These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

That night, after settling Bea into bed, Ciel sat beside her, reading a bedtime story.

"...But the bell in the tower was never truly alone. The stars would come out at night to keep it company. The angels and gargoyles kept their watch upon the cornices and spires, for they, too, had a purpose to serve.

"Then, of course, there were the bell-ringers. They never failed to stir the bell from its slumber, so that, in turn, it could wake the whole city.

"But dearest of all to the bell was the sound of its own ring. It was always there in times happy and sad. It chimed for weddings, and tolled for funerals. The friendly bell had heard its own echo, and fallen in love.

"At first, the bell's other friends tried to be gentle. 'But dear bell,' they said, 'isn't your ring simply a part of you? How can you love what is already yourself? It is like loving your own face in a mirror, or talking to the sound of your own voice.'

"The friendly bell did not listen. It smiled, believing that it would be together with its ring for the rest of time.

"But as the bell grew old, its beloved ring grew quieter, and the bell-ringers came less and less. And one day, they stopped coming at all.

"Soon, the bell began to wonder if its other friends were right. Perhaps its own ring had never existed at all, as anything more than an echo, or a memory. The friendly bell became a lonely bell.

"…Oh Bea, don't cry," Ciel began to stroke her daughter's hair.

Her daughter's eyes were glistening as she hugged her stuffed goldfish tightly. "But the ring…" Bea's voice wobbled, and she started to hiccup even though she was trying her hardest to be brave. "Even though… the bell misses it so much… The ring won't come back… 'cause it isn't real…"

"Who told you that, Bea?" Ciel asked softly.

"George… George Burgerly says sounds aren't real if no one hears them," Bea said, her lip quivering.

Ciel brushed a hand over Bea's curls. "I don't always hear your friends, Bea. But you hear them, don't you?"

Alas, her mother's words only seemed to make things worse. The tears in Bea's eyes began to spill as her breath hitched, a tiny whimper slipping out. "But then… if the bell's like me…"

In a quiet panic, Ciel lifted her small daughter from underneath the blankets and wrapped her up in a hug. She stroked Bea's back in slow soothing circles, gently rocking her on her leg.

"My little honey Bea, what troubles you?" Ciel murmured. "There's no need to heed unkind words from George Burgerly, is there?"

"But if… I don't listen, he won't be real mama…" Bea sniffled into her mother's shoulder, her voice cracking between breaths.

"Then you have been a true friend, for never allowing their words to go unheard," Ciel said warmly. "Perhaps all words live long lives, so long as little ones like you are there to listen."

Slowly, Bea settled, nuzzling her face against Ciel's hair.

"Why don't we listen to the end of the story, Bea?" Ciel asked. "Don't you wish to find out what happens to the bell and the ring?"

"...Okay," Bea nodded, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck, as Ciel readjusted her on her leg, and picked up the storybook.

"The lonely bell waited for… a very long time," Ciel said, her words faltering slightly. "So long, that many of the angels and gargoyles had fallen off the roof. And the always twinkling stars took pity.

"But one day, a new friend came through. One with whom the bell had only ever been acquainted. It was the wind.

"The bell-ringers had stopped coming… but this great gust of wind was so strong, it was as if they'd decided to ring the bell just one more time.

"And the bell, cracked and weathered as it was, let out only a dull and gentle ring, for it was long past its…"

Ciel frowned, squinting at the storybook for a few moments. Was this story meant to prod at spinsters?

"Mama?" Bea asked, puzzled by Ciel's sudden silence.

"...Ahem. Excuse me." Ciel cleared her throat. "And the bell, cracked and weathered as it was, let out only a dull and gentle ring, for it was long past its prime. And its ring, too, was but a faint echo of what it once had been.

"But though the ages had past, the ring sounded as beautiful as it ever did to the bell, which had worried it would forget.

"'I love you dearly,' the bell said. 'Even if you are none but my own voice. My own echo. And my own memory.'

"'And the bell asked of the wind a promise, for it already brought one miracle.

"'Won't you carry this sound on forever? Then the ring will live on, long after I do… Heard by the world, even if I am not around to hear it.'

"And the great gust of wind carried the sound of the ringing bell like a promise that can still be heard to this day, if one cups their ear and listens.

