Chapter 4: The August 12th Papers

Regis walked down the main road, still dressed in women’s clothing. He was also wearing a reporter’s leather cap, while Bastian beside him wore his usual sunglasses.

Elize wasn’t with them that day. It was dangerous, so she hadn’t intended to accompany them to begin with, but this was coupled with her having to attend to a visitor from the south who had arrived that morning. Elize was a mysterious girl; she spoke in perfect, unaccented Belgarian, but knew a great deal about High Britannian cuisine. She presumably had her own set of circumstances.

Bastian pointed. “This is the place.”

They had reached the estate of the grand chamberlain, Marquis Beclard. It was conspicuously large, even for the district lined with the houses of noblemen, and the fence surrounding it resembled a long row of pikes. There were around twenty heavily armored foot soldiers in front of the gate, and perhaps another eighty patrolling the perimeter. How many were guarding inside the premises, they had no way of guessing.

The insignia on the men’s armor wasn’t of the capital garrison, but the First Army. Latrielle understood that Beclard was one of the key individuals vouching for his legitimacy, which also made him a potential weak point. Though that was obvious enough.

Bastian stared at the mansion while scratching his head. “Let’s hope my name is enough to get us through...”

“I doubt it,” Regis replied. “You’re a political rival and a known liberalist.”

“Should I have kept quiet about that?”

“It wouldn’t have changed our plan.”

The two approached the gate, and as expected, the soldiers pointed their spears at them. “Halt!” one man cried.

Bastian held up his hands with a knowing smile. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. We’re not suspicious,” he said. Of course, no suspicious individual would proclaim themselves as such, so the soldiers vigilantly kept up their guard.

“Identify yourselves!”

“Third Prince Heinrich Trois Bastian de Belgaria,” the prince said as he removed his glasses. The soldiers immediately began to stir; they properly recognized the faces of the royal family, as expected of men of the First Army.

“M-My apologies, Your Highness!”

The soldiers lowered their spears at once, but that didn’t mean they were going to let their unexpected visitors through. They all remained firmly in place.

“With all due respect, sir—we were ordered not to let anyone through these gates without permission!”

“Can’t say I didn’t see this coming... Well, whatever. Could you hand this to the marquis for me then? You’re not going to say letters are banned too, are you?”

“Well...”

Perhaps they would have refused under any other circumstances, but this was a letter from royalty—they couldn’t simply disregard it. Had they been bumpkin soldiers from the outer reaches, it would have been harder to foresee their reactions, but the soldiers stationed in the capital were men of culture. Those charged with guarding noble estates were the most refined of the lot, meaning there was no way they would make light of such a letter. At the very least, they wouldn’t be rude about it.

As expected, the soldiers took the envelope.

“Very well. If that’s all you need.”

“Thanks for that.”

The thick envelope was subsequently taken into the manor. Regis and Bastian waited patiently for the result, while the soldiers fixed them with disapproving stares. Regis secretly grew anxious that his true identity would be exposed.

“Are we good?” Bastian whispered in his ear.

“I-I’m not sure. Maybe we really should have come in the evening... Maybe my makeup is a little thin...”

“Hey, what are you worrying about? I’m talking about if we’ll be able to enter the mansion.”

“Oh, that should work out just fine. I have another move prepared just in case, but it shouldn’t be necessary. Beclard isn’t the type of person to ignore what we’ve just sent him; he would have left the capital by now otherwise.”

“He may be old, but he was still grand chamberlain to the emperor.”

“You can tell if you look into his past accomplishments. His only real skill was reading the old emperor’s complexion. That’s precisely why I decided to launch my plan of attack through him.”

“Is that how it is?”

There were other individuals associated with the emperor’s death, but Regis hadn’t set his sights by pure coincidence. A butler soon walked from the door to the gate, and the soldiers began discussing something or another.

As expected, Regis thought.

The gate opened, and the butler—who hadn’t a hair on his head that wasn’t white—offered the two a courteous bow. “Pardon me. I am an attendant of Marquis Beclard. I take it you are His Highness, Heinrich Trois Bastian? My master wishes for an audience with you.”

“Sure. I’ll humor him if he wants to see me so badly.”

They had moved so many pieces just to enter the mansion, and yet Bastian still showed such composure. Perhaps this was to be expected of royalty.

