Rewrite That Witch
CH409 · Rewrite
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Chapter 409: A Reliable Ally

“You’ve come to the right man,” Hood said, in a rasp that gave away nothing about his age. “I happened to be near the palace that day. As soon as I heard the crash, I ran to the gate. You have no idea how terrifying it was — it sounded like lightning striking the earth. Every surrounding window, paper or glass, shattered from a force that came through the air invisibly. Some people were scared to death by the sound alone—”

“All right,” Otto said. “Skip the atmosphere. Did this incident have anything to do with the Fourth Prince — Roland Wimbledon?”

Hood cleared his throat and extended his right hand.

“How much?” Otto opened his wallet.

The code phrase — the thing measuring all things on earth — was simply a gold royal. Only people who had spent their lives in the gutters thought this kind of obvious ornamentation made them seem mysterious.

Hood held up two fingers.

Otto placed two gold royals in his palm. “For that price, I expect the information to justify it.”

“On the reputation of Skeleton Fingers.” Hood smiled and pocketed the coins.

“A Rat’s reputation.” Otto kept his voice flat. “Go ahead.”

Hood’s posture relaxed visibly. He sipped his ale, leaned back, and pointed toward the ceiling. “Thunder comes from the sky.”

“What?”

“All thunder comes from the sky,” the Rat said, lowering his voice. “This was no exception. Before the crash, I watched a white rock float into the palace. Then the incident happened.”

“Nonsense. You’re telling me a rock fell from the sky and destroyed the Hall of Sky Dome?”

“Hehe. Everything I’ve said is accurate, or Skeleton Fingers wouldn’t send me. If you think I’m lying, walk out — though you won’t get your fee back.” Hood shrugged. “The rock entered the palace only seconds after it appeared, but I could tell it wasn’t large or fast enough to account for the destruction. That’s why I said it floated. Then when the crash and smoke came, I saw a flash of fire that didn’t match a collision at all.” He wet his lips. “His Highness Timothy’s investigation afterward proved the same point — he cleared and sealed the Inner City multiple times, questioned everyone, found nobody. The palace walls are solid, the gates are guarded. Where else could an attack originate, if not the sky?” He tilted his head. “As for the fire and smoke — they resemble the phenomenon that occurs when the alchemical compound called snow powder burns. This tells me it was a deliberate attack rather than an accident. I also have additional information about snow powder, if you’re interested, for a modest—”

“No.” Otto waved it off. He had learned about snow powder through other channels — originally a ceremonial substance, now apparently weaponizable. What Rats could tell him about its chemistry would add nothing to what he already knew.

“Your second question, then,” Hood said equably. “Was the incident related to Prince Roland? Yes. Without reservation.”

“Why are you certain?”

“When did you arrive in King’s City? — I’m not asking about your identity, that’s a Black Street rule, you don’t have to answer. I only mean: if you arrived in early autumn, you’d know that His Highness sent thousands of soldiers to attack the Western Region, and only a handful returned — each carrying a letter from Prince Roland to His Highness.” Hood spread his hands. “Most of those letters went straight into the palace and were suppressed. But Skeleton Fingers doesn’t disappoint its clients.” He held up five fingers. “I have a preserved copy. A letter from Prince Roland himself. Given its rarity, the price is slightly higher.”

Otto paid it.

He returned to the palace with a wrinkled, careful piece of paper folded in his coat. The words on it were not royal in their rhetoric — no grandiosity, no formal threat-language. They had the flat confidence of someone who already knew the outcome and found anger beneath him.

Belinda stood up the moment he entered. “Anything?”

“Not much.” He handed her the letter, shed his coat, and moved to the chair beside the fireplace. The heat reached him slowly. Too much time in cheap air had left him cold in a way that wasn’t only physical. “The six Rats gave similar answers to the second question. This letter confirms them — Roland Wimbledon is not what the King’s City says he is. He’s not weakening, and he’s not contained.” He paused. “The answers to the first question varied wildly between sources. But I find myself believing the last Rat.”

Belinda had been reading the letter. She looked up. “From the sky?”

“I know how it sounds.” Otto reached for his tea. “But if this letter hadn’t been in front of me, I wouldn’t be saying it either. Look at what it demonstrates: Roland knew the attack’s time and location in advance. He was confident about it. An attack through the air would be the only method that bypassed the city walls and the fortifications without leaving a human trace — which is why even the shrewdest Rats couldn’t agree on a consistent story. If it had been an ordinary method, the story would have been ordinary.” He frowned at the fire. “What matters more right now is what we do with this.”

“The Church is the threat they should be joining forces against,” Belinda said. “Fighting each other while that storm approaches is—”

“Not our decision.” He shook his head. “The only decision that belongs to us is who the Kingdom of Dawn’s ally should be. And His Highness Timothy seems—” he chose the word carefully— “unreliable.”

“You’re actually going to the Western Region.” Her voice went flat with something between disbelief and apprehension. “It’s still in the Months of the Demons.”

“Compared to the danger of backing the wrong side in a war that ends badly for our kingdom,” he said, after a moment, “a few months of demonic beasts is manageable.” He stood and moved toward the door. The fire had burned down to orange coals; the room was noticeably colder than when he’d entered it, as though the cold had been patient. “You stay here. Wait for Timothy’s response. I’ll travel alone to the Western Region.”

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