Chapter 183
The nighttime entertainment district was just as lively as when Monica had visited before... No, it was even livelier than it had been then. Apparently, when spring arrived, people became restless and wanted to go out into the city.
When a female tout flashed a seductive smile, men swarmed around her like moths drawn to a streetlamp. Hawkers carrying goods swarmed around those men. "How about a rare hair ornament?" they called out, prompting the young girls to squeal and cheer in shrill voices.
Glancing sidelong at the scene, Monica hurried through the nighttime streets, relying on her scant memories.
Eventually, the din faded into the distance. After passing through one of the darkest and narrowest alleys in the nighttime city, she saw the sign for the "Porter Antiquarian Bookshop."
Monica took a single deep breath, then opened the bookshop's door. The creaking sound it made was the same one she had heard the last time she visited.
The dimly lit shop contained bookshelves arranged at regular intervals. Remembering the time Felix had brought her here, Monica walked between the second and third shelves.
There were no other customers in the shop. Behind the counter, the owner, Porter, was writing with the same posture as before.
The dark-skinned, black-haired owner apparently had foreign blood in him, making it difficult to guess his age.
Yet his appearance made it entirely believable that he was around her father's age.
"Good evening."
Even when Monica spoke to him, Porter did not stop writing. His almond-shaped black eyes behind his glasses remained fixed on the page.
But apparently, he had heard her after all. Moving his quill smoothly across the page, Porter opened his mouth with a weary air.
"It took longer than I expected. Did I glue it in too securely?"
"...No, I found the memo right away, but... I couldn't immediately figure out what the Black Grail meant."
Porter stopped moving his quill and finally looked up at Monica.
His slightly dark-ringed eyes gazed listlessly at Monica. Then he murmured, as though something had clicked.
"I thought it was a simple code that anyone who had read my novels would understand right away... But now that I think about it, you were the sort of child who never read novels. You always read math books instead."
"Could it be that we... met before?"
"Yes. It was back when your father was still alive."
Porter returned his quill to its stand, then wiped his ink-stained hands on a cloth.
"Well, if we're going to reminisce, shall I brew some coffee? Sit wherever you like."
Even though he told her to sit, there were no chairs in the bookshop other than the one where the owner sat.
Monica looked around, found a small footstool, and sat down on it instead of a chair.
Porter disappeared into what appeared to be a small living space at the back of the shop. After a while, he returned carrying a tray. On it were two cups and a silver pot—and Monica recognized it.
"That pot..."
It was exactly like the keepsake from her father that Monica treasured.
Porter poured coffee into a cup and held it out to Monica.
"I had your father make it for me. It's just the thing for nights when I stay up late."
So this man really was her father's friend.
With that realization fresh in her mind, Monica accepted the cup.
Porter sat down in the chair in front of the counter, took a sip of coffee, and exhaled.
"Now, where should I begin... Have you read 'The Adventures of Bartholomew Alexander' yet?"
"Only Volume Five, Chapter Fourteen..."
Porter tilted his cup and wrinkled the tip of his nose.
"You read a mystery novel like someone who reads only the solution. As the author, I would have preferred you to start with Volume One."
"S-sorry... I'm not very good at... reading novels."
"And what did you think of it?"
The plot summary of Volume Five, Chapter Fourteen of 'The Adventures of Bartholomew Alexander,' titled "Bartholomew Alexander and the Black Grail," was as follows.
Accompanied by his partner Abram, Bartholomew visited a certain kingdom and became embroiled in a succession dispute.
That country possessed a national treasure known as the Black Grail, but someone stole it. The king then announced to his five children, sons and daughters alike, that whoever found the Black Grail would become king.
However, the one who had hidden the Black Grail was none other than the first prince, who was considered the strongest candidate for the throne.
The Black Grail was a mysterious treasure that glowed red when royal blood was poured into it.
But the first prince was an illegitimate child born of the queen's affair with another man. He was not the king's son. Thus, he had stolen the Black Grail to conceal that fact.
Once Bartholomew realized the truth, he worked with Princess Mariabel to find the hidden Black Grail and present it to the king.
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──What sort of technique had been used to make it? Had it been carved from the finest onyx, or perhaps made by melting and hardening the scales of a black dragon? The exquisitely decorated Grail was made entirely of the purest black, from its cup to its handle to its ornamentation.
When Princess Mariabel dripped a single drop of her blood into the cup, crimson slowly began to seep from the spot where the jet-black Grail had been touched. As though the Black Grail had drunk up the blood, it gradually turned red from that point until it eventually became a crimson Grail.
The king watched it happen, then proclaimed in a loud voice:
"Princess Mariabel, by dyeing the Black Grail crimson, you have proven that you bear the blood of the rightful king. Now, rebellious prince! You, too, shall use your blood to demonstrate here that you are a member of the royal family!"
＊ ＊ ＊
The first prince, an illegitimate child born of the queen and another man, was unable to turn the Grail red with his blood and met his downfall... That was the broad outline of the story.
But what mattered to Monica was neither the story nor the characters. It was the role of the Black Grail.
Monica believed that the Black Grail in the story was a kind of magical device that changed color in response to the blood of a particular lineage.
And this Black Grail was the reason Monica's father, Venedict Rain, had been executed.
"...Father was trying to make this 'Black Grail,' wasn't he?"
Monica's father had been researching the hereditary nature of magical power.
Human magical power was, fundamentally, hereditary. Specifically, things like elemental affinity and mana capacity.
