The victory with the soap felt distant. Taylor sat at her desk, the adrenaline of the negotiation fading into a cold, hard knot of paranoia in her stomach.
She wasn't thinking about profit margins. She was thinking about the brooch.
*A bridge.*
It was a specific shape. Not a generic arch, but a suspension design. Why would a Countess in a medieval fantasy world wear jewelry depicting 21st-century engineering?
"Luna," Taylor said, staring at a blank sheet of parchment. "Does the Countess Isabella receive many packages?"
Luna was busy aggressively fluffing Taylor's pillows, likely trying to make them soft enough to defy gravity. "Oh, yes, My Lady. The Countess loves imports. Silks from the East, spices from the South... and she gets letters. Lots of letters. Sealed with blue wax."
*Blue wax.* The note from "A" had been written in blue ink.
Taylor tapped her charcoal stick against the desk. Circumstantial evidence. But in her former life, Arthur had seen projects cancelled for less.
"I need to hear what she's saying," Taylor muttered. "But her chambers are on the second floor, down the East Wing. The walls are stone. Thick stone."
She looked at the diagram of the castle she had drawn from memory.
"Sound waves," Taylor whispered. "They attenuate through mass. But if I can couple the impedance..."
She stood up. "Luna, go to the kitchen. Steal me a funnel. A metal one, used for decanting wine. And I need a tube. Leather or gut."
Luna blinked. "Are we... making a beer bong, My Lady? I heard the stable boys talk about those."
"No, Luna. We are making a spyglass for the ears."
***
[Item Created: The Whispering Cup (Primitive Stethoscope)]
[Components: Copper Funnel + Wax Seal + Dried Intestine Tube]
It looked ridiculous. It looked like Taylor was preparing to give the wall a medical checkup.
But the physics were sound. The wide cone of the funnel would capture the acoustic energy vibrating against the wall or floorboards, and the narrow tube would concentrate the pressure waves directly into her ear canal, minimizing signal loss.
"It's not magic," Taylor explained to Luna as they crept down the dark hallway of the East Wing later that night. "It's acoustic amplification. Sound is just air wigging. I'm just catching the wiggle."
Luna nodded solemnly, holding a candle. "Catch the wiggle. Understood. I will protect you from the wiggle, My Lady."
"Shh."
They reached the corridor outside Countess Isabella's chambers. It was late. The castle was silent, save for the distant snoring of Sir Bors (who was sleeping soundly thanks to his cleared bowels).
Taylor knelt by the door. It was heavy oak, bound with iron. No sound was coming through the gaps.
"Floorboards," Taylor whispered.
She moved to a spot near the wall where the stone met the wood. She pressed the wide end of the copper funnel against the gap between the baseboard and the floor. She put the tube to her ear.
She closed her eyes.
Scritch... Scritch...
The sound of a quill on paper. Someone was writing.
Then, a voice. Low, muffled, but audible through the device.
"...worry too much, Isabella."
A man's voice. Not the Count. It was smoother. Younger.
"She is changing," came Isabella's voice. It sounded tight with anxiety. "You saw the soap. You saw the way she looked at Petyr. That wasn't Taylor. That wasn't the girl who cries when she breaks a nail."
"Perhaps the poison affected her brain?" the man suggested.
"Or perhaps she knows," Isabella hissed. "She looked at me today. In the mirror. She *saw* the brooch."
Taylor's breath hitched. *Confirmed.*
"The brooch was a mistake," the man said. "He told you not to wear it."
"He tells me a lot of things," Isabella snapped. "But he isn't here, is he? He's playing his games. Leaving notes. Building latrines."
Taylor froze. *Building latrines?
Did they think *she* was "A"? Or was "A" someone else entirely? The conversation was confusing. Isabella spoke of "He" as if he were a third party.
"We need to accelerate the plan," the man said. "If the Count secures funding, he won't sell her to Baron Hogg. And if she stays..."
"If she stays, we are all dead," Isabella finished.
Clink.
The sound of glass touching wood. A toast? Or a vial of poison?
"I will handle the girl," the man said. "You just keep the Count distracted. The 'accident' in the mines... make sure it happens tomorrow."
Taylor pulled the tube away from her ear. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Accident in the mines.
They were going to sabotage the iron mine. The Count's only remaining source of income besides her new soap venture.
"My Lady?" Luna whispered, seeing Taylor's pale face. "Did you hear the wiggle?"
"I heard enough," Taylor said, standing up. "We have to go. Now."
She turned to leave, but her foot caught on the edge of the rug.
Thump.
It wasn't loud. But in the silence of the corridor, it sounded like a gunshot.
Inside the room, the voices stopped instantly.
"What was that?" the man's voice barked.
Taylor's eyes widened. "Run."
She grabbed Luna's hand and they bolted.
They didn't run like noble ladies. They ran like thieves. Taylor hitched up her skirts, sprinting down the stone corridor. Behind them, the door to Isabella's room threw open.
"Guards!" a voice shouted.
They turned the corner, skidding on the stone.
"In here!" Taylor hissed, dragging Luna into a small alcove hidden by a suit of armor.
They pressed themselves against the cold stone, holding their breath. Luna was trembling, her hand gripping Taylor's arm so hard it hurt.
Heavy footsteps ran past them. Two guards, swords drawn.
"Check the stairs!"
The footsteps faded.
Taylor exhaled slowly. She looked at Luna. The maid's eyes were wide, filled with terror, but also... excitement?
"That was..." Luna panted, a flush rising on her cheeks. "That was thrilling, My Lady! We are like criminals! Bonnie and Clyde! Romeo and Juliet!"
"Romeo and Juliet died, Luna," Taylor whispered harshy. "And Bonnie and Clyde were shot."
"Details," Luna dismissed. "Who was in there?"
"I don't know the man," Taylor said, her mind racing. "But I know what they're planning. They're going to blow up the iron mine."
She looked at the primitive stethoscope in her hand.
"A" wasn't just a stalker. "A" was part of a coup. And her stepmother was a conspirator.
But the most confusing part was Isabella's words: *He's playing his games. Leaving notes. Building latrines.*
Isabella thought the person building latrines—Taylor—was "He".
Isabella didn't know Taylor was a reincarnator. Isabella thought Taylor was working for *someone else*.
"The plot just got thicker," Taylor muttered. "It's not just a murder mystery. It's a misunderstanding comedy wrapped in a political thriller."
She looked at Luna.
"We need to get to the mines," Taylor said. "Tomorrow morning. Before the shift starts."
"But My Lady," Luna whispered. "The mines are dirty. And full of sweaty men."
"Exactly," Taylor said, a grim smile forming on her face. "My natural habitat."
[ Ding!]**
[New Quest: Prevention of Industrial Sabotage]
[Time Limit: 12 Hours]
[Reward: Blueprint - Black Powder (Gunpowder)]
Taylor stared at the reward.
Gunpowder.
The System wasn't asking her to fix the mine. It was asking her to prepare for war.