61.

Of course, you would think so…… The subordinate’s gaze, which had moments ago resembled that of someone admiring a flawless superior, slightly dimmed, then sharpened again precisely as Cardier raised his head. Even beneath that composed, soldierly expression, the superior seemed to have sensed a fleeting disrespectful glance—beast-like in its intensity—as his eyes narrowed sharply.

A feeling as if one were a mouse before a snake…… The subordinate broke into a cold sweat, pondering whether he should flip his own stomach inside out. Yet the gaze, seemingly never meant to pressure him in the first place, casually drifted away.

“Regardless of your flippant remarks about my wife, I agree it’s a dangerous matter.”

“…….”

……Apparently, he’d already made a bad impression on his superior.

Whether the subordinate sweated or not, Cardier Montrosa rose from his seat and walked toward the fireplace. He picked up the candlestick resting atop it and set fire to the documents. Holding onto the corner until the paper was entirely consumed by flames, he tossed the remains onto the ashes in the hearth.

“I’ll handle this myself.”

* * *

Someone was following.

Ro realized this purely by accident. By accident…… because she had gotten lost. Now that she admitted it, she felt utterly ridiculous and was thoroughly annoyed.

It had been fine at first—boldly dashing out of Montrosa Castle. Too fine, in fact, causing her to overlook the fact that four years had passed since she last left the eastern district.

Port cities were living, breathing whales. Even in the past, after long voyages, she’d return to find signs changed, street goods altered, people replaced, and even the shapes of streets transformed, as if new walls had been hastily erected.

The tapestries hung in every alley had faded so much they were barely distinguishable. Previously, she only needed to look for the one embroidered with the sun motif, but damn it, now she couldn’t even remember what had been where.

When she glanced back to pinpoint her exact location, someone who had passed near the main square caught her sharp eyes. At first, she assumed it was mere coincidence—their paths briefly crossing. But when that ‘coincidence’ repeated a second and then a third time, she could no longer dismiss it as mere imagination. Once suspicion took root, spotting the others became easy. Three, no—four of them.

Ro calmly paid for a bag of apples at a nearby shop. When she stopped, they stopped; when she moved, they followed. Judging by the distance they kept, one of the three was likely the culprit. Either informants’ guards, surveillance planted by Cardier, or common criminals. Since she had deliberately come dressed as a Montrosa maid, the third possibility was extremely unlikely—unless they were kidnappers with entirely different motives.

Ro walked along the main thoroughfare, crowded with people. She deliberately made a scene at every shop, haggling loudly.

“Five cels for one potato? Are you pulling a fast one on me?”

“Do you even know what kind of potato this is?”

“So cooking with this potato can easily feed five people, I suppose?”

“……Hey, isn’t she that maid from Montrosa Castle? Let’s not get too rowdy here.”

At those words, the glances of passersby briefly converged on her, then scattered. Having achieved her goal, Ro tossed a ten-cel copper coin and stuffed a few potatoes into her pocket. Repeating this a few times as she moved from shop to shop, the watchers had vanished—unless they’d simply hidden themselves from sight.

She gauged the time by the sun, now beginning to tilt. She still had about thirty-five minutes before the one-hour mark she’d promised Anna. Two choices remained: satisfy herself with having confirmed she could slip out of Montrosa Castle anytime and return, or risk a bit more to complete her objective? The answer wasn’t difficult.

“When have I ever held back for the sake of my goals? If not today, when else will I get such a chance? Should I come back safely with a string of navy men dangling behind me?”

Absolutely not. If that ever happened, the informant would surely refuse to meet her by any means necessary.

Ro tightly gripped the meat knife she’d secretly brought. While the roads leading to the main square were wide and clean, the deeper she went inward, the narrower, darker, and filthier they became. Bluish smoke from burning herbs—whether medicinal or poisonous—rose in spots, and old hags clattered stones together, loudly soliciting customers.

“Come in, come in.”

“Fine happiness…… cheap happiness too.”

