One Of Those Things You Live Long Enough To See

No time to lose myself in idle thoughts.

The carriage raced on down the streets. Once we had left Herman’s sight far behind, I slid open the little window that connected to the driver’s box and asked him not to make straight for the hotel, but to carry me out into the town instead.

“But His Excellency ordered me to make directly for the hotel.”

I knew that already.

I hadn’t meant for it to happen — but a chance like this, hard-won as it is…

I couldn’t remember the last time I had been left to myself like this, which meant going straight back to the hotel would never do.

There’s no knowing when another chance will come.

I resolved to carry out, then and there, everything I had been planning the whole way to the capital.

“It weighs on me that I’ve not managed to prepare a proper gift for my husband’s triumphal ceremony. It’s a bother, I know, but do this for me.”

At my words the driver nodded, readily won over.

“As you wish, madam. I’ll take you to the commercial district, then.”

He snapped the long whip, and it curled high into the air.

“We’ve reached the commercial district, madam. Where shall I set you down?”
“Take me a little farther in.”

Groping back through memory, I recalled where the carriage rental depot in the commercial district stood. From that depot to the street where the detective’s office lay was some ten minutes by carriage; so long as I bought myself the time, slipping this driver and reaching it was hardly out of the question.

Even if Herman finds out I went out, he mustn’t be able to work out where I’ve been.

Gazing out the window, I cast about for a shop that would serve as a plausible excuse. Goods of every kind stood ranged in displays down both sides of the street, as though each shop meant to flaunt all it had. Street musicians struck up a lively mood with their playing, and the smell of grilled meat and sweet fruit drifted over from the stalls.

The carriage pressed slowly on through all the bustle. The driver seemed to be matching his pace to it, thinking, perhaps, that I was taking in the shops.

“I’d rather you went a little faster.”
“Ah — yes. Of course.”

A rush of impatience rose in me, and before I knew it I was hurrying him along. Then I slipped off my earrings and necklace, wrapped them neatly in a handkerchief, and tucked them into my skirt pocket.

My destination bordered a well-to-do residential quarter, so it was reasonably safe; still, there was no telling. I had to close off even the smallest opening that might throw my plan off course.

“If you go any farther in than here, my lady, there won’t be any shops worth your looking at.”

The driver stilled his whip a block short of the carriage rental depot. Judging it near enough, I quickly had him stop.

“I’ll get down in front of that shop there.”

The carriage drew smoothly to a halt.

“I may be a while.”

Then, before the driver could so much as offer to see me in, I stepped down ahead of him and went into the general goods shop.

“Welcome.”

A bell jingled, and a shop assistant greeted me, a young woman with a round face and clear, bright eyes.

Set well apart from the heart of the commercial district, it was a smallish shop, yet every last item on display looked practical and well made.

Not thirty seconds had passed since I set foot inside.

“I’d like this one.”

I pointed to a rather fine fountain pen among them. I did, after all, have to actually buy the gift for Herman I had offered as my excuse.

“That’s the most valuable piece in our fountain-pen collection — you’ve a wonderful eye.”

At the clerk’s rote flattery, I made a further request, one to buy myself time.

“Would engraving be possible, by chance?”
“Yes, it is. Though it does take a little while.”
“How long does it take?”
“Hmm — if it’s a name you’re having engraved, usually about two hours.”

That would be time enough.

“Then I’ll have it engraved as well. The spelling is…”

I began writing out Herman Ernst’s full name, then thought better of it. I had no wish to draw the assistant’s notice, and there was not a soul among the Empire’s people who would fail to know the name Herman Ernst.

Still, engraving mere initials wouldn’t buy me much time.

With no other choice, I wrote the phrase that suited Herman best on a slip of paper and handed it over. Taking the note, the assistant gestured toward the back.

“We’ll engrave it just as you’ve written, then. Let me show you to the waiting room, where you can rest at your ease. This way, please.”

Before she had quite finished, I broke in, keeping half an eye on the driver outside.

“Does the shop happen to have a back door?”
“Sorry? There’s a door we use ourselves, but…”
“Then let me use that door for a moment. This is for the pen — and if you’ll help me get by without the driver noticing, I’ll pay you extra.”

