Undercover at the Bakery
'Bread's Bakery' could easily claim the title of the busiest spot in all of Robis City.
Famous for its delicious and beautifully shaped pastries, it drew travelers who went out of their way to seek it out. As a result, the sole clerk on duty was perpetually run off his feet, juggling the register, the display shelves, and customer greetings all by himself. His head spun most of the day. Still, every time he counted the money flowing into his hands, a smile crept across his face of its own accord — which was why he bustled about with a thoroughly willing heart.
The first real breather of the day came in the afternoon, well past the lunchtime rush. The clerk kneaded his overworked limbs and stretched his aching back.
But that peace lasted only a moment.
Ring-a-ling!
At the sound of the door opening, the clerk turned his head by reflex.
"Welcome in!"
"Appreciate the hard work~," came an unhurried reply.
Only then did the clerk get a good look at the newcomers — and his eyes went wide.
Three men dressed as ordinary travelers, the kind you could find anywhere. And yet, they were not faces one saw every day.
Noble sons, maybe?
Their appearances alone were anything but ordinary. The eldest-looking one, a blond man, seemed unfamiliar with places like this, standing awkwardly stiff as his gaze darted here and there. The young man beside him, with a mischievous air about him, also glanced around the shop with wide, curious eyes.
"Everything looks genuinely delicious."
"Doesn't it? Should we buy some bread to take with us? Just expense it as provisions."
The silver-haired young man who had offered the first greeting chimed in cheerfully.
So pure silver hair with not a single streak of anything else really does exist, the clerk thought, staring dumbly.
In that lull, the three piled a selection of breads onto the counter and handed them over.
"We'll take these. Oh, and......"
The silver-haired young man — Arendt — beckoned him over with a casual wave of his hand. The clerk, quick on the uptake, stepped closer, and Arendt lowered his voice.
"There's something I'd like to ask you."
Something Arendt drew from his pouch slipped discreetly into the clerk's palm. The clerk's eyes grew a little wider still.
Shwip — with the speed of light, he tucked the silver coin Arendt had offered into his apron. Then he broke into a bright, sunny smile.
"What can I do for you, sir? Just say the word!"
"Good."
Arendt nodded in satisfaction.
It was a transaction exchanged in the space of a breath, but there was no hiding it from the eyes of seasoned knights.
Richt's lips began to move. "This kind of thing shouldn't—"
"Sir, this bread looks absolutely delicious!"
But Arthur, moving every bit as fast as Arendt, shoved a piece of bread straight into Richt's mouth.
"Kghk!"
"Right? It's delicious, isn't it? Whoever makes it has real skill," Arthur said, shooting Arendt a sidelong glance. Arendt, in turn, snuck a thumbs-up behind his back.
"Then I have a few questions."
"Yes, yes!"
His mind still dazzled by the silver coin, the clerk nodded along, oblivious to what had just transpired behind him.
Arendt dropped his voice to a whisper. "Where might the owner be at the moment?"
"Hm? The owner's out right now, but......"
"Come on, I figured that much. Do you know where he went?"
"Well, that's......"
The clerk hesitated. His eyes rolled in a full circle before settling back on Arendt.
"May I ask what business you have with the owner?"
"Do you need to know that?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but unless you tell me exactly what this is about, I can't help you. Money's nice, but I'm rather fond of my job too."
This time the clerk's voice came out considerably firmer. He seemed to have settled the conflict within his heart.
Arendt nodded and took a step back. "Aha. So telling me where the owner is must be serious enough business to threaten your job, hmm?"
"Where did you even come from?"
At that single step backward, the clerk glared at him warily. Arendt tilted his head with perfect nonchalance.
"And if I'd rather not say?"
"Then neither can I. Hold on. I heard a rumor this morning that knights from the Imperial Palace entered the city...... Don't tell me that's you three?"
"Who knows," Arendt answered breezily.
The clerk's face darkened further. "Please leave. I have nothing to say to the likes of you. The bread's on the house — now go."