Ro ignored everything, relying as much as possible on memory to navigate. The informant changed the entrance’s location weekly. Only the address “4-426 Lane” remained constant.

Assuming the pattern hadn’t changed, the entrance should be nearby. Four years had passed since her last confirmation, so probably seven steps forward from here, then turn about sixty-five degrees……

Ro repeatedly calculated in her mind, scratching the back of her neck. A compass would’ve made this easier, but with no way to obtain one immediately, it was maddening. She spun around once in a full circle, as if she herself were a compass needle. Then, by chance, she spotted a sun emblem between two tattered signs—exactly matching the one in her memory.

Ro thought she ought to offer a prayer of thanks to the heavens for this unbelievable stroke of luck. She quickly approached the sign. The shop door was closed, but a small, ragged beggar boy sitting in front held out a dented iron cup toward her.

“Just one coin, please. Copper is fine. Silver is even better.”

“I left my money in the belly of a whale.”

“For someone who says that, your wrists look quite intact.”

“I ran away before the whale could swallow my hands.”

At that reply, the beggar boy smiled faintly. Then, limping, he rose and kicked the closed shop door twice. Instead of a voice, the sound of a lock clicking open came from within. Soon, the door swung inward, revealing a dark interior.

“……Come in.”

Goodness. How long had it been? She suppressed the urge to giggle. Ro emptied her pockets, handing over all the potatoes and apples she carried to the beggar boy. Then she quietly stepped through the narrow doorway. The door was so low she had to crouch deeply just to pass. Apparently, this ‘informant’ fellow had turned into a real coward in her absence.

Immediately beyond the door was a staircase leading straight down, followed by a narrow passage that felt like an ant tunnel. The passage twisted and turned, then abruptly ended. At the end stood a thick wooden door, and faintly audible from within was a lively commotion. Opening it, a strong smell of alcohol rushed out.

“Welcome! Are you here alone?”

A waiter cheerfully called out, guiding her inside. Ro realized the damp, stuffy air carried a faint narcotic component. Of course—a double filter. A trick to weed out either casual visitors or agents of the Royal Navy by posing as a low-level drug dealer. Ro walked calmly forward and placed a one-cel silver coin on the bar in front of the bartender, who was wiping a glass with a grimy cloth.

“What would you like to order?”

“The same thing those guys are eating.”

Ro pointed with her thumb toward a table near the staircase leading up to the next floor. At her words, the bartender’s eyebrows faintly lifted.

“That’s already sold out.”

“I came knowing it could be bought.”

“I don’t know who told you what…….”

“Turner. Now, if you have no more questions, I’d like to go upstairs.”

At that, two men sitting at the table slowly rose. Ro pretended to stuff her remaining money into her pocket, but tightly gripped the knife’s handle. Damn it, nothing was ever easy. Just as one of the men reached to place a hand on her shoulder, something came tumbling down the stairs with a loud clatter. It was a navigational compass.

“Let her in!”

“But we said we’re not taking guests for now…….”

“My mind’s changed!”

While the three men froze in confusion, the bartender muttered a quiet curse. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he gave a slight nod.

“Damn…… always so damn stubborn. Go on up, miss.”

Ro smirked, then firmly pocketed the one-cel silver coin she’d left on the bar. She climbed the creaking stairs. At the top stood a door, half-open.

Ro slipped her body through the gap. Inside stood a large wooden desk, behind it a grimy window, and on the wall, a painting of a sinking ship.

While the lower floor seemed to transform—sometimes a bar, sometimes a gambling den, sometimes a drug den—this room remained unchanged, as if preserved in time. Just as it had been since the first day she set foot here.

As she surveyed the surroundings, the door clicked shut behind her. Then immediately, a large man grabbed her by the neck and shoved her against the wall. Mottled brown hair, faint green eyes—the man was identical to the Turner in her memory, yet wore a completely different expression as he smiled.

“Long time no visitor.”

He whispered close to Rosetta’s frozen ear.

“To even mention the name of a man who died in the incident four years ago? I might’ve thought the Crimson Dawn had risen again.”