Chapter 6: A Woman with No Eye for Men (1)
9:30 a.m. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The wind-up clock ticked away, while scratch-scratch, the pen raced across the parchment. The mechanical rhythm was steady, but the scribbling came in fits and starts.
The office was empty without Boehm and Bom. Cain was in the middle of copying out the oath form. It was a pledge vowing never to disclose any information learned during missions, not even on his deathbed. Once he submitted the handwritten oath, his secrecy clearance permit, and the seals and badge marking him as a Security Bureau agent, the major formalities would be complete.
Like all legal documents, each sentence sprawled over six lines. A riot of articles, adverbs, conjunctions, nested clauses, and compound constructions that tested anyone's endurance. There had been persistent calls to introduce printing presses to the Bureau, but Verneis, the chief, had flatly declared he'd sooner import a grape press for winemaking than allow a printing machine. Security concerns, of course. Setting type meant circulating specific information widely, and mass-produced intel naturally lost its value. Once information tiers were clearly divided into valuable and worthless, any hypothetical attacker would rejoice. Verneis stuck to his guns: "Concealment isn't burying something underground—it's blending it in so thoroughly it's indistinguishable from the rest." It sounded convincing enough, but it was a headache for mid-level managers. The grunt work and paperwork fell to section chiefs like Cain.
"Ugh."
As expected, Cain couldn't focus. Half of it was his own troubled mind, the other half Lily.
Whenever Cain wrote, Lily would pause and steal glances at him. She wasn't subtle about it—anyone but a fool would notice. So when Cain looked up, she'd duck her head and resume scribbling her report. With her big eyes already brimming like she was about to cry, how could he ignore her?
Cain made up his mind. Time to say something. He might be on his way out, but she wasn't. Agents had to do their jobs, no matter the circumstances.
"Ahem. Coming along alright?"
"Yes, sir."
"One sentence every five minutes, and you call that 'alright'?"
"You're the one stopping every thirty seconds, sir."
Cain stared blankly at Lily. Her face was full of reproach.
"Decided I'm leaving, so now you're really letting loose, huh?"
"Then don't go, sir."
"That right there just sealed it. You gonna miss me, or am I?"
"I'm sorry, sir!"
Scrape. Cain stood up. It helped hide his grin, at least a little. He dragged a chair over to Lily's desk and sat.
"So. What's the problem? Where are you stuck?"
"Ah..." Lily, mouth agape, snapped to attention. "I'm writing an intelligence analysis report, but some parts aren't clear. It's about the Taranto Kingdom."
The Empire was divided into directly ruled imperial territories under the Emperor and feudal lands governed by kings and nobles delegated by him. The Taranto Kingdom lay in the southeast, encompassing Maxiburg Province where Cain and Lily had run their recent op. The document Lily was reviewing reported bizarre events unfolding there.
Taxes. Reporting exactly how much a king collected from his lands to the Emperor was basic protocol. By that measure, King Boemond I of Taranto's report was downright odd. The total revenue matched the five-year average. The Emperor's rightful share hadn't shrunk much either. The issue was the revenue and expenditure breakdowns—they didn't add up.
"They spent big on hiring new soldiers and buying weapons, but cut actual unit maintenance costs. Conscripting masses without training or oversight? That's basically declaring they're tanking their own army's quality."
"What'd Boemond I say? Finance Bureau would've sent an inquiry. Those bloodsuckers wouldn't let this slide."
Common wisdom: strap yourself to a chair before meeting Finance Bureau folks. Three minutes of talk and you'd feel murderous impulses spike—perfect for low blood pressure treatment in five. They'd bill you consulting fees mid-rage, naturally.
"Bandits were rampant, so they needed more patrol guards. Quantity over quality, they said. More shifts, wider coverage. Sounds plausible, but Taranto doesn't actually have that many bandits."
"Because of the highwayman knights, right?"
"Yes. Types like Goetz poach bandits into their own crews, so the riffraff end up under standing armies or knights all the time."
Scum like Goetz were sly. They knew the Empire and kingdoms watched them. They abused laws without breaking them outright. Get robbed by a bandit, you're a victim. But highwayman knights framed it differently: "We're starting a chicken-plucking business. Care to invest half your annual income?" Suddenly it was a "legitimate investment," leaving the Empire little room to complain. Kings hated it too—taxes dried up fast. But Boemond was the opposite.
"All the nobles filing petitions are from Taranto, right?"
"Yes."
