Over a hundred kilometres away from Sodor, a lone man sat in the middle of the spotlight. As he concluded his concert with flurried movements and tremendous rich chords, he raised his fingers into the air, waiting for his ovation. A split second later, one distinct clap was rang out, then two, then three, until the entire hall was bursting with a downfall of thunderous clapping.
Elysius Blight, his tidy figure formally dressed in black and white, bowed to the astounded crowd as he stared at his prim dark shoes serenely.
It's best to take extra precautions from now on. Sigerson… You may think you have an advantage because of one fallen pillar, but that will merely strengthen the illusion… For now, there are other more important things to focus on…
No doubt, Revalty seems as if they've already taken the most fatal blows, but there will be reinforcements to help soon. Then comes leadership— without his loyal general to organise the troops, Ecclesia will swiftly fall, unless a replacement is made.
In a day or two, Grock of the Enforcers will surely step into that role; Crowne has grown far too paranoid to let anyone else command his army. When Grock takes that position, he'll begin to relent on pursuing Sigerson to focus his efforts on the war, leaving him to hunt me down as he pleases.
After the crowd simmered down and slowly made their way out from the enormous granite building, Blight left the stage to his specially prepared room, where an attendant was waiting for him.
"A message for you, sir," he said, while the director of the hall along with countless others rushed in to congratulate him on his spectacular performance.
"A woman's hand," noted Blight, inspecting the card given to him. "Do show her in please, and I'll be with you shortly, director, if you'll allow me to have a few private minutes with my visitor."
Right after the small crowd left the room, the attendant brought in a familiar face into Blight's anticipating eyes.
"You may leave," he said to the attendant, nodding politely at him. The attendant saw he was no longer needed, so he left, shutting the two of them in.
Evelyn stepped into the light, her face perfectly visible now. Her pale hands trembled slightly while her numb legs brought her closer to the crafty serpent seated on the chintz armchair.
"You must be freezing," offered Blight, sparing a moment to get a glimpse of the powdery snow falling outside.
"Here, have this."
He took a glass from a gilded table next to him and filled it with a dark crimson wine, which also happened to be a gift from the director as a thank you for performing in his charity concert.
"The district's finest wine," he announced, reading the bottle's label. "It'll warm you up for sure. Aren't you going to drink it? There's no poison in there for sure, you know."
Still obviously suspicious of Blight, Evelyn raised the glass and sipped slowly as if waiting for a poison to seep into her and swiftly end her life. However, after taking a few more small sips, Evelyn started the conversation, deciding that nothing harmful was in the drink. With pink lips, she commented, "The snow's come a bit early, don't you think, sir?"
Blight nodded sagaciously and returned, "You think so too, Miss Whitlock? Yes… I must admit I was a bit surprised when I arrived here yesterday from Sodor. I suppose it would make sense since we're so close to the mountains. The temperature has always been frosty around here… Anyways, enough talk about the weather."
He paused, staring curiously at Evelyn's serene figure.
"Why have you come all the way here to visit me? Surely your purpose here is more than just talking about the snowy weather."
Evelyn returned Blight's piercing gaze calmly. Their eyes met, connected together in an invisible duel.
"I…"
Evelyn chose her words carefully.
"I want to convince you to stop taking the path you're walking on now and turn away, sir. We can still stop escalating the war before it gets out of hand."
Blight shook his head nonchalantly, the expression on his face showing plainly that a task so ambitious was unable to be achieved.
"I'm sorry, Miss Whitlock. There's nothing I, a Custodian of the country, can do about it. Both sides have already begun to fight. I'm afraid there's no turning back from this war at this point."
"I see."
Her honest face showed signs of disappointment.
"Then isn't it possible for you to speak to the president directly, sir? I'm sure he'll be willing to hear you out. You do after all—"
A hint of smugness lit up in her speech.
"—control the entire coal market, don't you?"
"I do hold the power, but I'll still have to refuse," repeated Blight, readjusting his shining bowtie placidly. "I may have influence over the coal market as you say, but that does not make me any more powerful than the other Custodians. You've grown very much since the last time I've seen you, Miss Whitlock. Surely you have some idea of what war is like."
