Heavenly Demon Holmes: London’s Subjugation

A highwayman wagers his life to take your money.

And a woman wants both.

-Samuel Butler-

It seemed Her Majesty did not care for my answer.

“If I have to find it with only this drawing, even four years is short.”

“Ridiculous!”

As Her Majesty snapped, Poppins at her side cut in.

“Your Majesty, perhaps showing the one I drew would convey the information more accurately…”

“Silence, Poppins! How many times must I tell you that your brushwork has no individuality!” “My apologies…! I shall apply myself all the more…!”

In the end, I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“If Miss Poppins has a drawing, I would like to see it.”

“Ahem.”

The court lady coughed to hide her delight, then retrieved a canvas she’d left nearby facedown and handed it to me.

“Oh?”

Judging by the flow of conversation, that oval-ish… thing I saw earlier had been drawn by Her Majesty herself. An avant-garde, uniquely original expression that did not belong to any school… and yet, in its way, it did.

Poppins’s drawing, on the other hand, rendered its subject with the unvarnished candor of realism—no embellishment, no exaggeration—which pleased my reason immensely.

Carefully painted in pigment, the court lady’s work captured on canvas the form of the object I was meant to pursue.

A carpeted floor.

Upon it was a drawing, sketched in white, embossed lines

“Does anything occur to you?”

“Yes. If only a little.”

I studied it slowly, the drawing within the drawing.

Was it meant to depict an oval object?

Its surface seemed to be adorned with jewels.

Yet its ends were not symmetrical.

One end was rounder than the other, almost like—

‘An egg…?’

Unfortunately, the court lady had not drawn the object itself.

This was merely a depiction of the clue someone had left on the palace floor.

In other words, it was no more than a “clue to a clue.”

And yet.

I could make a fair guess now what it was I needed to find.

To be honest, I recognized it the instant I saw Her Majesty’s drawing.

The reason I joked it would take four years to find was simple. In the world I once lived in, the first time such a thing appeared was four years from now, meaning it was first manufactured in 1885.

Of course, considering the Tour de France began far earlier here than it did in the history of that other world, a shift in a treasure’s date of creation was hardly worth fretting over.

“Someone drew an egg on the floor of Buckingham Palace in ice. To capture the trace of ice arts with such delicacy, Miss Poppins, your skill can only inspire admiration.”

The essential cultivation of ladies and gentlemen living in London Murim extended far beyond mere martial arts.

The arts, poetry, calligraphy, painting, music, the way of tea, the way of drink, horsemanship, and so on.

A court lady of Buckingham Palace had to be proficient in at least two of those, and Miss Poppins’s painting was of a high caliber.

“…Poppins?”

The moment I finished, the Sword Queen narrowed her eyes sharply and called the court lady’s name.

“M-My apologies, Your Majesty! It is a misunderstanding! I never told the Little Heavenly Demon anything related before returning to the palace!”

“…?”

I had thought Her Majesty scolded her out of displeasure that the maid’s drawing was praised over her own, yet it seemed there was another reason.

“…Clever, to discern that it was a clue drawn in ice.”

“Since Your Majesty did not show me the clue directly, it was only natural.”

“What do you mean?”

Since it seemed the court lady was being put in an awkward position because of me, I decided to add a brief explanation.

“If it had to be recorded as a drawing in haste, it was easy to infer that the clue would vanish with time.”

“But that alone would not let you conclude it was drawn with ice arts.”

“You are correct. There were many other grounds.”

This time Watson looked up at me, eyes wide.

As usual, she had taken in crucial information with those large eyes, yet noticed nothing at all.

“First, the color of the paints Miss Poppins used. Second, the air, dried to a peculiar degree. Third, the attendants we passed on the way here, carrying a carpet soaked in water off to somewhere. That carpet was identical to the one in Miss Poppins’s painting.”

“…Impressive. Continue.”

“In other words, it is consistent if the jewel-adorned egg was drawn by ice arts.”

Her Majesty nodded with an uneasy expression.

“Since both Your Majesty and Miss Poppins drew it, and the carpet itself was within Buckingham Palace, the one who asked you to find that egg-shaped treasure must have been a visitor from outside.”

As I reached that point, the Sword Queen’s expression darkened further.

It seemed she did not wish to tell me who had left the clue.

“You called it a diplomatic matter, so the one who drew the egg in ice likely came from abroad. Setting a time limit and invoking war means this. A precious possession was taken by some method, and they intend to recover it by any means necessary.”

Her Majesty did not reply, but I continued to recite my deductions.

“Did they demand the return of some treasure Britain extracted from its colonies? No—unlikely. If that were the case, Your Majesty would long since have summoned the British Museum’s director and ordered the item produced… or dismissed the demand outright.”

“……”

“Then it means they’re the sort you can’t reason with. ‘My stolen property is in London. If you do not find it at once, I will begin a display of force.’ Something absurd along those lines, was it not?”

Judging by the expressions of Her Majesty and Poppins, I seemed roughly correct.

