These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

That night, Bea curled up with her mother in her new bed. Her father was away, patrolling the furthest reaches of the northern wall, leaving just the two of them.

"...And of course, the little angel wished to make everyone happy. But there was only one golden apple and everyone wanted it," Ciel read, her voice steady despite the awkward position they'd tucked themselves into underneath a mountain of blankets, betwixt a nest of stuffed animals.

"She thought she might cut it into many slices which could be shared, but there were those who were loath to see the apple cut at all.

"So, the little angel wondered if the best thing to do was simply to throw the apple away, where none could—Bea? Is something the matter?"

"Mama…?" Bea started softly. "Why do Aunt Ahnew and Uncle Horace not like each other? Even though they're Aunt Camille's mama and papa…"

"Oh, Bea…" Ciel brushed her thumb along her daughter's cheek. "Even grown hearts stumble over questions like that."

For a few moments, Bea was quiet. But soon her face scrunched into a tiny glare aimed straight at Platopus, who was wedged between her and Ciel. Her lip trembled.

"Bea?" Ciel asked. "Is your friend upsetting you?"

"Platopus says…" Bea's voice wobbled. "Loving ideas is more important… than loving people…" She bit her lip, an indignant squeak escaping nonetheless as her eyes started to water. "Stop pretending to be Hawkrateez, Platopus…!"

"Platopus is a trying one, isn't he?" Ciel murmured, pulling Bea closer and tracing slow, soothing circles along her back.

For the moment, Platopus's provocative musings had him removed from beneath the blankets.

"Mama…" Bea rasped, as her breath hitched. "Hawkrateez says… love happens because of demons…"

Hawkrateez was also exiled.

There was a reason Bea was only typically allowed to bring one of her stuffed friends to the bed every night. Sometimes their little dialogues would turn too lively, upsetting her or keeping her awake.

It hadn't happened in a long time. But Aristurtle's teachers, it seemed, were the type to stir up trouble.

Finally, after a long time, Bea's voice came quiet and sad.

"Why did papa take so long to find us…?" Bea asked. "Did he not love us before…?"

Ciel's hand stilled and it was a long time before she spoke.

Though Bea had sometimes asked questions about specific individuals, and who liked who and why, she'd never spoken about the idea of love.

"Papa always loved us," Ciel said softly. "And he loves you more than anything in the world. That's why it took him so long to find his courage."

"Are Aunt Ahnew and Uncle Horace scared too…?" Bea asked.

"Only they can know the answer to that, Bea," Ciel whispered.

With that, Ciel decided it was time for the both of them to go to sleep. So, she held Bea until she calmed down.

But later that night, Bea stirred. She awoke still wrapped in her mother's arms. Aristurtle was the only toy left nestled in the blankets now, and Bea—quite convinced he was more reasonable than his teachers ever were—listened to what he had to say.

"Love is… wanting the best for somebody no matter what…" Bea said softly.

And thinking of Camille, who Bea had only just met yet loved very much, her sapphire eyes began to shine.

The next morning, Ailn sat in the ducal office, his face deadly serious as he explained his rules to Safi and Ceric.

"Number one rule. You cannot let anyone know if you're a reincarnator. I don't care if you catch twenty on your own," Ailn said. "I'm not signing the charter if anyone finds out."

"But that's how you catch them!" Safi cried, hands sliding down her cheeks at the sheer injustice of it all. "You always do your 'ho ho ho, gee, don't you miss airplanes and antibiotics, ha ha ha, you're a funny man but not as funny as Family Circus, uh oh did you just say the word quixotic???' bit! Why can't we do that?!"

"...That's how I come off, huh?" Ailn frowned. He glanced toward Renea, who currently had Bea sitting in her lap.

She looked away.

"Well, I'm not the one starting a guild," Ailn sighed, turning back to Safi. "And if you have to know, I got burned for doing exactly that." He turned his palm over. "Look. I never said you couldn't put out a feeler or two. The rule was don't get caught. It's a test."

"A trial of wits and yore to gird the loins of an adventurer," Ceric nodded, stroking his beard. "Akin to the paradox solved to enter the Sphinx."

"The Sphinx wasn't—look, it seems like you get the basic idea," Ailn said, holding his temple. "Adhere to that rule, and pass every normal requirement for the formation of a guild in the city of Varant, and I'll sign your charter. I think that's more than fair. You'd even sidestep permission from the city council."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He added, "And once you have a charter, we can have an honest discussion about figuring out how to fund it."

If Ailn were being entirely honest, he didn't expect them to get to that point. But there was no harm in being encouraging. The hoops they had to jump through were already pretty tough.

First, they had to draft a charter justifying the guild's existence, and explaining how it served the public good. In the worst case, if anything in the charter itself was objectionable, Ailn had the option of nixing the guild right there.

Beyond that, they needed founding members. For artisan guilds, those were master artisans; for merchant guilds, they'd be established traders with operations which spanned multiple cities. Safi and Ceric would have to convince him they qualified as the adventuring equivalent.

And finally, they had to actually catch a reincarnator.

"Oh, and one other thing," Ailn said. "Your founding members need to be a mix: both reincarnators and non-reincarnators like you said. A salad bowl, right?"

"What about Renea?" Safi blurted. "She helped find Noué's vault! That was an adventure and there was even treasure!"

"I'd be hard-pressed to say that doesn't count," Ailn admitted. "Well, Renea?"

"Huh?" Renea looked up. She'd been pressing on the pads of Bea's fingertips, marveling how soft they were. "Oh, sure. I'll sign."