Evelyn's eyes narrowed sharply as he said this. So Blight still remembered them from his orphanage over the years, did he?
Seeing that Evelyn was choosing to stay silent, he continued, "The essence of war at its most fundamental point is profit. Who gets what out of the fighting? Isn't that the very question we should be asking?"
His ability to hide information is certainly annoying, thought Evelyn irritatedly. Oh well. At least I've told him what we know so far— he might hold back if he knows we know his hidden monopoly over the market. His stupid confidence sure bugs me though— is he underestimating me?
Again, the only sounds to be heard in the room were the soft clinking of glasses, which were stained blood red by the constant refilling of wine.
Closing her eyes slightly, Evelyn clenched the glass tighter before taking her last sip. There was nothing to be gained here; that was certain. Should she leave while she could? With her trusted allies surrounding the vicinity as well as her tiny revolver in a secluded pocket of her cloak, there was no fear of a sudden attack. The only question to be asked now was whether it was still worth it to stay.
While she was contemplating her next course of action, Blight suddenly broke the invisible barrier between them.
"It was your cousin, wasn't it?" he questioned softly. "He told you to come, did he not?"
"No— I decided myself," replied Evelyn truthfully.
"Well then," said Blight, giving her a warm smile. "Let me tell you something in exchange for your generous visit."
Another brief pause followed, for Blight still had half a glass left in his hand. Smelling and swirling it around appreciatively like an expert connoisseur testing the quality of the product, he gradually drank the rest, sip by sip.
Evelyn fidgeted in her cushioned armchair slightly, catching Blight's attention.
"I'm so sorry for making you wait," said he, a little mockingly. "You must forgive me— the wine greatly intrigued me. I suppose you could say… I'm an expert in fine arts."
"It's no problem at all, sir," returned Evelyn with the air of an unruly cat. "I believe you were going to tell me something?"
"Ah, yes," said Blight, his glass placed delicately back onto the table. "I suspect both you and your pleasant cousin are still keen on my trail?"
Nodding her head without betraying any signs of emotion, Evelyn kept her eyes fixed on Blight, refusing to back down as if it were a battle till the end with her honor and life at stake during every second.
"Well then, I'll return your honest answer with my own— stop persisting. As you well know, I may have a large influence over the market but there's nothing wrong with that. My loyalty has been pledged to my country and besides, if I were to betray the Custodians, what would I gain? How would I benefit from betrayal? Wealth? Power? Land?"
An undesirable feeling slithered up her spine like a venomous snake. She was powerless to deny any of this; it was a fact that Blight had zero incentives for starting a war, at least, it appeared that way on the surface. Why then, the sense of foreboding with her rapidly growing, did she feel like something was missing again? Sigerson must have left something important out, something that would connect the last pieces of the puzzle together.
No motive… Without a motive, this wouldn't be possible…
A miniscule speck of doubt, no larger than a seed, sprouted in Evelyn's well-tended garden of thoughts for the first time. Why did William's description of Blight seem to contradict what was being shown? According to him, Blight was supposed to be a cunning serpent— the devil incarnate. And yet, here in front of her was a polite gentleman with no basis for any charge laid against him.
Suppose William was wrong… It would be up to her, the one always coming in second, the one always shoved aside to make room for her precocious cousin, to uncover the truth.
"By the way," murmured Blight, reading her mind. "Has William ever told you what happened in the theater? A child was shot, did you know?"
Evidently, she did not. For the first time in her life, she wanted to know what somebody else had to say.
"Yes— that's right… Your cousin is indirectly responsible for the death of a young boy. I was there, gazing down with the audience, filled with uncertain anticipation. The young boy, fear lingering in his eyes, was at the mercy of his revolver. True, it was the inspector who pulled the trigger, but it was William who allowed it. Who's to blame? You can decide that yourself."
A vast barrier, unseen by human eyes yet deeper than any human conception, had been drawn up between the two figures in the room. On one side, Evelyn distrusted and perhaps even feared the Custodian; on the other hand, she privately agreed with some of Blight's points and had an ounce of suspicion aimed at Sigerson.
After she rose and thanked Blight for his time, Evelyn left the room with dozens more questions in her mind than she had to begin with. As Blight shut the door gently, a cold smirk ran across his face.
