Even Liars Correct the Truth
“What on earth are you—!”
At first, Marquis Heindel looked as though he meant to deny my words outright, but the moment I simply stared back at him in silence, his attitude shifted.
“How did you possibly know that?”
Well, of course he'd ask. The fact that Marquis Heindel was the master of the Red Rose Salon was supposed to be a secret.
Without the original story, I never would have uncovered it myself.
In the original, Lady Kalliadr resolves an incident at the Red Rose Salon, is invited afterward by its owner, and is shocked to discover he's none other than Marquis Heindel.
From there, she works her way through Group 4 one conquest at a time, eventually joining forces with them to purge the Temple — that's how the plot runs.
“This is an information guild, after all. Even if I did dig that up, I hardly think it's cause for astonishment.”
Even Cedric seemed caught off guard by my brazenness, watching me with wide eyes. I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow, and he swiftly buried his surprise and jumped on board.
“Quite right. This is an information guild, after all.”
“So this is what information guilds are like…. And here no one has ever managed to figure it out before….”
“Yes, this is exactly what information guilds are like.”
I answered the skeptical Marquis Heindel with all the shameless confidence of a snake-oil salesman.
“Besides, the important thing is this: if you invite us to the Red Rose Salon, we can resolve everything for you. Isn't that right?”
“Can you truly resolve it?”
“But of course.”
By now I had fully transformed into a quack peddling miracle cures.
“I am a deputy of an information guild, after all!”
Friday night. Cedric and I stood at the entrance of an old theater.
By all accounts, the place had lain abandoned for years ever since its owner went bankrupt — but in truth, the Red Rose Salon was being held in secret beneath its floor.
“Oh, Manager Cedric. That outfit looks remarkably natural on you.”
I marveled at the sight of him in a well-tailored suit and a mask covering his face.
Since we needed to pass for nobility, I'd been forced to rent an expensive gown for the day — and even that was nothing next to a true noble's dress. And yet Cedric's suit looked genuinely like something a noble would own.
“M-my father gave it to me as a gift once.”
“Ah, so it's one of those 'a man should own at least one expensive suit' situations?”
“Yes. Exactly that.”
Wearing an equally flamboyant mask, I stepped into the derelict theater — and a guard materialized out of nowhere.
“How did you get in here?”
“We received an invitation.”
When I showed him the invitation we'd received in advance from Marquis Heindel, we were allowed through into the theater's underbelly without incident.
Soon, a world unfolded before us that the crumbling facade above could never have hinted at.
“Wow.”
The theater's basement was dark, yes, but it was draped in lavish chandeliers and expensive curtains. Everyone drifting freely through the space wore masks, but there was no doubt in my mind that every last one of them was a noble.
Then again, the masks hardly mattered — they all recognized one another anyway. It was nothing more than a game of pretending not to know identities they all knew perfectly well.
According to the original's description, the Red Rose Salon — held every Friday night — was where the nobility traded their choicest information.
If anything, it was a place to share the scandals and rumors that couldn't be spoken of openly in daylight, along with tips on investment opportunities and the like.
It wielded far more power than any polite society gathering above ground — which meant, naturally, that House Ashburn would be taking part as well.
“The distinguishing features of House Ashburn's members are….”
I was scanning the room, running through the physical descriptions I'd memorized, when Cedric's gaze locked onto a single spot.
“That's House Ashburn's eldest daughter over there.”
“I'm sorry — what?”
She was a woman wearing an elaborate mask adorned with a purple rose.
“How did you pick her out at a glance? Ah — now that you mention it, she does match what we heard. Blonde hair, and that rare bob cut….”
“…I learned it through my previous employer.”
“You mean that call-center-like place that handled complaints? They made you memorize information about nobles there too?”
“I wasn't permitted to fail to identify someone on the first attempt….”
“Ah….”
A vague picture began to form in my mind.
“So it was the kind of workplace where the moment someone walked in asking 'do you know who I am,' you'd better already know!”
“'Do you know who I am'…. Y-yes, precisely that.”
So it was a company where he got lorded over and mistreated on top of everything else. I looked at Cedric with something close to pity.
“In any case, that must be Charlotte Ashburn — House Ashburn's eldest daughter.”
What I still had to determine was whether it was merely Ashburn's employee who had blackmailed the Marchioness Heindel, or whether House Ashburn itself was involved.
I plucked a glass of champagne from a passing server carrying a tray, then approached Charlotte Ashburn as casually as I could manage.
“Good evening. What a lovely hairstyle you have.”