“It seems a rather violent individual paid you a visit. Those famed for ice arts are most often the masters of the North Sea Ice Palace and Russia, yet considering the research flourishing in places like Sweden as well, the list of candidates grows longer.”

Now that I knew the visitor who came seeking an egg-shaped something was foreign, it was time to move to the next step.

“To speak the word ‘war’ aloud means the visitor holds authority far greater than an ordinary diplomat. One who can enter Buckingham Palace with relative freedom, and whom even the Special Maid Corps would hesitate to accuse for soaking a carpet. And beyond that, someone bold enough to threaten Great Britain’s sovereign. Such a person can only be—”

“That is enough. Who seeks the object is not important right now.”

“…Understood.”

I already had a suspicion as to who had brought this headache, yet as I was about to speak the only name that came to mind, I had to fall silent.

The client for this case was not Her Majesty, but a foreigner who had visited Buckingham Palace.

If my deduction was correct, the mere leak that he was staying in Britain could invite something dreadful.

That man’s father had been brutally murdered in his homeland.

And the force behind it doubtless intended to send both father and son to the next world.

If he were allowed to die in London, a terrifying chaos would follow.

No matter that he ruled a great power competing with Britain for Eurasian supremacy, he and Her Majesty were kin by marriage.

Her Majesty could not allow a man who was her granddaughters’ uncle to be endangered under their very eyes.

And she would surely wish to avoid the disaster of war breaking out because the egg was not found within three days.

‘I had planned to meet him the moment the ball ended… and yet events have tangled like this.’

When I learned that the leader of the Afternoon Tea Party I had searched for so long was Irene Adler, I felt the guidance of fate beyond any human will.

And now again, that brief meeting at Henry Poole & Co. began to lead me down a new path.

‘If the Secret Intelligence Service launched a large-scale operation, it could likely be resolved, so is there some reason they cannot? Or is it simply that we still lack information, and cannot yet deploy many hands rashly?’

That Her Majesty had called me specifically meant she had not even properly grasped what the egg-shaped stolen item truly was.

The owner must have offered only threats, and no concrete information.

Even so, that he came to Her Majesty meant he was confident the object existed in Britain.

“We can begin the search as is, but, are there truly no clues besides this drawing?”

What I needed now was every scrap of information he had presented to Her Majesty.

By what process had he learned that the item he sought was in London?

To barge into Buckingham Palace without preamble meant he at least knew who had stolen his property.

Unless a treasure grew legs and fled, someone must have taken it.

Yet he came to Her Majesty instead of handling it himself—likely to resolve it quietly, without revealing he was staying in London.

“In truth, I have already heard from the owner who stole the item.”

“Interesting.”

“However, if it becomes known that the royal family intervened, condemnation will pour in at once.”

“Because if you aid the ruler of a nation with whom relations are hardly friendly, the controversy would be reignited.”

The House of Hanover, Queen Victoria’s line, had long been accused by British citizens of lacking “proper roots.”

And Prince Albert, Her Majesty’s consort, was likewise a man who came from abroad, so controversy couldn’t be avoided.

In such circumstances, what would happen if it became known to the common people that Her Majesty was helping recover a possession of Russia’s Tsar Alexander III?

The royal family’s authority and standing would likely plummet to the ground.

Because Britain’s proud people would never tolerate the notion that the Queen bowed to Russian threats and moved her own intelligence organization at their behest.

Even if the decision were made under the ‘Great Cause’ of reducing meaningless sacrifice, people still hate what they hate.

Given that not everyone makes rational judgments as I do, it was an outcome easy to foresee.

“So, you are saying I must handle the mission the Secret Intelligence Agency cannot readily take on.”

“You understand well.”

“The Little Heavenly Demon, Holmes, shall uphold Your Majesty’s command. I will recover the item even if I must follow them to the end of hell. If you will only tell me the culprit’s name, then at this very moment—”

“It is the Mistress of Green Willow Manor, Irene Norton.”

“…Pardon?”

In an instant, the scattered puzzle pieces in my mind snapped neatly into place.

Irene Adler was the prima donna of the Warsaw Imperial Theatre.

Why did it feel as though, in every case I encountered lately, that woman sat coiled at the center. Was it merely my imagination?

Ignoring me as I froze in place, Her Majesty continued.

“Little Heavenly Demon, take this to heart. The royal family must have no relation to this case. Only you and your assistant, the Discharged Medical Maiden, will move openly. The Secret Intelligence Service’s cooperation will proceed only beneath the surface. If manpower is needed, arrangements will be made so you may requisition it from Scotland Yard. Understand this.”

“…Understood.”

Wait.

Did Her Majesty just say the Secret Intelligence Service?

“Do not worry. The nation’s fate is at stake. I intend to provide every aid and convenience you require. I have also arranged an assistant for you.”

Her Majesty gestured to an attendant, and the office door opened.

And the next moment—

[The Chief Butler of the Intelligence Service presents himself before Great Britain’s Sun]

With the Direct Message, a familiar face appeared.