Chapter 1716: Chapter 1716
The original version of the ritual Magic Miss had used was designed to find the owner of a lost item. For it to work, neither the object nor its owner could possess any supernatural power, or the ritual would fail completely. That it had succeeded so easily this time surprised even Magic Miss, who now wondered if she had walked into a trap.
Following the ritual's guidance, the two of them merged back into the city's bustling crowds. It was still early, just ten in the morning, and since it was a Saturday, the streets were teeming with people. They talked as they walked, with Jenkins once again recounting the details of the case. He also took the opportunity to warn Magic Miss that the mastermind hiding behind the scenes undoubtedly possessed supernatural abilities.
As for the information they had just uncovered, both offered their own speculations. They now knew the deaths were connected to the collection of blood. With revenge killings and political assassinations over the succession ruled out, the answer seemed startlingly clear.
"Someone is trying to collect the blood of the Middleton family."
This was Jenkins's assessment:
"Those people have only one thing in common: they are all distant relatives of the Middleton family. Though the blood ties are remote, they do possess Middleton lineage, which is the most critical reason they are recognized as heirs to the throne."
"I remember you saying the Middleton family has elven blood... so, are they trying to purify the elven bloodline? No, that would be far too foolish, and I doubt such a technique could even succeed... But whoever is orchestrating all this must be someone who knows the royal family's secrets."
"That narrows our list of suspects considerably. With no concrete evidence to go on, I'll venture a guess—Queen Isabella."
The two of them were now standing at a crossroads, waiting for a speeding carriage to pass. Despite the number of pedestrians on the main street, such vehicles were a common sight. Most were private carriages adorned with family crests, but occasionally, one belonged to Carlfax Field on an urgent mission.
Magic Miss asked, surprised. While she kept up with politics, she was not privy to the secret, tangled relationships within the royal family. It was only natural for her to be skeptical of Jenkins's theory.
"It's only a guess, but I'd say there's a fifty percent chance I'm right."
"Fifty percent? If the odds are that high, why don't we just go straight to the Queen... No, that won't work. The High Tower Accord may prevent mortal rulers from meddling in supernatural affairs, but I refuse to believe she doesn't have any defenses against Enchanters. After all, even Miss Windsor was able to hire a high-level, reasonably priced Enchanter like me... But if we have a target, why are we still wasting time in the city? What if she goes into hiding?"
Her question made Jenkins laugh.
"Wouldn't that be even better? If the Queen disappears, I could inherit the throne with a perfectly legitimate reason... I don't know if you've heard, but a while back, the Queen was poisoned during a meal. On her deathbed, she publicly declared me her successor..."
He said it with the casual air of someone discussing the odd shape of a neighbor's trash can. Dıscover more novels at novel⚑fire.net
"I've heard similar rumors. Miss Windsor mentioned it once as well. So it's true? Mr. Candle, you must tell me everything."
It was nearly half-past eleven when they finally reached their destination. They were in the eastern part of the city, near Maidenhaven Road, just three blocks from the Williams family home.
Since it was an affluent neighborhood, it would have been improper for two strangers to just barge in. So they first confirmed the house number. Then Jenkins took the lead, striking up a conversation with an older woman who lived near the street corner to get a basic picture of the house's owner.
The owner of the house was a man named Kafka Joyce. He was thirty-nine, lived alone, and claimed to be a veteran who had retired from service on the eastern border.
He had no proper profession and spent his days frequenting taverns and casinos. However, having inherited a large fortune from a distant relative, he was never short on cash and could afford to own a house in this neighborhood despite having no income.
All in all, he was a man lost to a life of debauchery. The neighbors rarely saw him during the day, as Mr. Joyce most often went out late at night.
Mr. Joyce claimed to suffer from psychological trauma left over from his military service, which made him deeply wary of everyone around him. He had never invited a single person into his home, and he had even deliberately planted tall trees in the yard to block any view of the windows from the street.
The man was intensely guarded around everyone. Even though he had lived there for more than a decade, not a single neighbor could claim to know him well. The woman Jenkins had questioned even considered him an oddball. Were it not for the fact that Mr. Joyce was one of the street's oldest residents, his neighbors would never have tolerated such a peculiar man living in their district.