A person's strongest affinity was always one of their parents' affinities, and if both parents possessed large reserves of mana, their child would also possess a large reserve.
Her father had tried to analyze that mechanism.
"More precisely, I think what your father wanted to create was a magical device modeled after this Black Grail, one that could read genetic information. By analyzing collected blood, it would be possible to determine whether someone had a genetic disease, establish blood relationships, and so on."
It was a technology that could be useful for treating genetic diseases and identifying unknown remains when they were discovered.
However, someone who saw the contents of this research reached the same conclusion as the "rebellious prince."
──If it became possible to examine blood relationships, it would be discovered that the king and the second prince were not related by blood.
Thus, that person—the Duke of Clockford—worked behind the scenes, framed Venedict Rain, and had him executed.
All to make a fake prince named Felix Arc Ridill king.
Monica gripped her coffee cup with both hands and glared at the floor. If she did not, she felt as though the fury inside her would swallow her whole.
As Monica hung her head, Porter told her matter-of-factly:
"The Black Grail episode is based on a legend from a small country in the East. Originally, it was a legend about a 'black jewel that absorbed the blood of members of the royal family and glowed red.' When I turned it into a novel, I adapted it into the shape of a Grail... Ah, why do you think I chose the shape of a Grail?"
Monica stared blankly at Porter with a bewildered expression. Porter raised the coffee pot, lifting the corner of his mouth slightly.
"This. While I was thinking up ideas, I happened to notice this pot your father gave me. As I stared at the pot filled with pitch-black coffee, the idea of a Black Grail suddenly occurred to me."
The custom metal pot Monica's father had favored was tall and narrow, with a constriction at the joint in the middle. It did, indeed, look somewhat like a cup.
It was ironic to think that the Black Grail Monica had been unable to find no matter how much she searched had been beside her all along, in the form of a novel and a coffee pot.
Monica drained the coffee in her cup, then looked straight at Porter and spoke.
"...Porter-san, what... and how much... do you know?"
Porter had spoken as though he understood why Monica's father had been executed.
In other words... he knew. He knew that the second prince who now called himself Felix Arc Ridill was an impostor.
But had Porter known that Ike was the second prince?
The flame of the candle in the candlestick beside Porter flickered, illuminating his gloomy face.
"If I said I knew 'everything'... would you despise me for standing by and doing nothing for my best friend despite knowing everything?"
Porter's voice was quiet and matter-of-fact, but a faint trace of guilt seeped through from its depths.
(...This person is just like me.)
Monica slowly shook her head.
"...No. I was unable to do anything, either."
"'Doing nothing' and 'being unable to do anything' may sound similar, but they are not the same. You were a young child back then, while I was an adult who knew everything. Our circumstances were different."
"...I think that in the face of Duke Clockford's power, there was little difference between adults and children."
Porter probably had not truly done nothing. At the very least, he had acted in his own way, gathering information to uncover the truth behind his best friend's death.
But when faced with the truth he had uncovered, he must have found himself unable to do anything but stand there.
'The second prince is an impostor. To conceal that fact, Duke Clockford had Venedict Rain, who was conducting research inconvenient to him, executed.'
...Who would believe such an outrageous story?
"When the prince responsible for my best friend's death came to this shop while hiding his identity, I was shocked. Ah, yes. I was shocked, but I did nothing. I did nothing at all. I remained merely an observer. I thought that surely I would remain an observer for the rest of my life, scattering my delusions across sheets of paper like this until I died. And then, one day..."
The black eyes behind his glasses fixed themselves on Monica.
"That impostor prince brought his best friend's daughter here. I thought, What a nightmare."
For the first time, the observer acted of his own accord.
On impulse, he wrote cryptic-looking characters along the edge of a sheet of manuscript paper and slipped it deep inside a book.
"...Porter-san, you're amazing. You gathered information and reasoned everything out by yourself, and made it all the way here..."
Porter glared at Monica and pointed the tip of his quill at the space between her eyebrows.
As if he were pointing a knife's tip at her.
"This isn't deduction or anything of the sort. I have neither evidence nor conviction. It's nothing but a novelist's delusion. Do you understand? You're listening to my delusion right now."
Porter cut himself off and drew his brows together just a little—truly, just a little.
"So don't even think of recklessly standing up to Duke Clockford."
It was probably his awkward way of showing concern for her.
But Monica had already made a promise to the emperor of a neighboring country. She could no longer remain an observer. If she did nothing, this country would either go to war with the Empire or be torn apart by civil war.
Monica looked at the quill tip pointed at the space between her eyebrows and opened her mouth.
"I... could only stand by and watch Father be executed."
The words Father wasn't at fault stuck in her throat. Monica could not even raise her voice; she had only watched as her father burned to death, the numbers in the books burning with his body seared into her eyes.
"I don't know what I can do... but..."
Monica used wind magic without chanting.
The quill slipped smoothly from between Porter's fingers and began spinning through the air on its own. As Porter stared in shock, Monica told him quietly:
"But I think there are things I can do now that I couldn't do back then."
Porter opened his black eyes wide behind his glasses, staring at the quill and Monica.
Apparently, he had known Felix's true identity, but had not known what had become of his best friend's daughter afterward.
Monica plucked the quill from the air and offered him an awkward smile.
"Because I am... 〈Silent Witch〉."
As she put on an unaccustomed show of bravado, Monica thought to herself.
Ah, did Ike know that a researcher had been killed to make him king?
If he did, what did he think about the death of that researcher?
If I told him, 'My father died to make you king,' what kind of expression would he make?
(...I want to talk to him.)