Chapter 32: The Snake Approaches from the Darkness (1)

The girls who had been keeping watch in front of the dormitory were not entirely without harvest.

In the deep night three hours after the party dispersed, they saw Princess Flora, dressed in her uniform, return to the dormitory.

Yet at her side was not that exchange-student dance partner; instead she went to Anne’s room.

Another group of students who had blocked the school gate discovered that the exchange student named Claire and her companion had left the campus together and boarded a black carriage heading toward the urban district.

Such a development left even the students most skilled at gossiping about romantic relationships unable to interpret it.

The rumor of the imperial princess’s old lover seemed to collapse of its own accord, merely causing those busybodies who had stayed up all night to skip the next morning’s early classes one after another.

***

A black carriage traveled along the road beside the Seine.

It flew no flags or family crests, making it impossible to discern its origin.

Inside the carriage Liz and Claire sat facing each other.

Liz slightly narrowed her eyes and stared at Claire, while Claire lowered her head and avoided her gaze.

After the party Claire had found Liz and said she needed to meet Ophelia to learn the concrete details of the plan.

Liz had not thought much of it and simply called a carriage.

Yet along the entire journey Claire spoke even less than usual and several times ignored Liz’s attempts at conversation, which made her feel somewhat strange and suspect whether something had occurred between Claire and that princess during their private meeting.

Liz lifted the carriage curtain.

“The lower reaches of the Seine. We’ve already arrived at the Flea Nest.”

Claire followed her guidance and looked out.

Hazy morning light leaped upon the river surface.

Fishing nets hung drying on bamboo poles, and children covered in mud leaped into the water to play.

In an instant the world was filled with clamor.

The Seine was the water of life for Paris.

The painters of Caroling all loved to depict it; throughout history this river had always been full of vitality.

Yet now everything had changed.

The upper reaches of the river remained clear and tranquil, while the lower reaches had become filthy and blasphemous.

Living on both banks of the lower reaches were the lowest-class citizens of the city—impoverished poor, Northern Continent criminals, and Southern Continent refugees.

They had no right to vote at the municipal hall and were not permitted to enter churches to worship.

When sunlight fell upon the river surface the crying of children who had awakened rose one after another.

Women carried the previous night’s clothing to the riverside to wash.

The aroma of baking bread filled the streets, and men walked in groups to the docks to work.

When night fell, people who had labored through the entire day gathered in the small bars of the alleys.

Women of alluring figures and charming faces swayed their waists, searching for whether any men in splendid attire passed before the doors and attempting to pull them into rooms.

In the deep of night this place completely sank into darkness.

There were almost no streetlamps, the street surfaces were uneven, and few people could walk here in the dark without stumbling.

Every household tightly locked its doors and windows, and pedestrians dared not leave the main road to step into the alleys.

This place was contemptuously called the “Flea Nest” by the residents of the upper reaches.

There were rumors that this was a deliberately created three-no zone of the Norman royal family that tolerated Northern and Southern Continent stowaways and smugglers putting down roots here.

The deeply tangled black-market network had become a port through which the two countries of north and south exchanged what each lacked, invisibly bringing enormous capital flow to Paris.

The carriage stopped beside the stone bridge by the Seine.

The statues of Leman standing on both sides of the stone bridge already appeared aged; their surfaces were mottled and peeling, and the places eroded by rainwater showed a gray-black color.

Claire held Liz’s hand as she stepped down from the carriage and involuntarily tightened the long robe on her body.

She smelled the scent of death from the wind.

The black spots on the cheeks of the hero’s statues were like black tear stains.

“The cemetery of the Flea Nest,” Liz said to her.

“Even the locals are unwilling to set foot here. Most of those buried in the ownerless graves are people who died of epidemics.”

Across the bridge high walls rose, squeezing the sky into a slender gap.

It was a stretch of abandoned houses.

Before this place became a cemetery it had also been a block of the Flea Nest.

Later the residents here had all died in a plague, and the municipal hall had chosen the simplest handling method—burying them on the spot.

Thus the entire area had become a graveyard, and the survivors had also moved away one after another.

Only those destitute vagrants occasionally wandered here, because these abandoned houses charged no rent.

Liz was not familiar with this place.

Claire followed behind her, passing through one narrow alley after another that had no road signs and turning into side paths at every corner.

Just when they thought they had completely lost their way, an enormous abandoned building suddenly appeared before their eyes.

“It’s practically a castle!” Claire exclaimed in wonder.

“It should rather be said to resemble a deformed giant insect,” Liz said.

Liz’s description more closely approached the feeling this building gave people.

