Chapter 24: Throwing Fish to the Thief Cat
He'd half expected it to be one of the people above him, one of the high and mighty. What he had not expected was for the Crown Prince himself to appear out of nowhere.
So it was hardly strange that even after laying eyes on his face, Arendt hadn't recognized him right away.
Seriously, does he have nothing better to do?
In the novel, the Crown Prince didn't take the stage in earnest until much, much later. Naturally, the two of them had no points of contact whatsoever at this point in the story.
Arendt rummaged briefly through his memories. If Laios was the hero of The Blue Knight of the Sacred Sword, then Cantares played the role of the hero's patron. It was the Crown Prince who personally bestowed the Sacred Sword upon Laios, the one chosen by the blade itself. At that grandly staged investiture ceremony, Laios would be reborn as the true heir of the Sacred Sword, and he would swear his oath of loyalty once more — to the Emperor, to the Crown Prince, and to the Empire.
It was at that pivotal moment — the scene where Laios, who had begun his journey as a fallen noble, finally ascended to become the hero destined to save the Empire — that the Crown Prince was portrayed as the master of the Empire, the one who would wield the sword called Laios.
And a man like that was currently standing in front of him with his mouth hanging wide open, blinking like an idiot. It was impossible for him to look anything but pathetic.
After a long pause, Cantares spoke, dumbfounded.
"What. Did you know already? No... you couldn't have. You've never seen my face before. But then how—"
"You're right that I didn't recognize you. I figured it out as we talked."
"When?"
"Around the time you asked whether I'd care to walk with you a while, since you were out strolling anyway."
The unspoken addendum — otherwise I wouldn't have followed you all the way here — he kept politely to himself.
But it seemed to land just fine with Cantares, who was nothing if not perceptive. The Crown Prince, who had been gaping like a fish, finally let out a hollow laugh.
Arendt asked, all sly insolence, "What? Will you punish me for my lack of manners?"
"If I'd had even one guard or attendant at my side, they'd have raised a holy ruckus demanding exactly that. But... well, I brought it on myself. I'll let it slide."
Cantares waved a dismissive hand.
"Honestly, I didn't think it through that deeply. I wanted a conversation without stiff formalities, and showing up to a private visit in full regalia with a retinue would have defeated the purpose. And, well... I'll admit I was curious to see the infamous Arendt thrown off balance for once."
It was common knowledge that the knight called Arendt had a gift for making the common-born senior knights and the palace servants' misery. It was also quietly reported, here and there, that before anyone positioned above him, he couldn't so much as twitch. And yet for all that, he kept talking back to Laios, a mere division commander — so Arendt's reputation had naturally cratered.
"I did consider that if I introduced myself as Crown Prince from the start, we might not have managed such an honest conversation. Apparently that was an unfounded worry."
In a few short exchanges, Arendt learned a little more about the behavioral patterns of the man inhabiting that reasonably handsome face. He bullied only those who couldn't fight back, and when confronted with someone beyond his power to handle, he could only bluster — apparently unable to get so much as a proper word out.
Useless bastard, through and through.
Arendt sighed inwardly, then lifted his head again at the Crown Prince's voice.
"Still, rumors that baseless don't simply appear out of thin air. It seems prison prompted a change of heart?"
His heart hadn't changed so much as its contents had been swapped out entirely, but Arendt gave a suitably evasive answer.
"Watching the esteemed upper crust dig holes for themselves right in front of the enemy, without lifting a finger to stop it, made me realize rank doesn't really matter."
"So you decided to charge at everyone regardless of their standing?"
Cantares burst into an incredulous laugh. Arendt dully repeated what he'd said before.
"I didn't say it quite like that."
"You didn't have to. I've lived enough years as Crown Prince to read between the lines. So, it seems I'm included among those hole-diggers."
Cantares clicked his tongue and scratched the back of his neck for no particular reason.