"Ah, is that so? Well, then, can't be helped...... huh?"
Arendt's eyes suddenly went wide as he stared at something behind the clerk. The clerk turned reflexively to look as well.
In that instant, Arendt's hand moved fast once more.
Thwack! Squish!
What a delightfully crisp job of work it was. Arendt caught the collapsing clerk with one hand, light as a feather.
"Oh, he really did black out."
Who says that after knocking someone out? Arthur thought. But before he could shape the words into a sentence, Arendt had already moved on.
"So there is something here after all. Squeezing anything more out of this guy will be difficult, though."
"......"
Stares of sheer disbelief rained down from Richt, still mouthing the bread, and Arthur alike.
Arthur managed, haltingly, "I-I know it's a bit late to say this, but...... you're seriously fine with doing this?"
"Why? The Commander signed off on it. It's confirmed the owner's up to something and this guy's an accomplice. It's not like I clubbed an innocent man."
The Commander's permission, he says......
The two knights' eyes drifted into empty space.
It was true that before putting this plan into motion, they had reported to Laios first. Laios had hesitated briefly, but in the end he'd granted them leave to act independently. So no, technically nothing was wrong.
Clearly, technically, nothing was wrong and yet......
Are we really allowed to call that man a knight?
Richt and Arthur were seized by a profound, burning doubt.
While the two stood frozen, Arendt dragged the clerk by the back of his collar into the back of the bakery. A short while later, he emerged wearing the clerk's clothes.
A plain shirt, a scarf draped loosely around the neck, black trousers, black work boots, and even a headscarf wound over his hair — the ensemble was flawless.
"How do I look?"
"Yeah...... suits you just fine, you little brat."
He looked every inch the bakery clerk. If perhaps a bit too pretty for the role.
Arthur gave up in the end. Richt, having finally managed to chew and swallow his bread, could only heave sigh after sigh — the moment to object had long since slipped past him.
"So what's the plan now?"
"I'll take a shift here for a bit. You two go out and sniff around the area. Who knows — you might turn up something interesting?"
Arendt replied while readjusting his headscarf. Polite in words, but it was practically an order.
When their expressions twisted strangely, he hammered the point home once more. "What? Does it chafe, taking orders from the youngest apprentice? Then you should have moved first. Quickly, I mean."
"Yeah, yeah, now shut it."
Click — Richt pressed a hand to his forehead and growled. With the clerk already knocked out cold, there was no other way about it now.
Having watched the two slouch dejectedly out the door, Arendt spun on his heel and surveyed the bakery from top to bottom.
"It really has been a while since I worked at a bakery."
He fished a silver coin from his apron pocket, flicked it with his finger — ting — and pocketed it again.
Bribes were wasted on a man who couldn't even hold on to the money he was given, after all.
* * *
"Tasty."
"Indeed."
Arthur and Richt exchanged a word apiece. They sat perched on the rim of a fountain, doing nothing but chewing bread in glum silence.
Across the street, the bakery was operating smoothly as if nothing in the world had happened.
Arthur stared absently at Arendt amid the crowd of customers and let out a weary groan. "How is that guy so damn good at everything?"
"How would I know," Richt replied, his own face uneasy.
The clerk inside had been swapped out without a hitch, and somehow — by what sleight of hand, no one could say — not a single soul had raised so much as an eyebrow about it.
Arthur's mind drifted back to the East Vault. Arendt had coolly shifted his whole tone and lured the bandit chief inside the vault itself. The way he borrowed other people's movements in the middle of combat, the way he kept that filthy temper of his perfectly sheathed and played the friendly clerk — perhaps it was all much the same thing.
Mimicry, huh......
He wasn't some pet mynah bird.
Arthur grumbled inwardly.
Robis City, befitting a decently developed town, was decently lively, decently crowded, and decently quiet. It was as though the word peaceful had been transplanted straight onto it.
