The Ryabolsk Serial Murders

Three weeks had passed since Vatslava started helping with the odd jobs at the branch office. In that time she had learned five more cocktails and put on a good deal of stamina. The trouble was that Lupin was far too busy for any of that effort to land.

She had foisted some adventurer onto her and then, as if a curse of the open road had taken hold, scarcely spent a moment standing still at the branch. Not that she never came by. Their eyes would meet, a cocktail would be ready, and Lupin would drain it in one swallow and vanish — like someone setting food out for a stray cat.

And so Vatslava, who knew none of the reasons, could only conclude that Lupin was telling her sideways: You are of no use to me, except for your cocktails.

But Vatslava would not give up. If Lupin had truly let her go for good, she told herself, she would never have assigned her so fine a senior, and so steady a helper.

"You up, Vatslava."

"Good morning, Mr. Yegor!"

"Conditioning first again today?"

"Yes! That's the plan!"

Physical conditioning. Counsel worthy of a senior adventurer. A magnetism that drew people in, and a bearing that stayed grave and steady. Yegor was an all-rounder who fell short in nothing — save for the secret tastes Lupin had let slip, and the occasional habit of being far too direct.

"Got something to say before we start."

"Yes, sir!"

"Didn't want to stick my nose in, so I've been watching. That chest of yours really does look uncomfortable."

"M-my chest?!"

"Word is, the bigger they are, the more they hurt when you run."

Perhaps it was because he was equally blunt with men and women alike. He would say, without a flicker of hesitation, things no ordinary man would ever voice. Scarlet to the ears, Vatslava whipped her head aside. He's hinting. He has to be.Oh no — he thinks I've been trying to seduce him all this time! I never even thought of such a thing!

"I think that chest is excellent. All the more reason to take care of it."

Of course, Yegor had his reasons. The male adventurers of the Association had taken to watching Vatslava train, then barricading themselves in the restroom until a long line formed — and afterward a flood of complaints had poured in about a deeply suspicious smell. But if anyone else raised the subject, disaster was sure to follow. So they had all begged Yegor, the single most plausible messenger available, to handle it.

"I-it doesn't hurt, but does it really bounce that much? The truth is, this is the first time in my life I've ever done exercise this intense..."

"Sometimes it looks like a flail thrashing around inside your shirt."

"Th-that bad...?!"

"Which is why I'm recommending this."

Yegor set down the enormous pack he always carried. It was heavy enough to send a small shudder through the ground. Out of it came a single gray vest. At a glance it looked like an ordinary waistcoat worn under a formal suit, but it had considerable stretch — what the modern world would call a sports bra.

"Wear this and the bouncing should ease."

"Th-thank you!"

"Truth is, I offered it to someone else first and got a fist to the jaw on the spot. Given how that went, you may as well have it."

"Are you sure? It looks rather expensive..."

"Gift with no owner. Do what you want."

Vatslava put the vest on at once and bounced in place. With it holding her, much of the wild motion was gone. Even so — perhaps owing to the sheer scale of her build — a considerable sway remained. Yegor, whose expression rarely shifted, looked faintly rattled and rubbed at his jaw.

"Um... it doesn't really seem any different?"

"......If an expensive thing binds its wearer until she can't breathe, then it isn't worth the price."

"I-I suppose so."

At any rate, they were ready to train. The two of them were just about to start their run when—

"Found her!"

A crowd that had poured out of the assembly hall clustered before them in a rush.

"Are you Vatslava Watson, assistant to the great detective Saint Tail?"

Vatslava tilted her head. As a commoner, she had no surname — only a given name.

"Vatslava is right, but..."

"Then there's no mistake. We leave at once! The detective is asking for you!"

As the crowd moved to close around her completely, Yegor threw out both arms on reflex and barred their approach.

"Hold it. Either tell us why properly, or don't take her."

"And who are you?"

"Vatslava's guard."

"Ah. Then come along."

"W-wait, please, just a moment! Saint Tail? Who is that?"

At the admission that she didn't know the name, the crowd broke into murmurs. What? Did we grab the wrong person? And now that they looked, her chest seemed smaller than Saint Tail had described. At that very moment — pop, pop, crack — a dangerous sound came from the vest she wore.

"What was that sound just now— agh!"

Fwip!

The man at the front had been glancing about for the source when a button off the vest flew straight into him. One. Two. Three. In an instant the vest had lost every button and surrendered its function entirely.

Yegor, watching, let out a hollow laugh.

"A compression vest, defeated. That's a first."

"I-I'm so sorry! And it was expensive...!"

"It's fine. Take it off and I'll mend it myself. Next time I'll reinforce it properly, so it doesn't burst."

But thanks to that, it was proven beyond any doubt that Vatslava was the great detective Saint Tail's assistant. Hers was a chest of evidence the mere word enormous could not begin to contain. A few of the onlookers abruptly doubled over, or sidled out of the crowd in distinctly compromised, half-crouched shuffles. The man at the front — knocked back to his senses by the button to the face — held out a sheet of paper.