"Well, fair enough. We still haven't found the informant, after all. But let me offer my excuse all the same. The seat I occupy is far less free than one might imagine. Everything must proceed by procedure. All I can do is move my dear knights across the board like pieces on a chessboard."
A flicker of irritation crossed the Crown Prince's vivid blue eyes as he said it.
"Do you know what state the palace was in?"
"I couldn't say."
"Opinions would not converge. It went on like that from the moment that first note reached me, until you were arrested and the East Vault affair blew open."
Cantares grimaced as he recalled the past.
"A single note doesn't justify mobilizing the Imperial Knight Orders. It must be someone's prank. We must find the sender and punish them... Every sort of nonsense under the sun, I swear."
This was news to Arendt as well. Which made sense — The Blue Knight of the Sacred Sword was narrated almost entirely from Laios's perspective.
"We did manage to mobilize the Order and round up the suspicious characters, but the investigation dragged its feet, as expected."
Arendt blinked and listened attentively.
"Still, there were results. Kendrick and Diana are airtight, and Laios is competent. That they're all loyal knights who answer to me and His Majesty goes without saying. So I believed that if they moved as they should, this matter would soon be resolved."
Cantares paused there for a beat.
"And then some damned thief cat popped out of nowhere. The little beast flips the whole game board mid-play and strolls off with the gold coins I had riding on it... Naturally, I find myself wanting to catch it and see what it looks like up close."
There was no possible way to miss whom the "thief cat" referred to. At the charming comparison, a faint crease formed between Arendt's brows.
"I can't tell whether that's an insult or a compliment."
"Both."
Cantares replied with flat indifference to Arendt's muttered grievance.
"But back to business. I agree that surviving is what makes a hero. And that one must sometimes refuse to be picky about means and methods."
"..."
Cantares continued, almost humming. "In any case, from where I stand, your actions have been rather... infuriating, and yet terribly convenient. Like finding coins rattling down from a pocket I never emptied."
A sly smile curved the Crown Prince's lips.
"How about it? I'll toss you a fish now and then. In exchange, you flip the board for me once in a while."
"Enjoying the show, using me for your amusement — wasn't that your real motive all along?"
Arendt rolled his eyes with theatrical exasperation, crossed his arms, and looked up at Cantares with a distinctly crooked gaze.
"Let's be a bit more direct, shall you? Setting the Knight Orders aside, what you actually need is someone working behind the scenes on your behalf. Not some troublemaking idiot charging around in the open."
"Close. But not quite. I have people to spare who follow only my orders. What I need is someone who can move a little more... fluidly."
"..."
Instead of answering right away, Arendt simply stared at the Crown Prince with undisguised distaste.
It was insolent enough to warrant a reprimand, but Cantares let it pass. Instead, he added lightly, as if in passing:
"I'm not worried you'll suddenly turn traitor or pull some foolish stunt. One wrong move, and your neck goes flying."
"..."
Watching Arendt sit there in silence, Cantares smiled with satisfaction.
"Let's hope it never comes to that. Of course, I'm not asking on an empty stomach. I can't praise you openly, no — but as I said, I'll slip you fish under the table as appropriate."
His counterpart was the man who would one day rule the Empire. And as long as the role Arendt had taken on this stage was "knight," he'd never had the option of refusing in the first place.
But meek, unconditional obedience was not a very Arendt way of doing things, either. With Cantares having finished delivering his prepared lines, Arendt decided it was time to season the scene with a little improvisation.
"...Are there any restrictions on what these fish might be?"
After a brief silence, Arendt asked with surgical precision. The face of the young knight — still carrying traces of boyishness — was brimming with pure spite.
Cantares tilted his head with deliberate innocence, like someone pretending not to understand a trap.
"Hmm. Suppose there could be? Within reason — as long as it doesn't cause serious problems. It's not exactly a relationship we can brag about openly, after all."
"Nothing outlandish. To start, the conditions of the contract."
Arendt tossed the words out casually and raised his own arm. The silver bracelet caught the sunlight and blazed white.
