemma turns up as a corpse.”

As expected, Clive was the main target of today’s meeting.

“I will catch the murderer behind the vagrant incidents. And the one responsible for the Lake Rota case. The same goes for Miss Gemma’s kidnapper.”

“Do you really think Miss Gemma is still alive?”

“She sent a letter, didn’t she? Isn’t it just a runaway case?”

Lorraine Standen’s pessimism was countered by Luke Hosten, who dismissed the case as a simple runaway.

“She said she was going to Pencombe, but there’s no trace of her there.”

Clive stuck to the facts.

“Still, since she sent a letter, shouldn’t we report it as a runaway to calm the public for now?”

Luke Hosten raised his voice again.

“And if it really is a runaway, it would be better if she returns on her own.”

“That’s difficult. The Rom merchant guild’s leader still claims it’s a disappearance and is searching for witnesses.”

While the retainers argued, Count Norton sat silently, listening carefully to his second son’s calm responses. Then he spoke:

“First, we need to counter that article claiming we tried to cover it up because the victims were just vagrants.”

Clive felt a bitter taste in his mouth. All the efforts he had made to maintain order among the poor along the river now seemed to be in vain.

He thought he was resilient against misunderstanding and distortion—but maybe he wasn’t.

“Is it even a serial killing? Those vagrants fight among themselves all the time. Couldn’t the murders have just happened from that?”

Luke Hosten was repeating a theory that had already been considered and dismissed by the First Division.

“Why don’t we try showing some public effort? Cooperate with the church and medical association to help the poor and vagrants.”

A voice suggested, breaking the frustrating silence.

“Distribute food, pray with them, offer medical help. And of course, the location should be downstream of the Freus River—where they gather.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

Count Norton nodded at William Cook’s suggestion and gestured toward his eldest son.

“Coordinate with the church and the medical association. Let’s end the meeting here.”

Connor Norton brought the meeting to a smooth close.

*

“Hello.”

Tulips, marigolds, and gerberas blooming in soft colors.

Claire was standing in front of a flower shop, distracted by the display, wondering if one of those blooms might look good on her dining table.

Lost in this somewhat important internal debate, she was startled by a voice behind her—and turned to find Clive standing there.

She didn’t have the courage to say, Why act like we’re close? so she forced an awkward smile.

“Hello.”

“Buying flowers?”

Clive took a step closer and picked up a tulip with a gentle pink hue.

His pale skin, jet-black hair swaying in the breeze, and long lashes over violet eyes radiated noble blood.

He had the cold beauty of an aristocrat—and the tulip somehow suited his calloused hands perfectly.

Flowers? I should probably buy soap with this money.

“Just looking.”

“Why? They’re pretty.”

“They are.”

Claire was anxiously calculating the right time to escape.

He looked uncharacteristically cheerful. Did he actually like flowers?

“Well, I’ll just—”

Go now… or so she tried to say, but Clive looked up from the tulip and made eye contact.

“Should I buy it for you?”

“…Why?”

“It’s pretty.”

“It suits you better, Sir.”

Trying to end the conversation, Claire resolved to finally leave. But then Clive casually held out the tulip to her.

It really was pretty—but why?

She glanced up and met his gaze, quickly looking down again.

When a man gives a woman a flower, isn’t it usually based on some kind of affection?

But Clive’s expression showed nothing of the sort—utterly emotionless.

Does he want something from me?

But what could someone like him—son of a lord, responsible for the region’s safety, with everything he could want—possibly need from her?

“Take it.”

Seeing Claire frozen in place, Clive raised the tulip slightly. Somehow, it was hard to refuse, so she took it.

The attentive shop owner came over, and Clive paid for it.

Thanks to that, Claire now had both a flower and money left for soap. It would look nice on the table, surely…

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“…Sorry?”

“You should say thank you.”

His tone was like someone scolding a child. Claire felt embarrassed—how could she forget something so basic?

“Thank you. Well, I’ll be going now.”

She thought she had smoothly set up a goodbye, but Clive casually followed right beside her.

Sensing it would only get messier if she turned around, she stared straight ahead and walked. He didn’t seem bothered at all.

“What will you do with it?”

She pretended not to hear. There were many people on the street—enough to make her feel brave.

But Clive assumed she really hadn’t heard because of the noise.

“Claire, what will you do with the flower?”

Now that he even used her name, she couldn’t pretend anymore.

“I’m thinking of decorating my dining table with it.”

“Should’ve bought a few more, then.”

“One is enough.”

“Elinor always filled vases with whole bouquets.”

Claire stole a glance at his profile.

She had once read an article about his knighthood ceremony years ago.

Though not as skilled as Sir Hooper, the commander of Count Norton’s private knights, Clive had excellent abilities.

Of course, being the lord’s son, the press likely exaggerated a bit.

Still, his toned physique hinted at years of training—maybe his skills really were outstanding.

She was admiring the strong legs beneath his upright posture when Clive caught her looking.

“Got something to say?”

Ah… maybe I was staring too openly.

“No.”

She quickly turned away. Clive didn’t seem to mind and changed the subject.

“That tea I had last time—was it you who brewed it?”

“Pardon? Oh, yes.”

“Could I have another cup?”

Can I refuse? If I do it too obviously, it’ll seem rude…

“S-Sure… next time.”

“I have time now.”

“Now?”

“You’re headed home, right?”

“Home? My home?”

“Why are you so surprised?”

Because you keep surprising me!

Claire felt overwhelmed. It was already uncomfortable running into him, and now he was acting all familiar—buying her flowers, following her when she tried to leave.

And now, after catching her staring at him, he wanted to come to her house?

“Do you have other plans?”

Think fast, Claire!

“I’m having dinner with my sister.”

“At home?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t sound like something that counts as an ‘engagement,’ does it?”

“…I suppose not.”

She cursed herself for answering honestly.

“Well, a sudden visit wouldn’t be polite. Invite me next time.”

Suddenly cheerful, Clive stepped back with a smile. And for some reason, that smile left a mark on Claire’s heart.