Nothing in particular seemed amiss. Ever since the Emperor and the Crown Prince had begun joining forces in earnest, the Empire had stabilized at a remarkable pace, and for the past ten years there hadn't even been a major conflict. Even the once-common territorial feuds had vanished entirely — that said it all. The Security Department's men ambled about on patrol as leisurely as if they were out for a stroll; having confirmed as much, the two knights had had no choice but to turn back.
By the time they returned to the bakery, Arendt had already slipped so completely into the role of clerk that he was handling customers with practiced ease, and so the two of them had ended up right here, munching away at delicious bread on the street like a pair of idlers.
"Still, something is off."
"What is?"
"How peaceful it is. There isn't a single troublemaker anywhere."
Arthur rested his chin on his hand as he continued. "Places like this always have their turf-holding gangs of thugs. You ought to see at least a few rowdy types hanging around...... It's as if someone stepped in and cleaned house."
"Cleaned house?"
Richt echoed the oddly pointed phrasing, and Arthur gave him a short nod.
"Yes. The thing those kinds fear most isn't the Security Department or the knights. It's thugs with harder fists than their own. When one organization holds a place with strong grip, it tends to be strangely peaceful."
"I see."
"But we can't jump to that conclusion either. Even if it's peaceful, it doesn't change who's sitting at the top of the pile — if the ones up top are foul bastards, then the common folk and the Security Department alike end up somewhat infected by that oppressive atmosphere. And there's none of that in the air here at all."
These were observations only Arthur could make — a commoner by birth who knew the rules of the back alleys. Richt gave a light nod and studied the street.
"On the other hand, there are an unusual number of people in traveling garb. Armed men turn up constantly as well."
"Right? There were quite a few even at the city gates."
Considering that Robis was neither a tourist destination nor a transit point on the way to anywhere else, it was more than unnatural. The locals, though, seemed too accustomed to their surroundings to notice anything strange.
And one rather interesting detail: armed men slipping into the bakery kept catching the eye, one after another. Each of them studied Arendt — the unfamiliar clerk — carefully, bought a few pieces of bread, and left.
They were probably on edge because the staff had suddenly changed, the two knights assumed, and nothing more.
"It seems this is all we can learn from out here."
"Yeah."
What remained was Arendt's share of the work, inside.
Both their gazes settled on him. At that moment, he was attending to a man draped in a traveler's robe. The man had carelessly picked out bread until the tray was piled high, then strode up to Arendt.
"First time seeing your face."
"Yes, sir. The one who usually works here suddenly couldn't come in, so the owner asked me to fill in for a little while."
Arendt answered with a warm, rounded smile. The man frowned faintly and pressed him.
"No problems with the business?"
Business. The business, is it......
Not the sort of word that belonged in a place that sold bread.
Finally.
Arendt's eyes narrowed to slits. He turned the gears in his head slowly, then lowered his voice a touch and asked, discreetly, "Do you have some particular errand in mind, sir?"
"I do."
"Might I ask what kind of errand?"
A deft reworking of the very words the clerk had used on him earlier. The man's face split into a satisfied grin.
"Will the 'Night Trade' be open tonight as well?"
"......Yes, of course."
So that was the code phrase agreed upon between the shop and its customers.
When Arendt flashed his warmest smile, the man nodded, turned on his heel, and made for the door.
"Tell the owner I'll come by after dark."
"Understood, sir."
Tucking the bread-filled pouch under his arm, the man sauntered out. Arendt tipped his chin toward the two perched outside. Arthur, who had been watching, scrunched up his face and pointed a finger at the man who had just left. Arendt gave him a nod of confirmation.
A short while later, Arthur and Richt rose quietly from their seats and moved off in the direction the man had vanished.
The sun was beginning its slow descent outside.
Arendt stretched his arms toward the ceiling.
"A productive day."
It seemed he could go ahead and close up shop now. In a lull between customers, he shut the door with a snap and even pulled down the canvas curtain over the storefront, then idled away some time nibbling on the leftover bread.
Before long, sounds of life came from the back door he had left open — the sound of Richt and Arthur dragging in a man who thrashed like a freshly landed fish, trussed up tight from head to toe.