"The sound travels the world still, sailing over oceans, whispering through trees, and soaring through the mountains.

"It echoes on. And because of that, it lives forever, so long as we listen to the singing of the wind."

Ciel cleared her throat, having become quite invested in the story herself. "Isn't that a happy ending, Bea?"

Her sleepy child, however, did not respond. Bea's eyes were already drooping, and Ciel kissed her forehead before tucking her back into bed.

Rising as quietly as she could, Ciel set the book of fairy tales back upon the shelf, and with a gentle breath blew out the lantern.

Outside, the lingering hues of the mountain sunset continued to fade. Even the sound of a sylph, echoing in the distance, had a dozy lilt.

Unable to hold back a yawn, Ciel gently grasped the signet that Sigurd had left, which she had momentarily strung onto a necklace. "At least this ring is real," she murmured.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Guess we're camping out tonight," Ailn sighed.

There was probably enough room to house the knights if they were distributed across the village—the tavern, the church, and the town hall—but Ailn felt that would likely be more trouble than it was worth.

At least, if they just slept out on the communal green, no one could fault them or say he was abusing his power. He had enough doubters in Varant itself. He didn't need commoners from other duchies whispering about him too.

"Has your business been settled?" Kylian asked. He'd just seen the horses to the stables, after unhitching their supply cart near the green.

"For now. But not really," Ailn replied. "Did Dartune let the cat out of the bag?"

"The cat out of…" Kylian frowned as he parsed the metaphor. "Sir Dartune did not speak a word of what was ailing him, no. All the other knights could determine was that he'd been to this village before." Then he honestly added, "And that he was inordinately focused on the apothecary which you visited."

"...Huh," Ailn blinked. "Always figured him for a blabbermouth, somehow."

Ignoring the slight against Dartune's character, Kylian handed Ailn a linen-wrapped ration.

"Is this more…" Ailn's eyes narrowed.

"Knight's cake, yes," Kylian said dryly, looking as if he didn't relish it himself.

"You know, for tonight I think I'll pass," Ailn said. "Not feeling too hungry. Maybe I'll just hit the sack earl—"

"You know as well as anyone that a day without a meal can come without warning," Kylian said. Seeing Ailn begrudgingly accept the ration, the knight shrugged. "It's better than moss, is it not?"

Ailn didn't respond, as he took an unenthusiastic bite.

Knight's cake was basically bannock, baked with fats and berries. Along with the knights' candy—which was roughly the same thing as pemmican—the Azure Knights took it as their main meal during long expeditions. Sigurd ensured monthly deliveries of the stuff from ark-Chelon.

It wasn't bad. But it was easy to get sick of. It was a meal which perfectly reflected Sigurd's joyless pragmatism. And seeing as they weren't staying at the tavern tonight, this was their dinner.

"Wonder what she even sees in the guy…" Ailn muttered, glancing at the apothecary. He scowled, as he bit into a particularly rich and chewy glob of fat.

"In your brother, I presume?" Kylian asked bluntly.

Ailn lifted an eyebrow in mild surprise. "...How do you figure?" he asked cautiously, careful to leave the question open-ended.

"I heard the stablemaster mention this town's apothecary was a beautiful young woman," Kylian said. "That more or less confirmed why we were here. And then I surmised from your resentful demeanor on whose behalf."

His brow furrowed, as if he were skeptical of his own words. "I found it difficult to believe, if I'm being perfectly honest."

"Until I saw his daughter with my own eyes, I didn't believe it myself," Ailn admitted.

Kylian did not respond. And when Ailn glanced at him, he noticed the knight's frozen expression.

"...Guess the stablemaster didn't mention her," Ailn said, scratching his cheek.

The next morning, just after dawn, Ailn and his retinue prepared to set out for Calum. He had a slight crick in his neck from sleeping on the ground.

"Maybe I should get the apothecary to apply a poultice before I head out," Ailn said, rubbing the back of his thumb gingerly against the sore spot on his neck. "...Probably don't have the time, though."

He also felt it might be a bit awkward to return to Ciel's shop, after their conversation yesterday. Sometimes it was just easier to leave business neat and tidy.

Frankly, if he kept showing up in her shop, she might get the wrong idea.