A highwayman knight shaking down an entire kingdom. Considering Taranto's king was an Elector with votes to crown or dethrone Emperors, this was serious business. But why? How?
That was Lily's puzzle.
"I don't know the reason. Do you, sir?"
"Beats me."
Lily's eyes went wide. Cain met her gaze steadily.
"Weird to admit when you don't know?"
"N-no, sir."
"Look. The point is, that's the real issue."
"Pardon?"
Lily tilted her head. Like a rabbit.
"As I said, why is Taranto's king—"
"No, not that."
Cain scratched the back of his head. He was an agent, not an academy instructor—teaching always tripped him up.
"I get that you don't know why the Taranto king is doing this. So the next question: where do you find the answer? If you knew where to look or who to ask, you'd have done it already. That's your real hang-up. You don't know where to hunt for answers or how to solve it. Right?"
Slowly, belatedly, Lily nodded.
"Yes. Exactly. I don't know where to find answers for this."
"Hey. Grindstone—no, Lily."
Surprisingly, Lily hesitated. As if the agent name felt awkward.
"Yes, sir?"
"You didn't stall out thinking, 'What am I missing?' did you?"
"How did you know?"
Her hand flew to her mouth. Cain sighed again. Lily was too honest with her feelings—dangerously so. Fine for a knight, fatal for an agent.
"Rereading the stack from the top every five minutes? I'd be worried if you didn't get stuck."
Lily flinched, tugged at her collar, turned away, hand still over her mouth. But her small hand couldn't hide the bright smile.
"...You've been watching me, sir."
Not really. You were watching me. He swallowed the words. Especially now, as she averted her eyes and kept tucking stray hair behind her ear.
"You passed the exam to get here. You're capable. Smart. You can't conclude because the clues are thin, not because you're dumb. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
A small, pointed tongue flicked between her lips and vanished—like she'd just popped candy in her mouth.
Cain sighed.
"Gather more intel. Talk to other departments, or flash your clearance at the archives."
"Teach me, sir."
Suddenly, Lily grabbed his arm. Strong—couldn't wrench free without force.
"Teach me. I want to know. I want to learn more."
"Hey, Grindstone."
"Just one day."
She wasn't letting go.
"One day, or half a day if not. Half a day? Then one hour."
Lily swallowed dryly. Her cheeks flushed, lips faintly reddening.
Dong. Dong. Dong. The bells clanged. Ten o'clock.
Startled, Lily's grip loosened. Cain eased his arm free—gently but firmly.
"Want to, but can't. Archives need secrecy clearance. And I've got Internal Affairs now. Turn in my clearance, oath, seals, and badge."
Lily bowed her head. He almost wanted to pat her shoulder but held back.
"Ask Boehm and Bom. They'll tell you."
"...Then."
"Hm?"
"At least come with me to Internal Affairs..."
"It's not that far."
Lily looked up, face hardening with effort.
"...I want to know the way to Internal Affairs."
"You know it."
"Forgot. Don't remember. Never been. No idea what it is. So teach me."
Her face was brazen, but her eyes glistened.
"Fine. Fine. Let's go."
Section 4 was in the main building; Internal Affairs, the annex. To reach the annex, you crossed the park.
Cain's original plan had been to kill time lounging in the park, finish copying the oath later. But with Lily glued to his side, no chance now.
Didn't finish. About a quarter left? Wrap it in Internal Affairs.
Early summer day, bright and clear. Park flowers blazed, gardeners bustled with bonsai shears. Open to civilians, the park brimmed with picnickers: wine and cheese crowds, music students serenading for lunch money, kids fleeing bees while ladies gossiped relentlessly.
Cain and Lily walked the path. Crowds meant bumps; each time, Lily edged closer. Hand backs brushing became shoulders and arms pressing.
Pretending not to notice, Cain shifted away. She just closed the gap again.
"May I carry your briefcase, sir?"
"No."
"I'm empty-handed. You've got the case on your left arm, cane in your right. Looks heavy—let me help."
"Planning to grab it and run?"
Joking, but Lily flinched.
"N-no, I wouldn't! I'm no thief."
"Ah. So just thinking of switching the bag somewhere?"
No answer. Looked guilty.
Cain chuckled, eyes ahead—then scowled.
Section 2 goons, led by their chief agent Godfrey. Eldest son of the Hohenburg ducal house, they said.
"Well, well. Section Chief Cain graces us. What brings you to this fine spot? Air's already got that 'commoner' tang."
The Section 2 crew burst out laughing. Lily tensed.