"Ah, right. I was told to show you this. Slipped my mind."

It was Lupin, glorified past all reason. Less pretty than overflowing with martial valor.

Yegor frowned and muttered.

"Father's por— no. Even the Emperor's portrait is tamer than this."

Call for anyone in the city with pink hair to step forward, and the only person who came to mind was Lupin. And then there was the name itself — Saint Tail, practically an announcement of the ponytail she wore.

"Let's go and see, for now. Miss Lupin might need us urgently."

Unlike earnest Vatslava, Yegor was skeptical. Get teased about your tastes every time you meet someone, and suspicion starts to rise on its own. A detective, of all things? She hadn't the brilliant mind for work like that. So how had Lupin gone and turned herself into a great detective?

"According to Saint Tail, it's a simple case — nothing she needs to step in for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠herself. An assistant training under her, she said, would be more than capable of solving it."

Yegor's bad feeling had landed dead center. Lupin's absence was the smaller problem. Whatever she had said before vanishing, everyone was treating Vatslava like visiting royalty.

"I can feel the aura of a truly great detective. My, my — thanks to you, my mind has grown remarkably keen."

Five minutes ago, this same man had tried to bolt from the investigation headquarters the moment he heard Lupin wasn't coming.

"Make way, all of you! Lord Saint Tail's assistant has graced ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠us with her presence!"

This man had been cursing Saint Tail for irresponsibility not a moment before.

Yegor, only just arrived, had no way of knowing any of that — but a place that styled itself an investigation headquarters was an utter farce. They had taken the unusual step of summoning a detective and assembling a massive team, and yet the whole operation looked more unhinged than ever.

Stranger still, the air inside the tent was uncharacteristically clear. The cigarette smoke that ought to have choked it was nowhere to be found, replaced by some sweet citrus scent. He had never heard of detectives or inspectors giving up tobacco.

Before he quite noticed, Yegor was forcing his way through the people around Vatslava and dropping into the seat beside her with a solid thud. A few cutting looks flicked his way, then vanished. Even an ordinary person could sense aura, and among Aura Users, few were as confident as Yegor when it came to letting his own radiate.

"That is the full summary of the case. Do you have any questions?"

The briefing was over in a flash. Ten people had been attacked in the night and killed. The instrument of the crime was presumed to be an experimental subject of the cult, wearing the mask of a pigeon. The dead were all local mafia who had thrown their weight around the area, each from a different organization — poisons, arms smuggling, narcotics distribution, and the rest. On the surface they had posed as operators of ordinary small businesses and shops. Behind it, they had been moving dirty money for a very long time.

"So the cult went after criminals on purpose, to buy the people's support. That's the theory, looks like."

A clean deduction from Yegor, but the response was tepid.

"Won't end with this one time, so they want a guess at where the next attack lands. That about it?"

At that, Vatslava alone broke into applause, thoroughly impressed.

He could gather the facts and reach a rational conclusion. Going any further, though, was beyond even Yegor. How was anyone meant to know where the cult would crawl out from? The bastards hid better than cockroaches. Prediction hardly meant a thing.

But in the whole of that investigation headquarters, there was exactly one person who could look at the photographs of the dead mafia, and at the feathers scattered around them, and see straight through to the truth.

"...Huh?"

The state of the bodies was familiar. White feathers soaked through with blood. Déjà vu came a moment too late — the safehouse of the human trafficking ring.

And now Vatslava was recalling the conversation she had shared with Lupin only the day before.

Earnest answers, from a Vatslava who had wanted so badly to be of use. And one of those places — Ryabolsk Cathedral — was marked large upon the map before her.

"Um. What are the yellow circles on the map?"

"We calculated the distance from the crime scenes and estimated where the culprit might have released the pigeons last night."

In Vatslava's mind, the intentions of a Lupin who had vanished and left only the mess behind assembled themselves however they pleased.

I made this mess. Mind cleaning it up for me?

I believe in you, Vatslava.

Miss Lupin...!!

But she had to live up to that faith. She was always in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the position of having to prove she was useful. The southeast, the east, the north — those had to be avoided. Name any of them, and Lupin's crime would come to light. So what was the right answer?

Vatslava took the pointer she was handed and indicated a single point on the map. The area around the Adventurers' Association branch office, where she and Yegor had been before they came here.

"Here. I believe it's the Western District."

"Ooh...! Not a moment of hesitation!"

"A great assistant under a great detective, just as expected!"

That, at least, bought them a breath. Still, she had lied, which meant they would have to slip ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out of the headquarters as naturally as they could. She was just stealing glances, about to confer with Yegor on their escape, when—

"Disaster — it's a disaster!!"

An officer came barreling in, his face bloodless.

"People... they, they've died again! Ten of them, again!!"

"Where! Where did it happen!"

"The Western District. Near the Adventurers' Association branch office!!"

Every eye in the room turned to Vatslava. This time even Yegor was startled enough to ask.

"How did you get that right?"

Vatslava only blinked.

This wasn't supposed to be right.