“Ah, thank you. Although….”
She tilted her head as she looked Cedric and me over — probably because we didn't match a single noble she knew.
“I don't believe we've met before.”
“We were invited personally by the Salon's master. It's our first time here tonight.”
“Oh my, he invited you himself? I can't help but wonder what sort of person he is. Could he really be the elderly dowager of the rumors, retired from society and wandering in search of new amusements…?”
“I couldn't say — I'm not at liberty to discuss the Salon's master. But I do carry plenty of other interesting bits of information.”
I decided to probe her.
“I hear Marquis Heindel has come up to the capital these days.”
“Ah, that's right. It's one of the most popular topics around, actually. Ever since he arrived, he hasn't met with anyone at all….”
“Shall we talk about that, then? I find it fascinating.”
I swirled my glass and took a sip of champagne. Ugh — why is this so bitter?
“Have you heard the rumor that something has gone wrong between Marquis Heindel and his wife?”
“Of course, I heard that ages ago. Out in society they say the Marquis has grown distant from the wife he married for alliance's sake, but in truth the two of them are on wonderful terms.”
Hm. So Charlotte Ashburn already knew that much. And notably, she showed no particular agitation when the subject of Marquis Heindel came up.
“Exactly — people say that's why he's come to the capital now. Something went wrong with his wife, and he rushed up here to resolve it.”
“What sort of problem could it possibly be?”
If I wanted to probe her one more time, then….
“I heard that House Meround got hold of some dirt on the Marchioness and blackmailed her into leaving. Supposedly the Marquis is furious with the Meround family over it.”
“Ah, you mean the Marchioness's own family. That house has always been nothing but trouble.”
Just as I suspected — the person who blackmailed the Marchioness had nothing to do with House Ashburn. It was highly likely to be the lone scheme of a single servant.
How do I know that? It's a remarkably simple principle.
If I fed her false information and she already knew the truth, Charlotte Ashburn would inevitably let something slip — drunk on the smug satisfaction of being the only one in the know.
When someone says something wrong, mouths open. It's human nature.
It was the same method I'd once used to read Mr. Park Geo-seong's political leanings and dodge his office ambushes back in my old job.
“By the way, who did everyone vote for in this election?”
“Anyone with half a brain made the same choice, haha. Oh, but the So-and-So Party candidate is ahead in the polls right now, isn't he?”
“What are you talking about? The Such-and-Such Party is ahead. Clearly no one has half a brain!”
“I agree. For the record, I'm with the So-and-So Party.”
“Haha, a very principled choice! Thank goodness our company's employees have some sense hammered into them!”
Yeah…. It went exactly like that.
Having dwelt on that bleak stretch of the past, I resolved to steer toward a different question this time.
“Actually, there's something I'd like your advice on. I'm not very skilled at handling my employees. Would you mind sharing your wisdom on how to manage servants?”
“Ah… of course, by all means.”
Charlotte Ashburn, evidently taking me for some newly minted parvenu, nodded graciously.
“One of the maids in my household keeps hovering around the nobles' private matters, always straining to learn things she shouldn't. What ought I to do about it?”
“Why, discipline her strictly, naturally. That's what happens when discipline grows lax. You must clamp down at once so she doesn't get any ideas.”
Delighted at the thought that she had something to teach me, the words came pouring out of her.
“In my family, we hold regular disciplinary seminars for the servants. A kind of ideological training, if you will. Ho ho.”
Ideological training? Dammit — the trauma of what Mr. Park Geo-seong put me through….
“The single most important quality in our household's employees is discretion, you see. Anyone caught trying to sell the information they gleaned from the family will never set foot in another noble house's employ again.”
At that moment, my mind lit up like a struck match.
Yes — there was a way to find out exactly which servant of House Ashburn had blackmailed the Marchioness.
“Thank you for the advice.”
After bidding Charlotte Ashburn a smooth farewell, I hauled Cedric away from the gathering.
“There's a record we need to look up the moment we get back.”
“What would that be?”
“The culprit is the employee who's scheduled to change jobs soon.”
After all, no one would gamble away a job for life by blackmailing Marchioness Heindel with stolen information unless they were already on their way out the door.
“The job-changing employee… should we investigate their interview records with other households?”
“That's one way. And one more thing.”
I said, with all due gravity:
“Find whoever's been smiling while they work lately.”
“I'm sorry — what?”
“The only people who smile at work are those planning to quit or jump ship.”
It was a universal truth that applied to every workplace, without exception.