He sighed, bundling up his wool bedroll and strapping it tight. As he handed it over to the knight in charge of their provisions, Ailn found himself idly wondering how comfortable the beds in Calum were.

That was when he caught sight of Ciel leaving the mayor's home, basket in hand. He guessed she was going to the woods east of the village to pick herbs.

To his surprise, she approached him of her own accord, though her caution was evident in her slow pace, occasional pauses, and wary glances toward the knights.

"Duke eum-Creid," Ciel said, bowing her head slightly when she finally drew near.

Ailn blinked. "Was there something you needed, Ciel?"

"No, I just…" Ciel's eyes flickered behind Ailn. "I left Bea off with the mayor while I went to gather herbs. As I passed by, I noticed one of the knights who had helped construct my home. I merely wished to thank Sir Dartune."

Glancing over his shoulder, Ailn noticed Dartune who gave Ciel a gracious nod.

"Bea…" Dartune repeated wistfully. "If I may be so forward to ask, Miss Ciel… Is she…?"

"...She is," Ciel said, her voice hesitant yet gentle.

"Then I shall see that the father's senses are restored, even if I must knock them back into place myself," Dartune grunted. His voice quieted a note. "Knight commander though he may be, once upon a time he was but my squire—eum-Creid or not."

Then his gaze softened. "What a strange twist of fate…" the knight murmured.

Picking up on the fact that there was more to Ciel and Sigurd's story, Ailn rubbed the sore spot on his neck again while addressing the two of them. "I won't pry into the past but… let's just keep it under wraps for now." His gaze shifted to focus on Dartune.

"What manner of cynical glance is that?" Dartune balked. "Do you doubt my ability to keep a secret?"

"...Well, I never actually said that," Ailn shrugged.

Ciel ignored their conversation, seeming to notice that Ailn was suffering from an aching neck. After a moment, she reached into her basket and pulled out a small bundle of braided bark.

"This is from a willow tree," she said. "It can be boiled into a tea, or simply chewed. If ground, it can be made into a salve."

As she spoke, Ailn could feel a familiar sensation run down the nape of his neck—almost like a pleasant drip of cool water.

It felt different from before. Less potent, somehow. But it was unmistakable.

Ailn stared at her blankly, struggling to understand why Ciel would have a holy aura. As far as he knew, only one other family carried the divine blessing besides the eum-Creids…

With another bow, Ciel left them, heading on to the woods.

"By calling upon her divine blessing, she laid her trust in you," Dartune said, his tone solemn. "I pray you live up to it." Then with a deep breath, he closed his eyes and shook his head. "I worry she may be a poor judge of character."

"You know, Sir Dartune," Ailn said, shooting him a sidelong glance, "Sigurd would never let you yap like I do."

And so Ailn and the knights continued to make their preparations to leave, packing their bedrolls into the supply cart, finishing what remained of the knight's cake they'd unwrapped the night prior, and retrieving their horses from the stables.

A single knight stood watch by the supply cart.

"Sir knight," the town's amiable butcher approached the watching knight. "Might I have a word with ye?"

"I see no harm in it," the knight shrugged.

"All of us in the village were right heartened to hear ye'd not be layin' yer heads in our abodes, nor pinchin' from our humble stores for your meals," the butcher said. "Aye, that's a kindness we've not oft seen from knights and nobles." He gestured toward his butchery. "I'd not mind parting with a few pouches of dried meat, if ye'd kindly remember us as a hospitable folk."

"Dried meat?" the knight echoed, his interest piqued.

"Nothin' fancy. Salted pork," the butcher replied.

"As far as I might be concerned, it's a feast," the knight chuckled in response. He gave a professional nod, but any attempt to mask his eagerness was half-hearted as he followed the butcher back to his shop.

Unbeknownst to the knight, who had left the carriage unguarded, a figure lurking in the shadow of a barrel beside the tavern seized the opportunity.

About an hour later, Ailn and the knights—horses and supply cart and all—would leave the village in Venlind, completely unaware that they were carrying a child in tow.

"I'll be back soon, mama…" Bea whispered, poking her head above a bedroll to look out the back of the carriage. Her eyes started to get watery as Venlind slowly turned into a dot in the distance.

And for a moment, her irises shone like sapphires.