Every moment counted, and still the assistant only stood there dithering. In the end I pressed one of my belongings into her hands, and only then did she spring into motion.

“This way.”

She led me to the back door. A decent robe hung on the wall of the dusty corridor, and I asked whether I might borrow it.

Her face solemn, as though she’d been entrusted with a sacred mission, she waved me on gladly, and thanks to her I slipped out the back in safety, my figure swallowed up in the long robe.

I hurried off at a brisk pace and soon reached the carriage rental depot, where I lost no time applying at the counter for a carriage.

“Lantern Street. The fastest carriage you have.”
“Lantern Street, fastest available. One moment.”

The clerk at the counter looked over the parked carriages, then glanced toward the drivers gathered in a circle and called out:

“John — you take this one!”

At that, the man called John sprang up from his seat and gave me a silent bow.

“Right this way, if you’ll follow me.”

I followed him and climbed into one of the carriages. The carriages of the capital’s largest rental depot were, on the whole, well kept.

Sinking deep into the back seat, I took the measure of my surroundings, careful not to let it show.

“Whereabouts on Lantern Street shall I take you?”
“To the Richter Office.”
“The Richter Office…?”

The driver faltered a moment at the name. He took up his whip, stealing a sidelong glance at my getup, and on instinct I wound the thick robe tighter around myself.

The Richter Office’s ill fame does run high, after all.

The Richter Office was, of course, a legitimately run business, its work chiefly the recovery of stolen goods, the tracking of fugitive criminals, and the like. A few years back it had even cracked a murder case commissioned by the state and earned a commendation from the Emperor himself.

And yet that same office also took on work, as a matter of routine, in the gray reaches of the law: digging into backgrounds, blackmail, forging documents, contracting out spies.

And its success rate ran very high, too.

One way or another, when it came to sheer ability, no one in the Empire could match Richter.

Robin Richter.

That was the name of the detective who ran the office. The detective was, beyond any doubt, exceedingly cautious and meticulous by nature; even the chosen alias gave nothing away of gender.

To lay everything that’s happened before a person like that would be far too dangerous. I’ll keep my true aim hidden as best I can, and commission only in fragments.

Inwardly I sorted through the matters I might lay before them, pressing down the tremor in my chest. There could be no failure this time. None whatsoever.

Was it the force of my resolve? My fists had clenched of their own accord.

“We’ve arrived.”

Before long the carriage gave a great jolt and stopped on a quiet street in a residential quarter. Lantern Street was, true to its name, lined all along with delicate gas lamps.

By daylight they stood unlit, but come nightfall they would glow bright, and that romantic night view was one of Baltaheim’s proudest boasts.

Still, I have to be back before the lanterns are lit.

This time too I stepped down quickly and pulled the iron chain fixed beside one house’s door. The bell rang out in a trill, and a moment later a boy who worked at the Richter Office opened up.

“Good day, madam. I’m Johan, an assistant at the Richter Office. What brings you here?”
“I’ve come with a matter to put to Detective Richter. Might I see the detective at once?”
“I’m sorry, madam. We’ve a great many commissions, so we run by appointment. If it’s all right with you, might I book you an appointment first?”

For all the kindness of his tone, it amounted to telling me to go home for today and try again another time. Narrowing my eyes, I peered past him.

From within came the clatter of someone at work, proof that the office was not empty after all.

“It seems, luckily, the detective is in after all. Go and pass word along. It’s an offer they’ll hardly be able to refuse.”

Undaunted, I dropped my voice a tone and whispered.

“Tell them I’ve brought major information concerning the Drake family’s perfume business. And I’d be grateful if you’d add that they’ll be sick with regret should they let me slip away.”

At my words the boy’s eyes flew wide all at once.

“P-please, wait just a moment.”

Watching the boy hurry out of sight, I let a faint frown cross my face.

To think I’d come calling on Robin Richter in person.

Truly, it was one of those things you live long enough to see.

For Detective Richter was the very one who, bankrolled by a sworn rival of the Drakes forever coveting their business, had labored to thwart them at every turn.