Hilsbeth cracked the door open, revealing her left side.
"What's all the fuss inside?" the innkeeper said.
"Nothing. I... I saw a rat. A particularly large one."
"A rat or two isn't anything strange. Do you think this is the Royal Theater? And I told you not to lock that door."
"It's nothing, really. I just happened to lock it."
"Anyway, this is my place. I say how things are." He frowned, staring at the cut on Hilsbeth's left cheek. "What happened to your face? Is that blood?"
Hilsbeth wiped the slight wound with the back of her hand. "I accidentally scratched it."
"Even if your livelihood doesn't depend on your face..."
"I know, I know. You go do something else. I'll tidy up and head home."
"Oh, I actually came to tell you that you won't be getting paid today."
"Why?"
"Can you believe you dared to ask me why? Do you know who that young man was just now?"
"I don't know. He didn't say."
"...I don't know his name either, but it was obvious he's a VIP. Such people giving gifts is a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck for you, yet you refused? What were you thinking?"
"I'd be the one out of my mind if I accepted. Do you know what he wanted to give? A huge diamond necklace. If I accepted that, I'd probably be dead as soon as I stepped out the door."
"That's simple. You could've temporarily kept it with me. Now, with your refusal, what if that gentleman gets angry? His servant told me about this and asked me to teach you a lesson..."
"I'm just here to work, not to sell myself to you entirely. You have no right to dock my pay or lecture me."
"I can't talk to you. Stupid woman."
The innkeeper left. Hidden behind the door, Panthonia reached out to push it shut. After the argument, Hilsbeth felt less scared and more annoyed. She glanced at Panthonia's eyes, then immediately lowered her head.
"Let's talk somewhere else," Panthonia said.
"No, I'm going home. There's nothing to say between us."
"I'll exit through the front. You take the back, turn right, and wait for me behind the tailor's shop."
Hilsbeth realized arguing with this man was pointless because he didn't acknowledge anyone else's opinions. And though he had temporarily put away his dagger, she couldn't predict when it might reappear. Suddenly, Aretta's face flashed in her mind—like dark red ink quickly saturating a sponge, grief for her deceased friend swiftly turned to anger. Such a man should be avoided at all costs. He clearly didn't care about you, alive or dead...
"Fine," she conceded.
"No tricks," Panthonia added before leaving.
Hilsbeth paced back and forth in the room, then leaned against the vanity for a moment of contemplation. Although she had indeed exited the hotel through the back door, she hadn't turned right but instead proceeded straight ahead onto another street. This wasn't her usual route home, but somehow, she felt it would help her avoid the man. Typically, when leaving through the front door of the hotel, she wouldn't have passed through this street.
For safety reasons, her performances always ended before ten o'clock, and she would promptly head home. In the past, Aretta would sometimes accompany her; this female friend was a more reliable bodyguard than any man, given her relation to Salvaney. Hilsbeth wanted to see Aretta one last time, but her body lay at the precinct, and Hilsbeth couldn't summon the courage to walk through the doors of that institution.
Walking along the unfamiliar street, her thoughts began to wander. Faint but slowly undulating sounds filled the air: the shattering of glass, the murmurs of gutters, echoes of burning woodpiles. Sounds only audible when there was no one around. There was a mother in the refugee column to the south who had recently given birth; every night, she sat beside Hilsbeth, nursing her child. Hilsbeth didn't know if the child had survived. The farther south they went, the more crowded and bright the stars in the sky became—it wasn't an illusion. Cold... ankles submerged in cool water teeming with countless tiny parasites. She hadn't seen the front lines, but she was a witness and a sufferer of the war. She didn't know if the child had survived. She sang by the fireside. She searched for the white bird mentioned in the lyrics on the misty mountains. She sang amidst the smoke-filled halls of the crowded hotel. She didn't know if the child had survived.
"I warned you."
As she recognized the voice, a broad right hand enveloped her from behind. Another hand extended before her, holding an open vial. The icy, pungent scent surged into her brain like a snake swiftly swimming through waterweed. She felt as though she had struggled for a moment, but soon her body stopped responding. For a brief moment, she feared the dagger would pierce her neck. She lost consciousness, without any time to prepare mentally, much like the suddenness of death.