Cantares's eyebrows shot up.
"Removing that is off the table. You're still on parole."
"I don't need it removed. But I'd like some of the restrictions eased. The prohibition on going out alone, for instance."
"That, I can manage. The nobles will grumble at me for reversing my own ruling, but it's hardly a difficult ask. You've earned the credit for it."
Cantares nodded readily. But Arendt wasn't finished.
"And I want information. What the nobles say to one another, what conclusions come out of the councils, which buildings need repairs, whose territory got hit by thieves, who's digging through my trash, whose son is getting married... Things of that sort."
"...Why?"
"Do I need a reason? It's a contract term."
Cantares hesitated a moment before asking, visibly displeased, and Arendt answered with breathtaking shamelessness.
Now it was Cantares's turn to glare at Arendt.
"Arendt. I'm asking because I have to be sure."
"Yes?"
"You're aware that what you just listed — beyond the nobles' private lives — includes the Imperial council minutes, the management of the Imperial treasury, and the deployment status of the security forces?"
"Of course."
"And that as an apprentice knight without even a title to his name, you have no access to conversations held between me and His Majesty, nor to information on specific Imperial affairs?"
"Oh, add one more to that. Traitor."
Arendt squared his shoulders and looked Cantares dead in the eye. In those distinctive golden eyes gleamed a clear, unmistakable sneer, paired with a single unspoken line: So what are you going to do about it? — the kind of thing that could never have left his mouth by right of his station.
Cantares couldn't hold it in.
"Are you enjoying this right now?"
"I never said such a thing."
"You're not denying it either. And if I refuse?"
"Nothing I can do about it, I suppose."
Arendt shrugged. Just as Cantares began to wonder at how easily the surrender had come, Arendt's voice continued.
"I'll simply have to run to Commander Laios and report that the Crown Prince said such-and-such to me."
"..."
"His reaction should be quite the spectacle."
The color drained slightly from Cantares's face.
Laios was loyal and upright beyond anyone else — but he was also a stubborn mule who never once backed down when he believed himself to be right. He was already deeply attached to his own men as it was. And if he heard that the Crown Prince had personally requested potentially dangerous undertakings — that, of all things, he'd asked Arendt to carry out his reckless, death-defying antics — he would storm the Crown Prince's office on the spot.
The servants and maids would witness the whole scene... and the moment word spread that the Crown Prince had held a private meeting with an apprentice knight suspected of being a traitor, the nobility would explode. And if the matter somehow found its way to His Majesty the Emperor's ears... it was horrifying even to imagine.
Arendt kept muttering on.
"Ahh, well, maybe he'd understand. The Commander does issue special orders to Senior Arthur now and then. No, wait — this is on a completely different level from that. Ordering a subordinate to tail someone or sneak into a place is well within a commander's authority, but this..."
"Enough. Shut it."
Cantares growled, low and dangerous. Arendt shut it as ordered — while wearing a triumphant grin from ear to ear.
Having barely recovered his composure, Cantares muttered in disbelief.
"You do realize what you just did is incredibly dirty? And to the very man you're supposed to owe your loyalty."
"Didn't you come all this way to see it for yourself, knowing exactly what kind of man I am?"
"Ugh, don't remind me."
Cantares made a sound like a man in agony. Which was, in effect, his consent.
"...Fine. I'll grant you free passage through the palace — during daylight hours only. And I take no responsibility for any trouble that occurs while you're out. What I'm giving you is simply this: nothing will stop you from leaving through the palace grounds in the daytime. That's the extent of it."
Cantares heaved a deep sigh and scratched at his head roughly.
"As for the information, I'll compile it myself and pass it along. It'll need to be filtered at least once, so nothing classified leaks out. Will that suffice?"
"It's an honor to be of service to Your Highness the Crown Prince."
"..."
At the sight of Arendt flashing him a sweet, radiant smile on that pretty face, Cantares could only stare back with the expression of a man chewing on an insect.