We locked eyes for a moment. Raymond was bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. I waited for him to meet my gaze again. When he finally looked up, I extended my right hand and summoned the purple flame into my palm. Then I took a single step forward.
"Ahhh!" he screamed, jumping back. He spun around and bolted out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Knock, knock.
"You may enter," I said.
The door opened again. Raymond walked in as if nothing had happened and bowed at a perfect ninety degrees.
"My lord, I bring urgent news," he announced.
I couldn't tell if he was actually clever or just incredibly good at playing dumb. I extinguished the flame in my hand and let my arm fall back to my side.
"What's got you so worked up?" I asked.
"My lord, late last night, thieves broke into the soap workshop. One of the workers was injured."
"Oh!" Mnex chimed in with a cheerful tone. "At last, we've reached the age of industrial espionage."
"Were the formulas stolen?" I asked.
Mnex's voice turned sharp. "Shouldn't you be asking if the worker's condition is critical first?"
Raymond shook his head quickly.
Mnex… Do you know what I hate the most?
"Success?"
No. I raised my voice slightly so both could hear clearly.
"What I hate most is having something that's mine taken away. That's what I've learned."
I took another step forward. Raymond instinctively leaned back.
"Maybe I can't do much about the law right now. But if I catch the ones who did this, I'll make sure they curse the day they were born."
With that, I took Doyle with me, and Raymond followed as we headed toward the workshop. The frustration bubbling inside me from the Janisarion law hadn't faded. Maybe handling this incident would help me release some of that stress… or maybe that thought alone was just making me more irritated.
As we walked through the city streets, I noticed how the atmosphere had shifted with the end of winter. The sorrow of those who had died from cold and famine was slowly dissolving into the bustle of the crowd. That alone gave me a small breath of relief.
We reached the soap workshop soon after. The workers were back at their stations, but their tense expressions betrayed their unease. I climbed to the upper floor and entered Charles's office.
"Young lord, welcome," Charles said, rising from his seat with a bow.
"Charles, what happened? Tell me everything." I kept my voice steady, though tension vibrated beneath the surface.
"It's all my fault, young lord… Please punish me," he said, bowing even lower.
"Tell me what happened first. If you deserve punishment, we'll talk about it then," I replied, crisp and to the point.
Without lifting his head, he began to speak.
"Yesterday, I left the workshop a bit early. I had a meeting with Sir Remy. When I left, the molder hadn't finished his work, so I gave him the keys and went to The Fugger. After the meeting, when I got home, the guards were waiting for me at the door. Apparently, the molder screamed late into the night, and the city guards rushed in. He'd been injured. According to him, two people tried to break in. When he resisted, they attacked him. But after he shouted, they ran. The guards arrived soon after. He's with a healer now, not in critical condition."
"And how is any of that your fault?" I asked, not quite sure what he was getting at.
"If I hadn't left early..."
"If you hadn't left early," I said as I walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, "you'd probably be with the healer right now. Or maybe they would've waited until the place was empty and taken whatever they wanted. I'm not blaming you, Charles. And you shouldn't blame yourself either. Our priority is to find the thieves. And whoever sent them..."
"Understood," Charles said, finally lifting his head.
I turned to Doyle. "Are there any known thief gangs in the city?"
"The only real trouble we had was Hyness," Doyle said with his usual calm. "And I handled that mess you started, remember?"
Hyness...
Mnex, you think his people could be behind this?
"It's within the realm of possibility," Mnex said. "But impossible to confirm. A successful formula invites all kinds of attention."
He was right. Could be another merchant. Maybe even more than one.
"Charles, do you usually meet Remy in the evenings?" I asked. If this was normal, someone could've been watching him for some time.
"No," Charles said. "Last night was the first time. He'd been out of town for a while. We hadn't been able to meet."
"Did you check if anything's missing from the workshop?"
Apparently, nothing had been stolen. Just then, the door opened and Remy walked in. He looked surprised to see me but quickly composed himself and bowed politely.
"Young lord, I didn't expect to see you here today. I came as soon as I heard."
"Ah, Remy. You didn't have to trouble yourself," I said, gesturing for him to take a seat. "I was just trying to get a full picture of the situation."
"If you'd allow, I can send my own healer to check on the injured worker," Remy offered. "It's unsettling to think anyone would be harmed in such a profitable partnership. In fact, if you wish, I can even assign a few of my family's personal guards to help secure the premises."