It was enormous, bizarre, complex, and twisted, constructed of irregularly shaped limestone.

Rather than a building, it was more like a hill formed of many stone houses.

This was a mad architecture, like a gigantic monstrous insect with many arms, many legs, and many eyes, making one feel very uncomfortable upon seeing it.

“The locals call it the Ant Nest. It truly lives up to the name.”

Holding Claire’s hand, Liz slowly stepped onto the stairs.

Today’s Claire appeared delicate and frail, yet Liz did not dislike her like this.

This building had been slowly constructed by the residents over several decades.

Because they could not afford regular building materials, they could only pick up or steal scattered stones and build their own houses tightly against their neighbors’ dwellings, for that way they could construct one less wall.

After finishing on the ground they stacked upward and continued building, so this building grew larger and more complex, resembling a small city.

“Our stronghold is within this Ant Nest. All sorts of unclean things gather here. Besides us there are also many black merchants and criminals hiding here. As the saying goes, hide a tree in the forest,” Liz said lightly.

Inside the door was a winding staircase.

Hard stone walls stood on both sides, with moss stubbornly growing in the cracks of the stones.

Only at great intervals was there a weak oil lamp.

From ahead came the sound of rushing water, accompanied by that faint foul stench.

They were gradually approaching a filthy river.

When they turned a bend the sound of flowing water became even clearer.

It was a drainage outlet pressed tightly against the ground.

Looking downward through the iron bars, one saw only a stretch of dark water surface enter the eyes.

Claire curiously leaned forward to look down.

“The sewage canal,” Liz explained.

“Its upper reaches connect to the sewers of Paris, while its lower reaches lead to the Flea Nest and finally converge into the Seine. Don’t look too closely. It’s full of filthy things inside.”

“There are people below.” Claire pointed toward the narrow walkways on both sides of the canal.

There were some pitch-black human silhouettes.

A gloomy wind blew past, knocking off the hoods on their heads and revealing green skin and ugly horns.

“Demonkin… Could it be the Mutual Aid Society? They have actually come to Caroling as well,” Liz muttered in a low voice.

“Mutual Aid Society? What is that?” Claire asked softly, yet raised her head to see Liz’s face full of helplessness, as if looking at a fool.

“Uh… I was only joking.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Truly too funny,” Liz responded in a strange, mocking tone.

The two of them left that window leading to the sewage canal.

Before them was a long and straight passageway.

At the end of the passageway lights flickered and noisy human voices came.

Only then did Claire understand that this was the true location of the Ant Nest.

That deformed giant-insect-like above-ground building was only a disguise; the true Ant Nest was an enormous underground palace.

Foreign merchants of completely different clothing and attire hawked their wares in the underground plaza.

On their stalls were all sorts of prohibited goods.

Not to mention those jewels and antiques of unclear origin, even new-style firearms and rune scrolls were messily arranged for anyone to select.

Liz held Claire’s hand and walked past one stall after another, finally turning into an unremarkable tavern in the corner of the plaza.

On the half-rotted wooden sign were carved the words “Red Queen.”

Unlike the clamor outside, there were not many people in the tavern, and it was rather quiet.

The customers were mostly travelers who had come to rest their feet.

Liz slightly nodded toward the red-eyed attendant at the bar, and that attendant immediately led the two of them into the room behind the bar.

The so-called stronghold of the spy organization was so simple that it was astonishing.

The cement floor and walls were covered with bent copper and iron pipes.

The furnishings could be counted on one’s fingers: a black iron-frame bed, a white porcelain washbasin, and a huge writing desk upon which sat a telegraph machine and scattered documents.

The only luxury item in this small room was a refrigerator.

This was a refrigerator handmade by Liz, with a polished brass exterior that glittered.

In this era a refrigerator counted as a luxury item that only very wealthy families could afford, and it was even more expensive than an automobile.

Ophelia, dressed entirely in black, was sitting at the writing desk in the center of the room.

She raised her head and glanced at the two visitors, merely nodded to signal Liz and Claire to enter the room, and did not rise to greet them.

Liz pulled out the chair opposite Ophelia for Claire, and Claire lightly sat down.

Ophelia leaned down, took a pistol from the cabinet below, and handed it to Claire.

“Stop always thinking about that Can Opener of yours. The work afterward will all be infiltration-type. This gun is fitted with a silencer. Keep it ready.”

Claire carefully received the gun with both hands, yet inadvertently pulled the trigger.

An abrupt gunshot tore through the silence inside the room and left a smoking bullet hole in the wall behind Ophelia.

Ophelia was startled.

