Chapter 488: The Breeding Ground for Evil
“We are going to catch every last criminal and stop them from spreading their rot through the City of Neverwinter!”
Nightingale gripped Summer’s shoulder and made this declaration with full conviction.
“Yes… Lady Nightingale.” Summer shrank slightly. “But it’s almost time to sleep…”
“It’s still early. We need to plan our countermeasures for tomorrow.” Her eyes were bright. “No one escapes our hunting—not even the cleverest Rat. And you can call me sister.”
“Yes… Sister Nightingale.”
Oh God. Summer could not understand how she, an ordinary townsman, had ended up responsible for catching criminals. Wasn’t that what the patrol was for? And Sister Nightingale had been like this since she’d walked out of the prince’s office—talking about catching criminals over and over, voice rising and falling with each repetition.
She really does hate evil as she hates her own enemies. Summer thought this with something between admiration and dread. But can I actually help her?
“What do we do?” she asked carefully. “I’ve never caught a criminal before.”
“Catching the criminal is my job,” Nightingale said, patting her own chest. “You only need to reconstruct the crime scene and show me who did it.”
“You mean—the exact moment the killing happened?” Summer hesitated. “But how would I know precisely when?”
“Hmm.” Nightingale was quiet for a second. “You’re right. How often can you use your ability?”
“I practiced with Sister Wendy for a week. Four times is about the limit. I think that’s the best I can do.” Summer bit her lip. “My magic power is limited, and if the illusion runs long, the number of uses goes down. Also, I can’t reconstruct anything from more than two days ago—the power runs out too quickly.”
“How long does each illusion last?”
“Half a quarter.”
“That’s quite short.” Nightingale began pacing beside the bed. “If the flashback doesn’t capture the right moment, we’ll have missed the killer.” She paced for another minute. “Could you shorten each illusion and squeeze out a few more uses?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.” Summer murmured. “Sister Wendy told me that with precise enough control over my magic power, I could control the duration. But every time I summon it, I feel the power draining away almost immediately.”
“It’s a shame Countess Spear isn’t here.” Nightingale looked genuinely regretful. “Well. We’ll estimate a time and take our chances.”
“T-take our chances?”
“Yes!” Nightingale laughed. “I’ve always been lucky—I wouldn’t have met Prince Roland otherwise.” The laughter faded just at the edge. “If only it could have been a few days earlier…”
How is that lucky? Summer thought, with some feeling. My ability won’t hold for even a few hours past the event, let alone days. Can we really catch anyone tomorrow?
“All right. Sleep now.” Nightingale blew out the candles, and the room went dark.
“Yes.” Summer climbed into the large bed. The soft bedding folded around her immediately.
God. She pressed her face into the clean pillow and felt her body sink into something that was entirely unlike the mat she was used to. Is this what nobility sleeps on? She stretched out carefully, as though testing whether the comfort was real. It was. She was asleep almost before she decided to be.
All the witches in the castle sleep like this? I would never get up.
She was already dreaming when she heard Nightingale’s voice, low and quiet from the other side of the room.
“I’m his shield…”
Then Summer was gone entirely.
Early the next morning, Nightingale shook her awake.
“Hurry. We ought to go.”
Summer dragged herself upright, put on her coat, and followed Nightingale downstairs. In the entrance hall, a tall man with brown hair was pacing—he stepped forward as soon as he saw them.
“Good morning. I’m Rene Medde, Earl of the Elk Family. I’ve been waiting.” He bowed to Nightingale, then glanced at Summer with polite uncertainty. “And this is…?”
“Summer. My assistant.” Nightingale raised her chin a fraction. “She’s also a witch.”
“Is that so?” He looked briefly surprised, then gave Summer a nod. “Excellent. The criminals will have nowhere to run.”
“Where is your staff?”
“Waiting outside the castle.”
“Good. Tell them to wait a little longer. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“Of course. Please take your time.”
Summer watched this exchange until Nightingale turned toward the dining room. Then she hurried after her.
Is this the same Sister Nightingale? She turned the question over as she walked. This was not the woman who had sat beside her last night talking excitedly about catching criminals. This was something else—composed, unhurried, holding an Earl in the entrance hall while she finished her morning meal, and doing it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
That’s not how civilians behave. That’s how nobles behave.
And the man waiting outside was an Earl. In Valencia, an Earl of his youth and bearing would be the ideal in every young woman’s imagination. If Summer were standing in Nightingale’s place she wouldn’t be able to form a complete sentence. But Nightingale hadn’t even blinked.
“Is this all right?” Summer asked quietly.
“Relax. His Highness told me that noble is just a title in his territory—even an Earl won’t eat you.” Nightingale smiled. “Besides, the Security Bureau is superior to the City Hall, and I’m his superior. Why shouldn’t I make him wait?”
Summer felt the ground shift slightly beneath her understanding of the world.
After breakfast, they left the castle for the crime scene. Last night another victim had been found dead in his home—this time at the corner of North Street and West Street.
“That’s the fourth one.” Nightingale frowned as they walked. “And the killer is moving west.”
“Which suggests the propagating effect was insufficient when the murders stayed in a single block,” Rene noted. “After all, the Rats’ organization no longer exists as such.”
A short distance down a muddy alley, the lead officer stopped before a tumble-down cabin. “Sir. This is the place.”
Summer followed Nightingale inside, and her stomach turned over.
A man lay on the floor, throat cut, blood spread across the uneven planks beneath him. A crown crossed with a cross marked the wall facing the door. The room held the thick, metallic smell of blood—the kind that gets into the back of the throat and stays.
Summer covered her mouth before she could stop herself.