The butler’s eyes turned to Regis. “May I inquire as to the identity of this young lass?”

Regis was glad that his disguise was working well enough to disguise his gender, but... Am I really that baby-faced...? He shuddered at the thought—not that he would have been any happier if “young lass” had been replaced with “lady.”

“She’s with me,” Bastian replied with a shrug. “I brought her along because I thought Beclard might want to meet her, but if he says she’s not allowed, that’s no skin off my nose.”

Regis politely lowered his head. He had added something extra to his already fake name. “I am Regina Ottoman, a reporter from The Weekly Quarry.”

The butler’s brow twitched. “I see... Please come inside.”

Their letter had evidently been effective.

✧ ✧ ✧

They were led into a parlor lined with expensive-looking ornaments. Bastian immediately plopped down onto a leather sofa. “I never used to think anything of it,” he said.

“Of what?” Regis asked. His eyes had been taken by the books lining the shelves. Most were merely decorative pieces—works that showed almost no signs of ever having been handled—but among them were a variety of rare books that couldn’t be found in any bookstore.

“This luxury. I’m starting to hate it now. I end up wondering how many commoners could have gone to school on these expenses—not that it means much coming from the guy who was always running from his home tutor.”

“It’s never too late, Prince Bastian.”

“Hmm?”

“The human brain continues to develop no matter how old you are. Memory and calculation speed are influenced by regular practice.”

“Don’t you start forgetting things as you get older though?”

“Barring those with illness...it is more that you become less resistant to forgetting. Your anxiety about losing memories fades. There was a study conducted on occupations that require one to use their memory daily—observing merchants and butlers, specifically. It found that age has very little impact on memory retention—that the strength of one’s memory is on a purely individual basis.”

“Hmm.”

“If you regret that you once neglected your studies, then you can just try again. It’s never too late.”

“Yeah...you’re right. I think I’ve heard about that too! Muscles don’t get any worse with age, they say. An old man can still train and get buffed.”

“Y-Yes, perhaps...”

“Then, if you train, I’m sure you could at least learn to swing a sword.”

“Oh, no... I never refrained from learning because of my age. As I said, these things need to be considered on a purely individual basis...”

“So, you’re just giving up?”

“Well, I could start swinging swords around, but then I’d have less time to read, right?”

“R-Right.”

A knock on the door heralded the master of the estate. Regis had seen him before during the national celebration, but he looked quite a bit older than Regis remembered.

“Your Highness.” The old man reverently bowed his head. “It has been too long.”

“Yeah. And I see you’re still clinging to life, Beclard.”

“The papers I just saw... I believe they came from you.”

Beclard placed a stack of papers on the table. They were creased, likely from having been crumpled up, but they were undoubtedly from the weekly paper they had prepared.

The Weekly Quarry

12-08-851 Edition

The Emperor Assassinated?!

The rumors have been on the wind for a while now. A great many of the maids who used to look after His Majesty were suddenly dismissed, only to go missing or suffer an untimely demise a short while later. It is abnormal that we are unable to reach even a single one of them.

Juhaprecia is alleged to have followed the emperor to his death, but her own physician was barred from examining her. Everything we know about the matter has come solely from Prince Latrielle’s personal doctor, and relations with the consort’s home country of Estaburg are worsening as a result. This has become a major diplomatic issue, and yet the Ministries of Diplomacy, Military Affairs, and Ceremonies all remain silent.

Based on the official announcement, the emperor was already deceased when Prince Latrielle visited his chambers. However, we looked into the matter ourselves and finally obtained testimony from someone with an extraordinary position in the imperial court.

According to Marquis Beclard, the grand chamberlain himself, the room had been stained with blood, and the second prince had been standing with his sword drawn.

What is the truth of the matter? Prince Latrielle’s August 13th coronation is soon approaching. We ask that someone from the palace provides a clear explanation for these disturbing rumors to put the public at ease.

From our hearts, we pray for the enthronement of a just and blessed emperor.

“What is the meaning of this?” Beclard asked. His voice was calm, though he spoke through gritted teeth.

Bastian nonchalantly shrugged. “I thought you might be interested, so I brought it in. That story’s going out tomorrow morning.”