"We gotta go, Ceric!" Safi exclaimed after getting Renea's signature. "This is one of those time attack sidequests!"

The two went dashing before Ailn could stop them.

"I didn't say there was a time limit," he sighed. "You doing okay there, Bea? Need a snack?"

He glanced at the four-year-old sitting on Renea's lap, when he noticed something slightly off. She only had one toy today. That in itself wasn't strange. But Platopus sat abandoned at the far end of the sofa, rather than in Bea's arms.

"Something going on with Platopus?" Ailn asked.

"Platopus… isn't teaching today…" Bea said, her cheeks puffing up. "Because he needs to learn how the world works…"

"Guess he's shadowing, then," Ailn said, scratching his cheek.

Just a few hours' ride from Varant, Ashton ark-Chelon and Horace Gren had stopped for a meal at a luxurious tavern. Every stop on their journey had been meticulously chosen and thoroughly vetted in advance, and The Old Broke Poker was no exception.

Its founder, some generations past, had been a certain Baron Greystone, a nobleman who'd turned his back on courtly politics and decided to spend his hereditary wealth building a fine tavern far from anyone who might bother him. Though the family's peerage faded, their surname remained, and the Greystones continued to proudly run the tavern—unquestionably the finest within a hundred miles of Varant, and the favored stop of nobles with business in the city.

Ashton and Horace, wielding the sort of wealth Calum nobles were so notorious for, rented out the entire second floor.

The young future duke absently poured himself yet another glass of wine from a bottle already a quarter empty. In his other hand, he skimmed through a stack of parchment, muttering to himself all the while. His salad sat largely untouched, and the rest of his meal had yet to be served.

The viscount, meanwhile, was taking his time enjoying a slice of carrot cake.

"If fault lies anywhere, Ashton, it would rest with House Gren," Horace said. "It does you no good to ignore your health. Why not at least finish your salad?"

But the young man ignored him.

As the two dined, the owner's daughter came up to check on them as a handful of barmaids giggled in the background.

"I trust everything is to your liking, my lords?" she asked as she set a freshly brewed pot of tea in the center of the table, then gently poured a cup and placed it beside Horace's cake.

"It's as excellent as always, Alicia," Horace said. He politely smiled. "Please give our compliments to the chef. And do pass my regards to your mother and father. I know they prefer to give guests their peace, but I've always enjoyed their company."

"Why, yes, of course," Alicia said. "You're always so thoughtful, my lord. My parents' patience with noblemen and women has thinned over the years, especially as they've begun to step back from the tavern. And yet they've only spoken effusively of you."

"Ah, they're to retire soon," Horace said, frowning slightly. He thought for a moment. "Is it your plan to continue running the tavern?"

"Of course," Alicia nodded. "I've watched its proprietorship since I was just a young girl, So let me assure you, my lord—when the time comes, the tavern will be in very good hands."

"I wouldn't say that was ever a worry," Horace said, shaking his head. "Only that a young woman of your grace and capability might one day find herself drawn to other ambitions. But if your heart rests with The Old Broke Poker, then I can only be thankful for it."

A blush began to creep up to Alicia's face. There was the shortest, quietest fit of giggling from some of the maids who'd been watching—immediately silenced by a sharp look from Alicia.

Ashton's gaze lifted slowly from the parchment, his expression unreadable save for the faintest flicker of weary recognition.

"Erm, my lord, I was wondering, um," Alicia began to stammer, and her gaze fell to the ground. "If ever you find yourself with time to spare on your return from Varant, I'd be honored to share a cup of tea. Just downstairs, of course. I know how busy you must be."

Horace drew in a breath, his reply momentarily caught behind a polite silence.

Alicia Greystone wasn't nobility, but she was as close as one could get without a title. It wouldn't at all be strange for her to aspire to marry into peerage.

This, surely, was the frame from which Horace saw it—or at least how he chose to.

"There are many years between us, Alicia," Horace said, his smile faint and full of regret. "And I am still a married man, despite how the vine loves to gossip." He held her hand gently. "I take it as the highest compliment that a young and beautiful woman such as yourself would take interest in me. But I cannot reciprocate. I'm sorry."

Alicia nodded, her lip trembling, tugging downward as she looked away.

"Um… yes. Please forget my foolishness," Alicia said, her voice trembling. "I won't disrupt your meal any further."

She turned and left with steps too careful to be anything but forced grace. Ashton didn't fail to catch her crumpling, tear-streaked face.

The maids who'd been giggling followed right after her, consoling her, their murmurs of comfort drifting downstairs.

"She'll bounce back soon enough," Horace sighed. "There are bachelors I know in the capital who are not only younger but of higher peerage. Perhaps I can fashion letters of introduction."

"...Is that your takeaway from this?" Ashton asked, slightly disbelieving.

"Well… yes," Horace said, taking another bite of his carrot cake. He lifted his hand to clarify. "Not to say I doubt her sincerity. But I can't imagine what else she would see in me."

"Then what of me, who is younger, higher in peerage, and yet far from the lady's thoughts?" Ashton asked lazily.

Horace's fork stilled. His brow creased as he considered the question.

"Well, you hardly availed yourself," he finally said. "You didn't even look up from your papers."

To Horace, that seemed to be explanation enough. He polished off the last bit of cake, his gaze lingering for a wistful moment on the cup of tea Alicia had so dotingly poured, before he finally took a sip.

Ashton watched in silence, his eyes flowing from Horace's cup, to the pot in the center of the table, then finally toward the stairwell. He sighed. "It seems I missed my window to ask for a cup."