“Claire, have you gone mad?”

Claire apologized repeatedly, while Liz stood to the side with a complex expression, the corner of her mouth curving into a smile that was difficult to detect.

Ophelia wiped her glasses.

“Speak. Why have you come?”

“I want to understand the concrete plan of Operation Changeling,” Claire said softly.

Yet Liz waved her hand, signaling Ophelia not to answer.

She opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of red wine and a blood bag, and poured the wine into a tall glass.

Then she tore open the blood bag, poured the blood into the tall glass, and gently swirled it.

The blood and wine blended in the glass, forming a thick red.

Liz placed the tall glass in front of Claire.

“After sitting so long in the carriage, come replenish some energy.”

Claire’s complexion suddenly changed, yet she discovered that Ophelia was staring at her while Liz had retreated to the doorway and blocked the room’s only exit.

She could only slowly raise the wine glass.

Yet at that moment Ophelia suddenly snatched the glass away and said, “Enough, enough. I don’t want to truly let the imperial princess drink human blood.”

“Claire” sighed, removed the black wig, and golden long hair cascaded down like a waterfall.

“When did you see through it?”

Liz gave a light laugh, the corner of her mouth curving into a playful smile.

“Not knowing the Mutual Aid Society, not knowing how to use a gun, and even behaving like a little delicate wife—how could this possibly be the Claire I know? Thinking it over, the only suspect is Your Highness the princess who looks exactly like her.”

Having removed her disguise, Flora awkwardly scratched her head, while Ophelia said, “Since the princess has come to find me, that means you are willing to participate in Operation Changeling, correct?”

Flora nodded.

“Correct.”

“That Claire fellow is rather capable. After only one day of infiltration she has already negotiated with you. I am Ophelia, the liaison of this operation. May your cooperation with the United Kingdom go smoothly.”

With that Ophelia rose and shook hands with Flora.

“Then please, Miss Liaison, explain to me how we will cooperate.”

Ophelia recounted the general situation of Operation Changeling in detail, placing emphasis on the purpose of one generation of peace envisioned by the Water Goddess.

“Then concretely speaking, what will each of us do?” Flora pursued.

“The United Kingdom will clear the obstacles for you in the election for the imperial throne. And before that we may request you to obtain some intelligence in the capacity of a spy. Please understand, because Operation Changeling is the product of cooperation among multiple agencies, and we need to report some results upward to our superiors.”

Flora nodded slightly.

“I can naturally give you many results. For example, two weeks from now my elder sister will visit Cité University and will present a set of steam armor to the Caroling royal family.”

Upon hearing this Ophelia was startled and immediately began operating the telegraph machine on the desk to transmit this imminent intelligence to the Northern Continent.

Flora gave a light laugh.

“I can help you with many things, yet what can you help me with? Assassinating my elder sister who is a Steam Knight, or bringing down my uncle who holds considerable prestige among the old nobility? You cannot do either, can you? Then how can it be called cooperation?”

Ophelia’s face was full of embarrassment as she fell into silence, and Liz also could not think of anything to refute.

After all, from the drafting of Operation Changeling until now less than two months had passed.

Although the slogans were shouted loudly, how to actually interfere with the imperial election was not something the two of them could decide.

“Mm… please believe that the Cerberus Bureau will act at the appropriate time,” Ophelia forced out a sentence.

Flora lightly laughed and shook her head.

“Relying only on you will probably make it difficult to succeed, will it not? May I invite others to join this plan?”

“Whom do you wish to invite?”

Flora answered, “Anne of Normandy, Robert’s youngest daughter. She is my friend and will also become my assistance in the matter of the imperial election.”

Ophelia’s face showed difficulty.

“My apologies, Your Highness. You also know that Robert is a usurper. And the Caroling royal family that originally signed the protection treaty with the United Kingdom is now in exile in the Northern Continent. They have repeatedly advised the Supreme King to restore their country. The United Kingdom indeed has this intention, only it does not wish it to develop into a war with the Empire… Therefore we will not cooperate with people of the House of Normandy.”

Flora lightly sighed.

“I guessed the answer would be like this. I will think of other methods. Then let us leave it at this for now. I also count as having a preliminary understanding of you.”

Ophelia heard deep disappointment from her words.

Flora once again put on that black wig and signaled Liz to open the door.

Ophelia stood up and said, “Please believe us. The United Kingdom will be your most loyal partner on the path to ascending the throne.”

“Rest assured, I will believe you. Because what I trust is Claire,” Flora said lightly.

“By the way, why didn’t Claire come?”

“She went to meet other friends… in my identity,” Flora said softly.