Chapter 84 : Veils of Deception and Whispers of Truth
Chapter 84 — Veils of Deception and Whispers of Truth
It was Carter McKelly, the train conductor who had greeted me just moments before.
Yet, instead of the dread one might expect at the sudden appearance of a stranger, a flush of bewildered embarrassment stirred within me—an unease born not of fear, but of impossibility.
For until that moment, the room had sheltered only Ahin and me; no corridor, no secret passage allowed a silent intruder to cross unnoticed.
And yet, here he stood—as if summoned from the very shadows—swiftly rendering Ahin unconscious with a single motion, then greeting me brazenly, as though his sudden presence were commonplace.
Had some arcane magic rent the veil of reality? Could such sorcery truly exist within this realm?
Before my thoughts could wander further, Carter’s voice cut through the heavy air, laced with a subtle, knowing smile:
“I had presumed you would come seeking me first, but since you did not, I chose instead to pay you a personal visit.”
I eyed him warily, replying with measured caution, “What do you mean? This is our first meeting today. Surely you recall that I greeted you but moments ago. And how—pray tell—did you arrive here unseen?”
He tilted his head, as if belatedly aware of the absurdity of his intrusion.
Adjusting the brim of his cap, he gestured toward the adjacent wall.
“There,” he said softly, “lies a hidden passage.”
My gaze followed his indication, but all I perceived was solid stone—unyielding, impenetrable.
“What passage do you speak of?” I demanded.
He merely shrugged, and when I pressed my palm against the wall adjoining the next chamber, a narrow door—barely wide enough for a single figure—slowly materialized before my eyes.
“That is the train’s sole imperfection,” he explained. “Ordinarily, it remains padlocked. But now, as acting head of this facility, I have left it accessible.”
My breath caught in momentary surprise at the revelation of the concealed corridor.
“You serve as acting head of the institution?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Is it to be understood that you do not normally hold this position?”
He smiled again, a faint trace of melancholy dancing in his eyes.
“Though we have met but once before,” he said softly, “it pains me that you do not remember my voice.”
When did we meet?
“Speak plainly,” I demanded, my voice low but resolute. “You must surely know how many guards stand posted outside this very door.”
Despite whatever designs this man harbored, no harm could befall me with the escort stationed just beyond.
Even so, he cocked his head slightly, as if inviting me to guess his true identity.
Words failed me.
As my panic rose, poised to cry out, he swiftly raised a hand to his face—and with a practiced motion, tore away the skin he wore as a mask.
“What madness is this?!” I gasped, reaching out to halt him—but he stood frozen, his true visage now fully revealed.
My eyes widened in disbelief as I beheld the face beneath the torn flesh.
“You are…” I whispered.
“Disguise is but one of my arts,” he replied with a rueful smile. “Was it not a complete surprise?”
I scrutinized the face beneath the mask, my brow furrowing.
Now I understood why he had spoken so cryptically about our ‘previous meeting.’
Slowly, I lowered myself back into my seat, voice barely more than a whisper directed at the man before me, whose smile was tinged with sorrow.
“…A fixer.”
Giltheon—the very troubleshooter I had encountered once at the herbal market in Böln.
The man who had promised me answers should I ever return.
“Thank heavens you remember,” he said, brushing tangled hair from his brow.
“Perhaps the warmer weather has sapped my appetite… or is it age? Why do I sweat so profusely?”
He muttered to himself, wiping moisture from his face with a sleeve.
I sat frozen, grappling with a surge of questions.
Why would he appear now—so clandestinely? What was the nature of his summons?
Keeping my guard firm, I lowered my voice and asked:
“What is this matter you bring?”
“Ah,” he replied, “I apologize. With security so tight, this was the only way I could reach you. Besides, the request came late.”
He folded his hands and bowed slightly.
“And why have you sought me out? What is this request?”
His meaning was clear: I was not here to demand answers.
Yet… did he not understand what I truly sought? Even if he did, what duty compelled him to find me in such secrecy?
Thus, there remained but one explanation for Giltheon’s unexpected and unbidden appearance.
Swallowing dryly, I asked:
“Who commissioned you? The murderer behind the recent crimes? Do you come to kill me?”
Giltheon laughed—a sharp, mirthless sound—as he wiped his sweating brow.
“Oh, the noble Duchess utters such perilous words without hesitation.”
“…”
“You misunderstand utterly. I take no contracts for base killings. I traffic only in high-caliber secrets—information that yields profit. Such petty work is beneath me.”
A fixer’s creed, I knew well. Money spoke, and all manner of deeds were done.
Yet, I had never imagined such a man would be drawn to this affair. Or was this but a ruse to unsettle me?
Lately, my doubts gnawed relentlessly.
Regardless, I offered the first apology.
“…Forgive my suspicion. But you entered unbidden. Still—what request could have brought you here? Who would seek me out thus?”
“It is a problem solver’s foremost duty to keep their client’s confidences. I am nothing if not trustworthy.”
Meaning: no answer would be given.
“Even for gold beyond measure?”
“This trade rests on trust. Leak one secret, and all is lost.”
“Is that so? Then even if I call for the guards to storm in, you would remain silent?”
“Indeed. Would I sit here before the Duchess otherwise?”
Giltheon’s laughter echoed faintly, a shade of insolence coloring his mirth.
I knew not what summons he had braved such surveillance to answer—or what shadowy purpose compelled him to don such guises.
But clearly, he meant no harm.
If so, could he fulfill his task?
A question long pressing in my mind at last took form.
Straightening my spine, I fixed him with a measured gaze.
“Is it permissible to make a request here?”
“Now?” He raised an eyebrow as I nodded.
“It is rare indeed for a request to be met with another. Speak, Duchess—what burdens your heart?”
I stared deep into his crooked eyes, inhaled slowly, and spoke with deliberate calm:
“You know of the recent murders that have shaken Mussen to its core.”
“Of course,” he replied lightly. “I know all too well.”
“Do you know who truly stands behind these killings?”
His jocular mood stilled abruptly.
Giltheon’s gaze darkened, as if the very question were a blade unwelcome in the quiet.
Narrowing his eyes, he spoke in a low tone, as if confessing a grave secret:
“You ask, as though certain the culprit is one and the same?”
“I believe it so. Perhaps even the vanished are linked to the same hand.”
“And what if I told you you already know?”
“You must pay the price for knowledge,” I said, steady and composed.
He fell silent, contemplating, as the verdant landscape unfurled beyond the window in endless motion.
“There is naught unknown to me—if such knowledge may be had.”
Finally, he broke the silence.
“But of course, some truths remain veiled. They share one common thread.”
“And what might that be?”
“A secret kept by those so lofty in station that I dare not touch upon it.”
He insinuated that the true perpetrator of these murders dwelled among the highest echelons.
In that moment, one face flashed vividly in my mind: Johannes Schulz—my husband, and the subject of my deepest suspicions.
Yet, his words hinted at uncertainty, that even he did not know the culprit’s true identity.
“So you do not know for certain?”
I pressed.
Giltheon shrugged, a weary gesture.
“No—listen well to all I say.”
When I pursed my lips in doubt, he offered a faint, enigmatic smile:
“Do not be surprised.”
Perhaps… the killer was indeed Johannes Schulz—an unimaginable revelation.
Tightly clutching the hem of my skirt, I steeled myself for what was to come.
“This time was an exception,” he murmured. “But the truth is obscured, purchased exclusively by one who came first.”