“Absurd! This is completely groundless!” Beclard exploded. His respectful politeness from a moment ago was nowhere to be seen.

Regis nodded. This is about what I expected.

“Might I have a word...?” Regis asked.

“Who in God’s name are you?!” Beclard roared. “This is no place for a woman to speak!”

“My name is Regina Ottoman. I’m a reporter for The Weekly Quarry. You can check my staff ID if you don’t believe me.” He had asked the editor-in-chief to throw one together for him earlier that morning.

Beclard mussed his white hair and screamed, “From that idiotic, third-rate paper?! Don’t think you’ll make it out of this in one piece!”

“I’m personally more worried for your safety, Lord Beclard.”

“What?!”

“After all, anyone who sees this paper will think that you offered up information.”

“Nonsense. There’s no way I would ever leak anything!”

“Will the prince believe that, though? Can you say that with all certainty?”

“Naturally!” Beclard said without thinking. Then, he grimaced.

Bastian snorted. “You being serious? After all the bribes you’ve taken? The only reason you’re working with my brother is the money—do you honestly think you’ve got any credibility?”

“Urgh. I-I haven’t taken any...”

“A bit late for that. I already know a fair share of nice folks you’ve extorted money from.”

They had already gotten more than enough evidence of this through Fanrine and Carol. Of course, Beclard wasn’t the only one who accepted bribes, but this didn’t make him any more trustworthy.

“Prince Latrielle is known to be very severe,” Regis said, trying to speak as calmly as possible. “I doubt he will show any mercy to traitors.”

“I haven’t betrayed anyone!”

“You’re not the one who gets to decide that. Latrielle is.”

“H-How could this be...when I haven’t even done anything?!”

“Perish the thought. Your past actions are what have destroyed every ounce of credibility to your name.”

“Gah?!”

And this was Latrielle’s weak point—that he had to use someone like Beclard to secure his own legitimacy. He had acted much too impatiently. To compare the situation to a game of chess, he had been so hasty to mate that he had made his own king vulnerable.

Regis simply couldn’t ignore it. Latrielle had sent Altina’s unit on seemingly impossible missions and then ordered Regis’s assassination; he was going all out to destroy them. There was no reason to hold back against him.

“Latrielle will dispose of you,” Regis declared. “You will be sent to the countryside for rest and recuperation, only to face an unfortunate accident along the way. You must be aware of just how many of the servants have already met that same fate.”

Beclard paled. “Th-There was nothing I could have done!” he protested, quivering as though a sword were being pressed to his throat. “Had I declined, I would have been killed too! That’s right! Please, believe me, Prince Bastian! I served your father in earnest for forty years!”

“Don’t you mean you served your personal interests?” Bastian asked. “To be blunt—if you were an honest man, the Empire wouldn’t have become this rotten.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Honestly, I’ve got no interest in you. I’m leaving this whole thing to Regina here. If you don’t want my brother to cut you down, then you’d better listen to her.”

Beclard turned to Regis with pleading eyes. This personification of selfishness and self-interest didn’t come across as particularly favorable, but...Regis had plans. And those plans didn’t involve this man being killed by Latrielle.

“At this rate, the Empire is headed into a hopeless war,” Regis said to Beclard. “I need your cooperation to stop it.”

“Can you guarantee my life...and my assets?!”

Assets? He’s worrying about his money here?

“I have made arrangements to get you out of the capital...but you can’t take too much with you. Or would you rather stay in the manor?”

“Urk... Urgh...” Beclard groaned for a while in deliberation. “Very well...” he muttered. “I will cooperate. I will give up...a certain extent of my assets.”

“I guarantee your safety. A carriage will be here in thirty minutes. Prepare to leave.”

“W-Wait! A carriage?! That’s not going to work, then!”

“Why?”

He shot an irked glance out the window. “Those soldiers aren’t there to protect me... They’re there to ensure I don’t get away.”

“I figured as much.”

“Don’t you have anything more?! Any schemes?! Any assurance?!”

“I assure you, I’ve already taken that into account.”

And yet, Beclard buried his face in his hands. “Aah... On second thought, I can’t do this!”

Regis sighed. Is there something else...?

“In a detached annex...” Beclard said. “My granddaughter is in there. I can’t leave without her.”

“I’ve looked into that as well. You hadn’t mentioned her thus far, so I assumed you didn’t care.”

