Chapter 372: Let's Wait and See in the Spring

"Have you had any direct contact with Madam Marie in person?"

Kasalis asked again.

Richard avoided a direct answer, offering a preface instead.

"Madam Marie has an outstanding reputation within the Civilian Guild system."

"Before Coroner Bigelow died in the line of duty, he introduced me to Madam Marie's disciples. We haven't had much actual contact."

He wasn't lying.

"Not much" was the truth. They had only met face-to-face exactly once.

Whether the visits from her cat incarnation counted as "direct contact" depended on how one defined it.

Kasalis set his pen down, gently rubbing the barrel between two fingers.

"Mr. Williams, the wartime investigation isn't targeting anyone in particular."

"Personally, I hold Madam Marie in the highest respect, of course."

He added the clarification. Even if the powerful figures backing him weren't afraid, he personally dreaded offending a Major Adept with such vast connections.

"But we have an obligation to verify that any registered Practitioners and students associated with her have clear, traceable backgrounds."

Richard rolled his eyes internally.

"I understand. I can cooperate with whatever you need to confirm."

Kasalis let his gaze linger on Richard's face for two seconds.

"When Bigelow taught you the basics of Spirit Vision, did he use any teaching aids or tools that you felt had questionable origins?"

"No," Richard answered quickly.

"The Training Copper Disc, Runestones, and wax strips are all standard teaching aids registered at the Branch Office."

"Did Bigelow ever mention his teacher's other disciples to you?"

"He did." Richard thought for a moment.

"His senior sister, Mrs. MacNeil, a Minor Adept in the Secret path. She has also operated in the northern regions of the Empire for many years."

"You have also had contact with Mrs. MacNeil."

It wasn't a question.

"She was the team leader during the Whitcom Mill sealing mission, and she was present later during the Briston Black Ditch operation."

Richard knew all this was written in his file. There was no room to lie, nor any need to.

Kasalis scribbled a few more lines on the document.

Looking from across the table, Richard could only make out a few scattered words: "Confirmed," "Lineage," "No signs of anomaly."

"One last question."

Kasalis twirled the pen half a turn through his fingers.

"You wear a Silver Ring on your chest."

Richard's heart skipped a beat, but outwardly he remained completely calm.

"Yes."

"What is its origin?"

"A supernatural item accessory." Richard's speaking pace didn't change. "My guide, Mr. Hutton, helped me pick it out."

This wasn't a lie either. Mr. Hutton had indeed participated in the selection process for his signature artifact.

As for the mark left on the Silver Ring after Madam Marie's cat incarnation had licked it, that layer could only be perceived by the Spirit Vision of Viktorova's disciples.

Kasalis stared at him for a long moment, then nodded.

"Basic information confirmed."

He signed his name and the date on the last page of the document, then twisted the cap back onto his pen.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Williams."

Just as he reached out to shake Richard's hand, the door to Room 103 was pushed open from the outside.

"Little Richard."

A dry, hoarse voice drifted in from the hallway.

Professor Mortimer's figure appeared in the doorway.

He was wearing that perpetually dusty old overcoat, his hat askew, holding a chipped teacup in his hands.

A red-haired girl followed behind the old professor.

Catherine was hugging a stack of documents, her expression no different than usual.

Kasalis's hand froze.

"Professor Mortimer, what brings you here?" The man swapped his expression for one of perfectly measured respect.

"Kasalis, isn't it?" Mortimer poked his head in, teacup in hand.

"I remember you coming to the department for an investigation the year before last. That time, you were looking into an alchemy material smuggling case."

Kasalis was visibly flattered.

"You have an excellent memory, Professor, to remember a nobody like me."

Mortimer took a sip of his tea.

"I'm just passing by to ask if you're done chatting with this boy. He still hasn't turned in his assignment."

Kasalis looked at Richard, then at the professor.

"...We are already finished."

"That's good." Professor Mortimer slowly walked away again.

After the professor left, Catherine also turned and followed him.

Only Richard and Kasalis remained in Room 103.

Kasalis swiftly added a line to the final page of the folder.

"Mr. Williams, you are on the roster for wartime Auxiliary Investigating Scholars."

He tucked the folder into his briefcase.

"In the future, we'd appreciate your continued assistance with our work."

Richard shook his hand.

Kasalis's palm had broken out in a thin layer of sweat, one that only appeared after the old professor's arrival.

When he walked out of Room 103, Catherine was waiting for him at the end of the hallway.

She flipped open her small notebook, scribbled a line, and held it up.

"I feel like you'd have been fine even if I hadn't brought the professor."

Richard stared at the words for two seconds.

"How did you know I was being called in?"

Catherine turned the page.

"The Department of Internal Affairs posted today's interview list on the noticeboard. Your name was first, and I just happened to see it walking by."

"And then you went looking for Professor Mortimer?"

Catherine flipped to another page.

"The professor wanted to come himself; otherwise, I couldn't have made him."

Her pen paused on the paper, then added another half-line.

"He asked me who was on the list. I said your name, and he stood right up."

Richard gave Catherine a slight nod.

"Thank you as well."

Catherine closed the notebook and waved her hand.

The gesture roughly meant "don't mention it" or "thank the professor, not me."

The two walked out from the end of the corridor, one after the other. The wind outside the Petrie Building was cold, snapping the hems of their clothes.

Back in his dorm, Richard pulled out a sheet of stationery to report the situation to Mrs. MacNeil.

