Military Supply Corruption, Explosive Terrorism (1)
While investigating the Rosman Marquisate, I had uncovered several facts.
First among them was that the marquisate had only thrown itself into the magic tool business in earnest less than ten years ago.
Before that, the market had been dominated by the goods of House Arden — the Count family whose pieces were hailed as the luxury standard of the magic tool trade — and by those of House Rowen, the Viscount family whose wares were cheap and practical. Beyond those two houses, the rest of the market belonged mostly to workshops run by individual artisans.
By the present day, however, the Rosman Marquisate had seized complete control of the market.
How had such a thing become possible?
Because House Arden and House Rowen had, quite amicably, gone under together.
A certain incident had triggered explosions in their magic tool workshops, and a great number of artisans had died in the process. The collapse of the workshops themselves was no great matter — with mages on hand, raising a building was trivial. The deaths of the artisans, though, were a very different problem.
If one needed a comparison: a workshop was a carriage, and an artisan the horse that drew it. A shattered carriage could be rebuilt. But if the horse that pulled it died, no number of carriages would do any good.
The Rosman Marquisate absorbed the artisans who had survived that incident, and the marquisate’s own magic tool workshop grew at a startling pace. All of this had taken place in the very first year the Rosman Marquisate entered the business.
The Inspectorate had, of course, investigated the case, and the records of that investigation still remained on file. According to those documents, the matter had been closed as an attack by House Arden and House Rowen upon each other.
The inspector who had handled the case at the time was Luminus de Cron — younger brother of Duke Cron, and the man who now served as chief of the 3rd Division.
Had the chief of the 3rd Division, the same division to which Gasfield belonged, truly conducted an honest investigation? No. Of course not.
The Rosman Marquisate had almost certainly fed him bribes. It was even possible that Gasfield’s own appointment as an inspector had been arranged through Chief Luminus’s influence.
Of course, all of that was still only conjecture. Without solid evidence, I could not drag them before a tribunal. Still, one day they would pay for what they had done. I would make certain of it.
Roughly four days after leaving the Imperial Capital, I arrived in the Rosman Marquisate — more precisely, near the magic tool workshop that had been built on its lands.
As always, gathering evidence came first. If I could find the artisans who had once belonged to the workshops of House Arden and House Rowen at the time of the attack, I might learn something of use.
I stepped down from the carriage and spoke to Dwinsen, who had arrived at almost the same moment.
“Collect information on the magic tool artisans who belonged to House Arden and House Rowen ten years ago.”
“Just the information?”
“No. Bring the parties themselves before me if you can. And do not use violence.”
“Tsk. Easier said than done.”
I could have investigated in person, of course. In these clothes, though, I would only draw every eye in the street; I would have had to disguise myself as Lydia had once suggested — a traveling bard, perhaps, or a wandering knight. Neither suited my temperament. When I already had people I could use as my own hands and feet, there was no reason to put myself forward.
Dwinsen and three or four of his mercenaries quickened their pace and left. I watched their backs for a moment, then set off at a leisurely walk of my own.
I saw them again late that evening, in the furthest corner of a shabby tavern. Dwinsen sat down across from me.
“Can’t say for sure how many there are all told, but I’ve found two of them for certain.”
“Can you bring them to me?”
“Already arranged. We’re meeting at midday tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll handle the rest myself.”
I took a gold coin from my coat, set it on the table, and rose from my seat.
“Fill your stomachs with that. Just don’t overdo the drinking.”
“I’ll keep it moderate.”
I always noticed it — how short his speech was. Men of that sort were the ones who became mercenaries, so I saw no point in commenting on it.
When I stepped outside, the mercenaries who had come with Dwinsen filed in to take his place, as if changing a watch.
I wonder whether the ones I meet tomorrow will know the truth of that day.
Reopening a case from nearly ten years ago would not be easy. Anything that might have served as evidence had almost certainly been disposed of by the inspector in charge at the time — the present chief of the 3rd Division. But if I could find reliable witnesses, their help might still give me a way to reopen it.