“I don’t want to make her life difficult.”

“In that case, rather than assets, you should have sought out trustworthy allies.”

“Urghh... There are soldiers in the annex too. Can you do anything about them?”

Regis let out another sigh and then cast his eyes to his right. “Looks like I’m going to need your help after all.”

Bastian stood up from the sofa. “Aight, I’ll be off then! How many are we talking?”

“There are around ten armored soldiers keeping watch over the annex—at least, that’s what I heard from a trader who stopped by.”

“Only ten, right?”

“I’m sorry about this. I didn’t mean to expose you to danger.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. A number that small doesn’t even register as danger.”

“Take care not to let your guard down.”

“I know. I won’t drop my guard ever again.”

Bastian confirmed the annex’s location from a window in the corridor and then took off. Beclard, meanwhile, made for his study. Regis went with him, though not for any particular reason; there simply wasn’t much to be gained from waiting around in the parlor.

Once they arrived, Beclard immediately began stuffing documents from his treasury into a travel bag with silent assistance from his butler. “Dammit. Dammit... Why do I have to...?!”

“Certificates...? Won’t the prince impound those assets once you’ve run away?”

“I have them hidden under fake names! Do you think I’d keep cold, hard cash in my treasury? That’s dead money! Money that won’t birth anything new! It’s all about investments. Money is worthless if it’s not in circulation!”

“I do agree on that point.” Regis pinched up one of the contracts scattered across the floor. “This is...a loan to a merchant?”

“Lending money is the best way to make money. I’ve lent cash to more merchants than the late emperor ever did!”

“Money you received as bribes, though.”

“Plenty of businesses have started and expanded on that seed money. I’m putting it to good use, don’t you think?”

“You’re more cut out to be the minister of finance than the grand chamberlain...”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What’s so fun about raising money for some nation? Surely I’m better off raising that money for myself. Hey, what are you doing?! Stuff those papers into the next bag!”

“Eh...?”

“You said you were going to stop the Empire from going to war, right?! You honestly expect me to believe you’re an ordinary reporter?”

“Y-Yes...”

Beclard was surprisingly calm; it seemed that he became a dynamo of sorts whenever something of monetary value was concerned.

“It doesn’t matter what your standing is—if you want something, the first thing that you need is money!”

“Oh, really...?”

“Money is money—it’s not dirty or clean! I’ll give you a cut! Just get those hands moving! We should have more space if you’ve got a carriage!”

“Yeah... Well, I suppose anything we leave behind is only going to aid Latrielle...”

A travel bag of money wasn’t a significant sum to a large organization, even if it were packed with gold livres...but these bundles of contracts were a different story entirely. Perhaps Regis could earn the assistance of the merchants Beclard had invested in.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Hraaah!”

“G-Gwah?!”

Even after Bastian had made his identity clear, the soldiers had shown no intention of allowing him into the annex...and so he had decided to incapacitate them. He had sworn not to show any mercy when he had someone to protect, but when he was alone, he tried not to kill when possible.

Once the soldiers were dealt with, Bastian kicked down the locked door and entered the annex. “Hello? You there?” he called out. “Guess I never asked what your name is, huh? Oi, uh...Beclard’s grandkid. If you’re there, say something.”

Bastian proceeded down the hall until, soon enough, he heard singing coming from one of the rooms. Again he called out, but he received no response; there was little else he could do but force his way through this door too.

“Oi, kid. You there?”

Inside, a woman who looked to be around twenty was leaning against a barred window, blaring out a high-pitched song. Most would surely describe her as a beauty, but her nose made her look much too similar to Beclard for Bastian to agree.

“Oh! Papa!” She broke into a smile the instant she saw Bastian. “What are you here for today?”

“Erm... Are you Beclard’s granddaughter?”

“Gramps is here too?!”

“We’re leaving. Right now. You’re not gonna be coming back here, so grab as much as you think you’re gonna need.”

“Aha! A trip? Hooray!”

In the end, all the woman took was a single stuffed bear.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Hey! What’s this article about, huh?!”

“Get the marquis out here!”

“We know you’re in there! Come show your face, coward!”