"She hasn't changed one bit," he grinned to himself, taking another glass of wine. "Her pride will eventually become their downfall… especially now that she thinks Sigerson's still hiding something from her."
He closed his eyes, savouring every sip.
"I wonder what Sigerson was thinking, leaving his precious cousin behind like that."
—
"Phew," sighed Harvey, mopping his sweaty face with a towel. Even though the frosty autumn gale whipped the inhabitants of the city forcefully, sneaking around dropping revolvers while risking death was nonetheless nerve-racking enough to make anyone sweat anxiously.
After successfully slipping the specially made revolver to Hartland in an empty alley, Harvey snuck back to their hideout unnoticed by a single soul in what seemed like an eternal expansion of darkness. Tapping the bare floor playfully with his foot, he tilted his head to Sigerson, who was morosely peeling potatoes for a late supper, and asked with a voice that demanded attention, "Say, what are we gonna do next, captain?"
Sigerson turned to Turner for help, wordlessly pleading for assistance with this helpless chatter-box in his hands. Staring at the blank dusty wall appreciatively for absolutely no reason at all, Turner pretended to be unaware of Sigerson's glare, his hands folded as if he were a professional wall examiner.
"Come on, you can tell me, Will,"
"Will?" thought Sigerson, holding back a sharp remark carefully. "Since when did he start being so... informal?"
Being constantly nagged for an entire minute, Sigerson eventually gave in.
"Alright, alright, I'll tell you if you'll be quiet for a minute so I can finish peeling this potato."
Dropping his knife as if in slow motion, the detective answered the expectant boy's question with a bite of impatience mixed with incredulity.
"Now that we have the exact date and location of where Hartland will be in a few days time, thanks to Turner, we can come up with a plan to arrest him when the time comes."
"I see," nodded Turner, his focus immediately shifting from the 'interesting' wall to their conversation.
"You sent the revolver to motivate him into coming to our agreed spot so he can silence me for good, didn't you? But, erm… Is the revolver real?"
"Of course," replied Sigerson matter-of-factly. "But before you say anything, be assured that the safety of your life is perfectly guaranteed. The model is a fake, although it can fire real bullets, that is to say, I have another exact model with a couple of weights in it that you can use to replace his functioning revolver."
"And if I fail to replace the real weapon?"
"Then you would most likely get shot down and Hartland would still be arrested for murder. But you don't have to worry—" he added hastily, catching the horrified expression on Turner's face. "I also have a spare model so it's unlikely that we'd miss the switch."
Still unsure of what to think, Turner fell into a rickety chair, putting his hand over his face to cover his mixed feelings, Sigerson walked over to him and placing a soft hand on his shoulder, whispered, "Don't lose hope over this little task, Turner. We'll do everything in our power to make sure no harm comes to you."
A prolonged sigh escaped from the ancient mouth. Since he was finally satisfied after seeing Sigerson being humbled down to a state where he was actually asking for help, Turner, his heart softening a little bit, agreed to the plan.
"Excellent!" exclaimed Sigerson, clapping his hands together with more enthusiasm than usual. "We're going to be arresting Hartland just before he catches on to what we're doing, so don't worry about that, Turner."
"I understand. Explain what we're supposed to do next."
"Alright," said Sigerson in a tone that meant business. "I'll tell you two everything. Now, it's fairly obvious that we ourselves have no power to arrest anybody, so I've decided to let the Enforcers do that for us."
Harvey raised a hand, itching to ask a question.
"How will you do that? The Enforcers will catch on to you pretty quickly if you attempt to communicate with them, won't they?"
"There are no other options. The most I can say is that the director of the Enforcers will find it rather unproductive if he wishes to continue to pursue me."
"Hold on… Are you thinking of telling them about Blight?"
"If the Enforcers realize who started the war, they'd make sure to eliminate them no matter what. Without putting an end to the fighting against Revalty, the government will never be able to stabilise the country to remain in control."
"I wonder if they'll even receive the message," said Harvey thoughtfully.
"I'll send it directly to the director, just in case Blight's spies in the Enforcers try and stop me," returned Sigerson, sharing out a few boiled potatoes before the three of them sat and ate in silence, solemnly thinking that it may be their final meal.