"I was interviewed by the Department of Internal Affairs today. The cause was the wartime investigation, but they were actually probing about Madam Marie.

They asked about Bigelow's lineage, they asked about you, and they also noticed the ring on my chest.

It has concluded. Professor Mortimer intervened, and there will be no further interviews."

He folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, and sent it off using MacNeil's exclusive Spirit Realm Messenger.

The reply arrived the very next morning.

Mrs. MacNeil's handwriting wasn't the prettiest. The letter relayed her teacher's exact words.

"Teacher's meaning is this."

"Those people have investigated us no fewer than ten times from before the war to now, and every time the conclusion is the same. It always fizzles out."

"She said that the surname Viktorova was passed down from her grandmother.

She was born in the Empire, raised in the Empire, and decades of her life are all rooted in this soil.

Let them investigate if they want. Teacher won't change her surname, nor will she hide."

"There is one more sentence, meant specifically for you."

Richard's eyes fell on the final line.

"If they want to look, let them look."

"The more open you are, the less they will have to say."

..................

Two days after the investigation, Richard finished his classes.

He had originally planned to head straight back to his dorm to wash his face and continue practicing his breathing method, but he was stopped on the first floor.

"Williams, phone call for you!"

His heart tightened. Tucking his textbooks under his arm, he hurried to the phone booth.

"Hello?"

"Richard, it's me."

It was Grey's voice.

Unlike usual, the girl's voice was trembling, almost on the verge of tears.

"What's wrong?"

"The ship is back."

Richard's eyes snapped wide open.

"The 'Auckland', the one that was requisitioned."

Grey continued over the line.

"Yesterday morning, someone from the Wharf Office came and delivered a notice. It had an official seal on it."

"My dad thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He flipped the paper over and over until he was sure the seal was real."

"Isn't that... a good thing?"

Over at the girls' college, Grey crouched in the phone booth and wiped her cheek.

"My dad ran all over town, tracing the requisition order backward through the approval process."

"The port commissioner gave him a statement: 'Considering the need for civilian shipping coordination during wartime, certain requisitions deemed non-essential for military purposes have been optimized and adjusted.'"

"But they requisitioned hundreds of ships, so why did they release ours alone?"

Richard leaned against the wall of the booth, staying silent.

He knew what Grey was going to say.

"He used another connection, and someone told him that the directive adjusting the requisition list came down from the General Administration. In one of the associated notes on the roster, a specific surname was attached."

"Ashford."

Richard closed his eyes for a moment.

He truly hadn't put in a word, nor had he even mentioned Grey's family's ship to his grandfather.

But on the day of his interview with the Department of Internal Affairs, he had disclosed his entire background.

When Kasalis closed the folder, he had quickly added a line to the final page.

Returning the ship was a favor from the Department of Internal Affairs.

A favor meant for Richard to see... or, more accurately, meant for the string of names behind him.

He had done absolutely nothing himself, but the outcome had acted on his behalf.

Grey fell quiet on the other end for a moment.

Then she said something Richard hadn't been prepared for.

"Richard, I know you didn't do it."

Someone passed by the hallway outside the booth. Leather heels clacked against the stone floor before fading away into the distance.

Richard waited for her to continue.

"After my dad came back from the Admiralty, he talked to my mom at the dinner table for half an hour."

"He even asked me when I'd be free, saying he wanted to take me to visit the Ashford Residence and pick out a few things from that Eastern Continent shipment to give you as a greeting gift."

Grey paused.

"I could hear what he really meant by all that."

True grievance laced the girl's voice.

"...He thinks I begged you for help."

"You didn't, I know that," Richard said immediately.

"Of course I didn't," Grey sniffled.

"My family was a complete mess during that time, and I couldn't exactly talk to Cunningham and the others about it.

I just wanted someone to talk to. Talking about it was enough."

"I never expected you to do anything for me... never."

She placed heavy emphasis on the word "never."

Richard gripped the receiver, his other hand unconsciously clutching the cuff of his coat.

Grey spoke again.

"Do you know that feeling?"

"You make a treat for someone, and you do it happily, without overthinking it.

You just think they'll like it, so you make it."

"Then one day, you find out that other people assume you gave them that treat with an ulterior motive."

"The treat hasn't changed, but its taste has soured in other people's mouths."

Richard's hand relaxed its grip on his cuff.

He thought of the Gingerbread Rabbit that Evelyn had baked.

His little sister had never once thought, 'Once my brother makes it big in the Imperial Capital, he can protect me.'

She had simply wanted to give him something sweet to eat, so she made it.

When Grey gave him those Tin Boxes and scones, her palms were open, hiding nothing inside.

"I understand," he said.

"Yeah." Grey's voice relaxed.

"I had prepared a whole speech, afraid you wouldn't get it."

"You underestimate me."

"I really did underestimate you," Grey said, her mood slowly recovering.

"So, are we still eating sandwiches?" she asked.

"Still eating them."

"Still sitting on the park bench?"

"Once it gets warmer. My ears went totally numb from the cold last time."

"That's your fault for not wearing a hat."

"By the way, I planted that bean on the balcony."

"Is it alive?"

Grey thought about it.

"It hasn't sprouted yet. The soil in the pot has been cold the whole time."

"The soil in the other pots on the balcony warms up after being in the midday sun."

Richard figured that Demeter managing to keep it alive was already highly unconventional.

The odds of it actually taking root in ordinary soil were probably slim.

"No rush," he said. "Let's wait and see in the spring."