There were civilians gathering outside the estate, clutching the same paper Regis had shown Beclard—the one containing a very damning testimony about Prince Latrielle. The soldiers weren’t allowing the upset crowd onto the premises, but after having seen the article for themselves, they were hesitant to ready their spears. As one might expect, they also wanted an explanation; the second prince, to whom they had shown their utmost devotion, had murdered the emperor, his own father. That was what the grand chamberlain maintained, at least.

This was going to be a mess.

“The marquis never left the mansion, nor has he met with any reporters! Stand down! This is clearly some sort of mistake!” one of the soldiers shouted, raising his voice above the commotion. It was a valiant effort, but not enough to quell the growing frustrations.

“So, what, all those maids never went missing?!”

“And what about the sixth consort’s doctor? Was that a lie too?!”

“How should I know?!” the soldier exclaimed. “Ask the press or the Ministry of Ceremonies!”

“If all this turns out to be untrue, I’ll never forgive Beclard!”

“Hear, hear!”

“Drag him out from his hiding place!”

It was clear to see that the gathered civilians were enraged—even with spears pointed at their faces, they didn’t so much as falter. In fact, the soldiers were the ones who wound up flustered.

As the furor continued, a lone carriage started approaching the estate.

“Move! Move! We’re with the First Army! You know what’s coming if you get in our way!”

Such were the claims made by the driver, but the vehicle certainly wasn’t of military make. Even so, its presence spurred the soldiers to finally drive away the mob, allowing the carriage to reach the front gate.

The driver leaned out. “Orders are for me to bring Marquis Beclard to the capital.”

“Orders from whom?! The marshal general?!”

“From his chief of staff!”

Without missing a beat, the driver presented the commander of the estate’s soldiers a sheet of parchment. The directive wasn’t even sealed, but it had definitely been signed by the second prince’s adjutant, Germain.

If we keep the grand chamberlain here, the crowd is just going to get bigger, and even more people are going to try to force their way inside. The chief of staff must have realized this and taken the initiative... the commander mused. “All right, open the gate! Just don’t let any commoners get in!”

The gates swung open. Before the carriage could proceed inside, however, one of the soldiers addressed the cabman. “Hold on—why aren’t you using a military carriage?”

“About that...”

“You’re driving a standard hackney.”

“The chief of staff requested it. I don’t understand why either.”

“I see...”

The carriage passed through the gate and made for the Beclard estate.

✧ ✧ ✧

As the carriage started on its return journey to the palace, not a single soldier questioned why Third Prince Bastian and one other person were tagging along. They didn’t have much of an opportunity to—there were even more civilians crowding around the gate now, so they had their hands full driving them away.

Meanwhile, inside the hired coach, Beclard’s granddaughter was singing a cheerful melody completely unsuited to their current situation. She was the sort of woman who would crouch down to inspect each and every flower she saw, and who would disappear the moment somebody took their eyes off of her.

“Hah...” Bastian sighed; one could tell at a glance that he was dead tired. “Getting her to the carriage was more of a hassle than dealing with the soldiers...”

Beclard was hanging his head, keeping his identity hidden from those outside with the aid of a black hood. “Wh-What’s all this ruckus?” he fretted. “Have you already circulated that paper?!”

“Of course not,” Regis replied. “All the people you see gathered outside your estate are the comrades of a certain madame.”

Bastian smacked the carriage seat with such enthusiasm that he almost drowned out the tactician’s words. “Still, though! I’m surprised those soldiers even let the carriage through in the first place!”

“You make a good point... For what reason would they have allowed us to pass?” Beclard asked. It seemed that he was beginning to question the situation as well.

Regis went to scratch his scalp, but then he remembered how precariously his wig was balanced atop his head and promptly returned his hand to his lap. “Well, um... I created a directive from Sir Germain ordering that you be brought to the palace at once.”

“It must have taken more than that, surely. I could understand such naivete from conscripted farmers, but from an officer of the First Army? How could he have been fooled into believing a forged directive?”

Regis let out a weak chuckle. “Because of a bad tendency of the First Army. Orders sent directly from Latrielle are all properly sealed and treated with the utmost care, but Sir Germain often issues them in his stead. He also moves quite a few pieces on his own.”

“Oh, really?”

“Latrielle trusts his men and thus permits it, but Germain’s directives tend to be surprisingly careless—so much so that anything might be accepted so long as the signature looks genuine.”