Upon waking, she found herself lying on an unfamiliar bed, with Panthonia sitting not far away. She quickly sat up, backing into the corner of the wall, but suddenly felt a stabbing pain in her wrists. She realized her hands were bound behind her, but she couldn't see where the other end of the rope was tied.
"We could have had a conversation at your place," Panthonia said.
Hilsbeth remained silent.
"You're tense. Rest assured, I have no reason to harm you." He produced a badge identifying him as a criminal investigator for the security bureau. "I have some questions about Aretta. You're obliged to cooperate."
"You could have brought me to the bureau during the day."
"Of course, but I imagine you wouldn't want others to know you're assisting in the investigation at the security bureau. Especially those customers who come to flatter you every day."
"Then at least release me..."
"As long as you cooperate, I'll be done soon. How long have you known Aretta?"
After hesitating for a moment, Hilsbeth replied. "Two months."
"Her husband had already passed away by then. Salvaney had just thrown her out of the house."
"I'm not very familiar with that aspect. Certainly not more than you. Let me go..."
"What I know is that since then, she did have some contact with a few members of the family. Tell me anything you've heard or seen about this. Anything."
"She never told me anything about that, and of course, I didn't ask."
Panthonia fell silent for about ten seconds. "I believe you."
"Fine, understanding these things only spells trouble. Are you done questioning me? You said once you're done, I can leave."
"Have you told anyone about what happened between her and me?"
"You... no. I haven't. She made me promise not to tell anyone, and I agreed. What's the meaning of this?"
"If not, good. I hope you never mention it to anyone in the future either."
"Is that it... is that why you brought me here? You promised to take her away from the Queen's District, to give her a life where she wouldn't have to worry about anything... I understand now. You just wanted to use her to investigate Salvaney. Now that she's dead, you want to pretend nothing happened. Selfish bastard."
"I just want to ask if you're willing to swear to never mention these things to anyone else?"
"Swear? The only thing I'd swear to is that I hate you. I hope you get what's coming to you, I hope..." Hilsbeth struggled to curse him, not being particularly skilled in that department. "I hope you suffer a hundred times worse than she did. I hope you die in a place where no one knows."
"So, you refuse," Panthonia stood up.
"Where are you going? Let me go. I want to go home."
"What's different here? You don't have anyone at home."
"You..."
"Stay put. I'll let you go when you change your mind. Don't worry about starving; I'll bring you food when necessary. And let me remind you of something: don't try to scream for help. You may not know, but this area is the territory of vagrants, and their lifelong wish is to suddenly find a woman tied to a bed. Of course, if you manage to kill yourself, that saves me some trouble."
Panthonia extinguished the oil lamp and left. With the windows of the room boarded up, it was pitch black around Hilsbeth.
"Let me go... let me leave..."
Hilsbeth knocked on the wall to her left with her head twice, then buried her face in her knees. She used to think she wasn't afraid of the dark because she had often hidden in basements or caves as a child—but back then, there was someone by her side. Someone who told her not to be afraid. Someone who told her the enemy would leave soon. Someone who told her that no one would die.
Now, darkness was her only companion and mocker, clinging to her skin. It crept up from her feet to her calves; it tightened around her neck.
During lunch break, Dennisen approached Panthonia's desk while eating meatballs with a fork.
"You're going to investigate the jewelry store robbery this afternoon, right?"
"Yes."
"Could you do me a favor... regarding Aretta?"
"What is it?" Panthonia didn't look at him.
"I heard Aretta had a girlfriend who sings at a nearby underground hotel. The hotel is called... um... Seven... Seven Hunters. The woman's stage name is Red Heron. I went there yesterday, and the owner said Red Heron hasn't shown up for two days. I thought you should also pay a visit. Do you know where the hotel is?"
"I've heard of it."
"Your contacts are different, so I thought... you might find out something there. The owner was scared witless when he saw my badge, but I don't think he was lying. Do me this favor, will you?"
After saying this, Dennisen pondered how a dead dog could feel scared.
"Aretta is a case we're both responsible for."
"Yes, you're right. I hit a dead end there, so it's up to you now." Dennisen tapped Panthonia's shoulder with his hand while still holding the fork in his mouth—he didn't know where that idea came from. Without waiting for a response, he immediately turned and left. After walking about six or seven steps, he turned back to Panthonia, who had already stood up, and said, "Would you like to try some of this? It's made by my own hands. Tastes pretty good."