Remy's generosity really had no limits.
"I appreciate the offer," I said. "But accepting help from outsiders might reflect poorly on my father's authority. It could be seen as a sign of weakness by the people, and worse, by the other lords. I have some plans of my own to secure the place." I gave Doyle a glance as I said it.
The conversation shifted to business, and Remy updated me on our deals, product flow, and recent developments. The soaps were now in demand across all corners of the Tharowen Kingdom. Even neighboring kingdoms had begun placing orders. Perhaps it really was time to expand operations.
Every other day, a fresh batch of soaps was packaged and sent out with caravans to other cities. Yet they were sold out before even crossing the kingdom's borders. The surge in requests from the capital alone was especially telling.
Toothbrushes and cleaning powders, however, were still being produced in just one workshop. Meeting demand was becoming difficult. What struck me most, though, was that since I'd instructed Raymond to reinvest all profits into food, I still didn't really know how much we were actually making.
But with winter now behind us, maybe it was time to start putting that money directly back into production and scale things up.
After a bit more discussion, Remy took his leave.
"Doyle," I said, turning to where he stood looking as indifferent as ever, "tonight, this place is critical. Stay here. Even after Charles leaves, I want you on watch."
"Young lord, if Sir Theo hears about this..."
"I'll inform Theo myself."
"That's what I'm most afraid of," he muttered, barely above a whisper.
What did he take me for? Someone reckless enough to challenge the family's strongest swordsman?
Whether I cared or not, whether I liked it or not… I left Doyle there and headed back home.
First, I paid a visit to Theo and told him Doyle would be handling a few tasks for me that day. Strangely, he didn't seem to react much. Maybe Doyle wasn't as important around here as I thought. Either way… as long as he was useful, I didn't care what others thought of him.
As I was heading back to my room, Gareth stopped me.
"Your mother wishes to see you," he said.
So I went to her.
She looked cheerful for once. "Henry!" she said, holding up a letter in her hand. "We've just received word, your Uncle Philip is coming!"
"Uncle Philip? He's finally coming?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise.
"Yes, my dear. We might finally be able to cleanse the soil completely."
Maybe it was the thought of seeing her brother after so long. Maybe it was the hope that our poisoned land could finally be healed. Maybe both. Whatever the reason, the smile on her face, after so many days of sadness was enough for me.
I hated seeing her sad.
We chatted for a while. Then I returned to my room.
Night came, but sleep never did. I was sure the thieves would return tonight to finish what they started.
But they didn't.
"Maybe tomorrow night," I muttered to myself.
Still, nothing. No word. No commotion. Just silence.
The next morning, Doyle came to my room.
"I think the thieves knew I was there," he said, full of confidence.
It sounded like an excuse. But oddly enough, Mnex seemed intrigued by the idea.
"Think about it," he said, raising his tone slightly. "Could be a spy. Or maybe they got scared and pulled back. But if they're really scared... is Doyle supposed to guard the workshop forever?"
It made sense. Still, trying to think through it gave me a headache. I brought my hands to my temples, leaned back into the chair, and let out a long breath.
"Doyle," I said without opening my eyes, "who do you think might be behind this? Heard anything from the guards? Anyone new in town, or anyone acting suspicious?"
"No idea. But if I'm not standing watch tonight, I could go find out right now," he replied, still brimming with that same bold confidence.
"Get it all before noon…"
Before I could finish, he had already darted out of the room. So fast he left a breeze behind him.
True to his word, he was back before noon. I couldn't help but think, Who are you, Sherlock? But it turned out he'd gone out early, even before I woke up, and spoken with a few guards he knew. Apparently, standing around the workshop all night had bothered him enough to start investigating on his own. That explained why he'd returned so quickly. He came back with information about two possible groups...
The first group consisted of men still running Hyness's old gambling house. The second was a cluster of merchants who had arrived with the traveling theater troupe for the spring festival, an annual event in Godfrey's Cross.
Now that I had leads, the next step was to bait both groups and see which one took it. Mnex and I spent the rest of the day crafting a plan.
Before the sun had even set, everything was ready. Raymond, Doyle, and I set off to visit Charles. Before leaving the estate, I told my grandfather I'd be keeping an eye on the group that arrived for the spring festivities.
All we needed now... was time and patience.