"So, does he carry himself like a soldier?"
This was the one question Jenkins asked in earnest.
"Oh, absolutely. Mr. Joyce is the kind of man you can tell has served in the military with just one glance. He's quite a tall fellow, and he carries himself with a certain dignity when he walks and stands. That's not something you can fake."
Jenkins then knew this was the man they were looking for. After a quick check revealed the house was empty—Mr. Joyce was apparently out—they used a charm for protection, scaled the fence, magically destroyed the lock, and entered the house. It wasn't long before they found something.
Much like Mr. Joyce, Jenkins was the type who was heavily guarded around strangers and paranoid about his secrets being discovered. This shared paranoia gave him an edge; he could easily deduce the best places to hide valuables and where to plant unimportant, deceptive documents as a misdirection.
The first thing he found was a small, exquisite red box hidden beneath a loose floorboard in the corner of the bedroom. Inside lay a beautiful medal. Magic Miss didn't recognize it, but Jenkins, who had undergone etiquette training with Briny and Hathaway, quickly identified it as a 'Royal Contribution Medal.'
It wasn't an honorary award bestowed by the kingdom for significant national contributions, but a commendation given exclusively by the royal family to its most loyal followers. Such medals were rare, typically held only by servants who had served the royals for many years or by devoted members of the nobility.
This made it clear: Mr. Joyce definitely had a connection to the Queen.
Next, he found a small safe embedded in the wall behind a bookshelf, accessible only by removing a loose brick. It required a special gear-shaped key and a combination to open. Once again, Jenkins resorted to brute force to dismantle it. Inside, he found identification documents and several property deeds.
"His real name isn't Joyce. It's an alias."
They both began to sort through the tedious paperwork. Upon discovering a complex set of forged identity documents, Jenkins almost concluded that Joyce was a foreign agent. But then he found the property deeds, and later, in a hidden compartment in the basement, a codebook used to decipher a diary. It was then he understood: Kafka Joyce was indeed a spy, but not for a foreign power. He answered directly to the Queen, sent from Bel Diran to monitor the situation in Nolan.
The queen of a vast kingdom, residing permanently in Bel Diran, could not possibly be aware of everything happening in every corner of her realm. It was perfectly logical, then, that in addition to relying on local officials and nobles, Queen Isabella would have her own intelligence network. And this Mr. Joyce, it turned out, was one of the head agents for the Nolan region.
With this discovery, Jenkins's theory that Queen Isabella was the mastermind behind it all was all but confirmed.
He continued to search, hoping to find a written plan or something similar, though he knew the chances were slim. Meanwhile, Magic Miss sat at the desk, sifting through the documents. She lamented to Jenkins about the terrifying nature of royal conflict:
"These are all Her Majesty's relatives. The blood ties may be faint, but to kill them just like that..."
Magic Miss was not, at her core, a cruel woman. She found such actions abhorrent.
"Isn't this the very nature of power? Even a country author who imagines kings herding sheep with jewel-encrusted whips can envision the cruelties that occur in the terrifying world of court politics. It's quite normal..."
Jenkins's voice grew softer as well; he, too, was disgusted by such methods.
"So what is Her Majesty planning? Does she intend to isolate the elven bloodline, claim it for herself through some ritual, and then occupy the throne for another fifty years?"
Magic Miss suggested the most obvious possibility.
"That's a possibility, but we can't prove it. What's interesting is that I have every reason to believe the Tree House is involved in this."
"The Tree House? I've heard you mention them. They're being hunted across the world by the Orthodox Churches, yet they still have time for something ? If Her Majesty would actually accept help from a fanatical organization like that, her ambitions must be monumental."
Unfortunately, they found no more clues in Mr. Joyce's house. While the identification documents were enough to implicate the Queen, Jenkins wanted to resolve this matter today. He had no intention of stopping now and was determined to press on with the investigation.
After leaving the house, the two had lunch in a nearby district before heading to the black market. There, Jenkins paid a huntress he hadn't seen in some time to help him "bring in" Mr. Kafka Joyce.
Jenkins had never considered himself a good person in the traditional sense, so he felt no guilt about his actions.