“What do you mean?” Beclard asked, his head cocked to one side. “Do you mean to say that you forged his signature? How?”

“It wasn’t anything special; I just used an order I’d received from him in the past as reference. I knew the exact pen it was written with, so with the assistance of the craftsmen at the publishing company, creating a forgery was a simple matter.”

“What?!” Beclard was completely taken aback, while Bastian couldn’t help but laugh.

Regis shrugged. “I was quite nearly killed. It’s the least I could do in return.”

The grand chamberlain stared at him in amazement. “Just who are you...?”

His question had perhaps come a little late, but Regis saw no reason not to answer him. “You’ll have to excuse my attire, but...my name is Regis d’Aurick. I’m not with her at the moment, but I work as a tactician for Princess Argentina.”

“Y-You’re...the fourth princess’s tactician?!”

“Well, she’s the only force opposed to Prince Latrielle, isn’t she?”

“Nhh...”

“Oh, and—while I imagine this goes without saying—we aren’t headed to the—whoa?!”

Just as the Beclard estate disappeared from view, the carriage jolted. They were suddenly moving much slower than before. The driver opened a small window at the front so that his voice could reach them.

“There’s an army up ahead, boss!”

“A what?!”

Regis and Bastian stuck their heads out of the side windows and stared ahead, while Beclard hugged his granddaughter, who was still singing a misplaced tune. Covering the main road from end to end were rows upon rows of armor-clad knights. They numbered around three hundred in total, and they flew a prestigious flag.

“The White Hare Brigade...” Regis grumbled. “Erk. And they even have Sir Batteren with them.”

Bastian withdrew back into the carriage and folded his arms. “This ain’t good. It won’t be easy going up against so many knights.”

“Yeah... They moved faster than anticipated. Perhaps they foresaw some unrest.”

“What are we going to do?!” Beclard shrieked.

“Now, now, Marquis... They won’t expect you to be riding in a hackney.”

“But this one’ll make us stand out like a sore thumb.” Bastian gestured toward the grand chamberlain’s granddaughter; even as the knights approached, she continued to sing by the window. Unless something was done, they were bound to attract some unwanted attention.

“Hey, umm... Would you like to hear a story?” Regis asked the woman, speaking as tenderly as he could muster.

“Hmm? What is it, Mama?!”

“M-Mama?! Ah, no... I mean... Have you ever heard the tale of The Three Bear Brothers?”

“Bear? Yay! Myyy. Bear!”

How bizarre a sight, to see a grown woman cheering like a child. Regis didn’t know the reason for her odd behavior, but he started to tell the story as slowly and as thoughtfully as he would have told an infant. Just as he had hoped, the woman’s eyes lit up, and she fell silent, allowing the carriage to slip past the army.

The clatter of armor and the rhythmic clomping of the horses could be felt even inside the carriage. A number of the knights stared through the carriage’s windows as they passed.

Bastian was wearing his sunglasses, while the cross-dressing Regis was enthusiastically telling Beclard’s granddaughter a story. Beclard himself was pretending to be asleep, sitting with his hood pulled down over his eyes. All the while, the travel bags resting on the roof jostled and creaked.

Nervous anticipation hung thick in the air until, soon enough...the White Hares continued in the direction of the estate. They launched no attacks on the carriage, merely intimidating and driving them away.

We did it... Regis let out a deep breath, earning him a quizzical stare from the grand chamberlain’s granddaughter.

“Phew...” Bastian removed his sunglasses. “So, we’re headed straight for the printer’s, yeah?”

“Yes, exactly as planned. There, we’ll have Mr. Claude extract the marquis’s testimony and write up a genuine article. There will be no falsehoods...and that will give it the perfect punch.”

“So, we’ll get one up on Latrielle!”

“We’ve entered a new era. Authority can no longer conceal the truth, and he’s going to need to learn that the hard way.”

“Right!”

Even with the immediate threat having passed, Beclard kept his hood up. Regis could hear him sobbing quietly, but whether he was relieved to have escaped or mourning his lost status and wealth, he wasn’t sure.

“This is where it all begins...” Regis muttered. “We can finally mount an offense.”

“Mm? But what about Mr. Bear?” the woman asked, urging him to continue the story.