These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

A rather remarkable document was in Ailn's hands.

Over the course of the afternoon, Ashton and Horace had relentlessly briefed him on the members of the imperial council—their personalities, their ambitions, anything that might prove useful in tipping a vote, should Isolde actually choose political aggression.

The moment he returned to his office, however, he found that there was yet more material to be learned. This time, it was essentially in crayon.

"Mama says… I'm still grounded forever…" Bea explained, waving her red stick of wax. "So, I have to stay with her when the sun goes away. I'm gonna be at a festival with mama and papa."

"A surefire guide, huh?" Ailn muttered, flipping through the pages. They were definitely made by a four-year-old. "What if I misunderstand something?"

"I drew as good as I could…" Bea said. She frowned, and then pouted as she gave Platopus a miffed gaze. "You're not supposed to say other peoples' drawings aren't ideal…"

Renea bit her thumb. "In the first drawing, they're sitting down to eat. But they must be outside, because you can see hanging lanterns. The only place in Varant I can think of is the Old Town promenade."

"And your plan for getting Ennieux and Horace there?" Ailn asked.

"Camille will invite Ennieux to dinner there," Renea said. "And she'll ask Nicolas to do the same for Horace."

"And then, I'm guessing, only Ennieux and Horace show up," Ailn sighed.

With a slight cough, Renea looked away.

"You have to follow the guide," Bea said, casually climbing out of Ailn's chair. "I've gotta get to mama and get ready soon."

Ailn knelt down with the Little Book of Prophecy, pointing to the second page. He needed the tiny oracle to explain her wisdom. "What's going on here exactly?"

"Um… Aunt Ahnew and Uncle Horace go somewhere there's water…" Bea said.

"And then here?" Ailn asked, flipping to the last page.

"There were big explosions in the sky," Bea said, resting her index finger thoughtfully on her cheek.

"But you didn't see anyone looking scared or running, right?" Ailn asked.

"I don't think so…" Bea's face scrunched in memory. "I can look again…"

Noticing that Bea's eyes were pretty red from looking into futures where she wasn't directly present, Ailn shook his head.

"Don't worry about it," Ailn said. "We'll manage. Probably."

Then he put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. "Have fun at the festival with your mama and papa, okay?"

Ennieux hummed as the maids helped her get ready. With a small, almost sheepish smile she'd asked for something softer than her usual ornate style, and the maids had been more than happy to oblige—picking out a lovely cerulean gown with a lighter skirt, drawing the lace of its bodice to a relaxed, breathable fit.

"Heavens, Maya," Ennieux said, faintly laughing as she held a hand to her cheek in embarrassment. "I haven't worn a flower in my hair since girlhood. I daresay I'll look rather foolish."

"Goldenvows are enduring as they are beautiful, milady," Maya replied, as she tucked the flower behind Ennieux's ear, where its sunny yellow nestled softly among her silver waves. "One can never outgrow them."

"Hmm," Ennieux hummed, one finger gently tracing the soft edge of a petal. "Then I shall take your word for it, I suppose."

Camille, who had only come to remind Ennieux of the time, felt her mouth go dry. Her mother looked positively buoyant. If a simple dinner invitation brought her this much joy, Camille shuddered to think how she'd feel upon realizing her daughter wasn't actually coming.

"You know, your grandfather always wished to take me to the promenade," Ennieux said softly. "No one called it the Old Town back then."

"O-oh? Is that so, mother…?" Camille asked, forcing her voice steady.

"That was where the Festival of Light used to be held. He'd hoped one day we could attend together, but I was far too skittish to brave the city when I was a child." Ennieux's voice was wistful in a way that Camille had never really heard before. Her gaze fell to the side dejectedly. "...I suppose that hasn't changed very much."

The pang of guilt which hit Camille was so terrible it could have been mistaken for food poisoning.

"Will… ahem," Camille cleared her throat. "Will you be alright finding your way there tonight, then? The tables are claimed so swiftly in the evening, and I won't be able to join you until later."

"I shall have Sir Fontaine accompany me there," Ennieux said pleasantly. Her gaze flicked back, apologetic. "Oh Camille—please don't find it absurd. I know most of the world gets on just fine without such…"

"Nonsense," Camille said quickly. "If you had not asked for escort, I would have insisted upon it myself."

That part was true. But as she got closer to the lie, her voice began to waver. "I regret that my… my duties will keep me until late this evening."

"What shame is there in asking for the escort of a loyal knight?" Maya chided Ennieux. "You are a eum-Creid, Lady Ennieux. One of the noblest women in the empire."

"...You are quite right," Ennieux said. "How careless of me to forget myself."

Her small smile returned, wilting ever so slightly. And Camille's heart twinged at the sight of it.

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Horace, having just finished his meeting with the merchants, had retired to his guest chamber when he was unexpectedly invited to dinner by his son.

As Nicolas had declined to step inside, father and son lingered awkwardly in the doorway.

"The promenade?" Horace asked. "Where's good to eat?"

"…I've heard there are many fine places to dine," Nicolas replied.

"Oh, so you haven't yet been," Horace said.

"I have not."

"Ah."

The conversation stuttered to a stop.

Horace had often heard that he gave off a quiet and reserved impression. Whenever he spoke with his son, whose taciturn personality often left him fumbling for words, he couldn't help but wonder if this was how others felt when speaking to him.

He still didn't grasp why Nicolas seemed so intent on dining at this particular inn. Not that he had any objections.

"And you say you'll be free from your duties at eight?" Horace asked.

"Yes."

"Then, I can come to the barracks to pick you up, and we'll go togeth—"

"No."

"...No?" Horace blinked.