Not that I needed to go this far. The preparations to cut the Rosman Marquis out of the Empire were already complete. I would cripple his magic tool business and choke off his money, then prove he had tampered with military supplies and put him in a cell.
The reason I was still doing this, even so, was simple.
There were people who had been wronged. Someone had lost a family to that incident. Someone had lost a life. When corruption created victims, an inspector had a duty to set it right.
Time passed, and the next day came. I was able to meet the two men Dwinsen had spoken of.
One was a middle-aged man whose black hair had begun to grow in white; the other was an elderly man whose hair had already turned pure white. We met in the innermost seats of the same shabby tavern where I had spoken with Dwinsen.
“Allow me to introduce myself first. I am Caenderic, of the Inspectorate. I understand that both of you once worked in the magic tool workshops of House Arden and House Rowen.”
“Yes. I am from the magic tool workshop of House Arden. My name is Rundal.”
“I am Sahad, from the magic tool workshop of House Rowen.”
The middle-aged man was Rundal; the elderly one was Sahad — former artisans of House Arden and House Rowen respectively. We were all busy people; there was no need for empty courtesies. Better to come straight to the point.
“I asked to see the two of you specifically to inquire about an incident from ten years ago — the attack on the magic tool workshops of both houses. Do you remember it?”
I could not have said why, but both men closed their mouths and watched each other carefully. It was unmistakably unnatural. Unless their memories had been tampered with, there was no way they could have forgotten that day.
My best guess was that speaking of the matter at all had been forbidden — whether by some form of binding contract magic, or because everyone who had spoken of it had died under convenient circumstances.
I had not expected them to go quite this far. The Rosman Marquis was even more thorough than I had imagined.
“You do not seem inclined to talk. In that case, there is little reason for me to remain.”
I rose at once and took one step, then another — then stopped and looked back over my shoulder.
“The moon has been rather bright of late. It seems an excellent night for a walk.”
Whether they caught the meaning of those words or not was their affair. I had done enough. I left the tavern without further delay.
As time wore on, the sun slanted westward and at last slipped entirely beyond the ridgeline. Only the moon that had risen into the sky lit the deep night.
Just as I had told them, I slipped out of my lodgings and walked the streets at an unhurried pace. It was then that I saw him — a figure near the shabby tavern, hood drawn up. The slight frame and the white hair half-visible beneath the hood were evidence enough of who he was.
No sign of the other one…
I went to him at once.
“…This way.”
I murmured the words and set off. He followed close behind me, and the place we arrived at was none other than the inn where I was staying.
Thud. The door shut, and I turned.
“Sahad. Thank you for answering me.”
“Not at all. I am only sorry I could say nothing to you during the day.”
Sahad pulled back his hood and bowed his head. So something had happened after all, just as I had suspected. I would confirm it now.
I sat and gestured to a chair.
“Please, sit.”
“Then, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
“Before we come to the main matter — why could you not speak during the day?”
“In truth, when we first came over to the Rosman Marquisate, there were quite a few of my colleagues who still had questions about that incident. We had crossed over for the money, yes, but the incident itself was another matter entirely. Then, one day, they simply stopped coming to work, one after another.”
“…They were killed?”
Sahad nodded slowly.
Kill everyone who asks questions. It was a ruthlessly effective way to bury the truth of a case — and a method no human being should ever use. Because of it, no one in the magic tool workshop would have dared raise doubts about the incident.
Even those who still harbored them would never have spoken them aloud. Most people valued their own lives above all else.
“You need not worry too much on that score. I will guarantee your safety by any means necessary.”
“…I am truly grateful.”
“Then let us move on to the heart of the matter. From what you have said, it seems you have doubts about the official account of that incident…”
“Yes. I find it impossible to believe. House Rowen and House Arden attacking each other? It was the opposite. The two houses shared their techniques and were of real benefit to one another.”
So it had been as I thought. It seemed another charge would be added to the Rosman Marquis’s list of crimes.