"...No. I'll meet you there," Nicolas said. "Near the duke's statue."

Horace paused. "Is there a reason we can't simply walk together?"

"There's…" His son's brow furrowed in deep thought, before he finally settled on his answer. "I have a surprise prepared for you."

"A surprise?" Horace uttered, trying to keep the stunned disbelief out of his voice. He'd never known his son to be spontaneous. "If that's the case, then… I shall meet you at the restaurant."

"I will see you there," Nicolas nodded.

Out in the castle's corridor, Ashton was speaking to a member of the White Knights.

"He'll be dining with his son tonight?" Ashton asked, wearing his usual warm smile. "That's certainly heartening to hear. Horace has always wished to get closer with his family."

"Although…" The knight averted his eyes.

"Although?" Ashton tilted his head.

"Sir Onten mentioned overhearing Dame Camille invite her mother out to the promenade as well," the knight said, wearing a complicated expression. "It isn't my place, of course… but perhaps Viscount Gren should be warned—lest both parties find their evening rather soured, should they run into each other."

"An estranged husband and wife, brought on the same night to Varant's charming Old Town… By their children who are habitually too busy to meet them in their own parlors," Ashton mused, his smile never faltering. "What a peculiar coincidence."

Hands folded behind his back, he turned in the direction of his own room.

"Well, I suppose it is as pleasant a night as any to walk the promenade," Ashton said.

"Er—" The knight paused, catching his intention. "Would you wish for us to escort you?"

"There's no need," Ashton said, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. "I believe some solitude will suit my evening best. Perhaps I'll find myself a table to brush up on my middlegame."

"If that is your wish, young master," the knight said with a bow.

Mere steps away, just around the corner of the corridor, two busybodies-by-circumstance had overheard the young master ark-Chelon's exchange with his knight.

"It's worse than I thought, Ceric," Safi whispered loudly. "He had his knights spying on Viscount Gren and everything!"

"I do believe, Lady Fleuve, both of his knights happened to overhear dinner plans that weren't particularly discreet," Ceric said, sounding faintly puzzled.

"But he's still following Viscount Gren to dinner to watch," Safi said, emphasizing a very specific word in the sentence. "Everything he does is sus! My detective instincts are tingling. I think he's our man."

"Then, if you believe that to be the case…" Ceric began. "What manner of power would he hold?"

"Maybe he can make other people fall for each other," Safi said, her theorizing already jumping off the deep end. "A quiet string-puller type… Maybe that's why he likes to take his chessboard around! He moves the pieces around on the board, while imagining they're people, and in real life he moves people like pawns until they're all captured and totally smitten with each other. Yeah. Yeah…"

Safi cast her gaze Ceric's way. "Where there's smoke there's fire, Ceric. And where there's sus…"

Her voice dropped to a menacing, dramatic hush.

"There's something sussy."

Ceric looked into Safi's eyes and gave a slow, trusting nod, mistaking the manic glint of recovering fandom for conviction.

"Then I shall believe in the sharpness of your mind, Lady Fleuve," Ceric said.

"Meet me at the promenade tonight. Remember to dress nice so we don't stand out!" Safi said.

The two left down the corridor.

Back around the other side of the corner, meanwhile, Ashton and his knight had caught every word. Safi and Ceric hadn't been particularly quiet.

"Ought we inform Duke eum-Creid that Lady Fleuve has been… eavesdropping?" the knight trailed off. "By the gods, what did I just hear?"

Ashton's gaze lingered a few moments more on the corner of the corridor, his smile finally crinkling under the weight of his mounting bewilderment.

Nonetheless, he once more waved the knight to inaction.

"Let's see how this plays out."

Before merchants of repute had ever cropped up along the main thoroughfare and established the commercial district, it was Varant's Old Town that served as the city's beating heart.

The great Duke Aaron tilled the soil, fighting to bring stability through an era of strife. The even greater Saintess Celine planted the seed of prosperity. And two generations of blood and sacrifice finally nurtured its fragile sapling.

The construction of the promenade was a watershed moment, marking the first time Varant had been reshaped not for the sake of survival, but for the sake of living. The flagstones which paved its way were roughhewn, but to the city's residents who had only ever known packed earth, they were the finest stonework.

The city's depths, finally made amenable to wheels and hooves, drew in unprecedented commerce. In time, the people found themselves holding heavy purses. The sounds of jingling coins filled the air, and the desire for life's creature comforts was duly stirred.

Over the years, other districts would build superior cobblestone roads. And the flagstones which had once laid the Old Town's path to prosperity eventually came to curtail its development. Yet the half-decent streets and small, pretty shops stuck around—and the era's fledgling sense of hope calcified as an aesthetic.

Ennieux perched on the low stone edging which surrounded the duke's statue, legs crossed, arms crossed, index finger thumping impatiently on her elbow as she waited for her daughter.

A few minutes ago, a certain man came to the statue as well, gave her an awkward glance, and sat himself on the other side.

Five minutes late. Ten minutes late.

Twenty minutes late.

Ennieux eum-Creid and Horace Gren continued to linger on opposite sides of the statue's base, waiting for their children as the evening grew late, hope dwindling as the crowds of couples and families bustled through.

Their children's intention soon became obvious. And after half an hour had passed, it became impossible to deny.

She kept her posture straight and her gaze icy. But her shoulders eventually sagged. And her eyes fell listlessly to the ground.

Camille really wasn't coming.

The scowl on her face faltered. And for just a moment, her lip quivered, her eyes blurring as they filled with tears.

But she blinked them away. Then, confidently striding over to her husband as if she were simply irritated, she hovered over him, arms still crossed like armor.

"Well then! If we're here, we may as well indulge them!"