Chapter 166: Ancient Fire (5)
The young of a spirit beast becomes a spirit beast.
-British Proverb-
The moment we stepped out of the Claridge’s inn and confirmed the Tsar’s men were not following, we hailed a passing carriage and climbed aboard.
“Now that the policy’s set, I suppose I should think about how we’re going to rob the house next—”
<You look rather pleased with yourself, Sherlock.>
But somehow, Mycroft and a young man were already inside the carriage before us.
“Brother Ma?”
Watson nearly slipped off the step in surprise, but I caught her quickly and sat her down.
“…Thank you, Holmes.”
“Think nothing of it.” While Watson was still settling herself, I swept my eyes over the man seated beside Mycroft.
A familiar face. I had already encountered him twice.
A Super Junior of the British Intelligence Butler Agency who had attended the Debutante Ball in a fox mask, and a man I suspected to be Mycroft’s ace in the hole.
Just as before, he had projectiles and knuckle-dusters concealed inside his coat and sleeves, so it was clear what he took as his forte.
I had heard his call sign at the Debutante Ball, but a Kung-Fuist of the British Intelligence Butler Agency would never give a proper call sign in a place like that. His true one likely existed elsewhere.
<My introduction is late. This is Mansfield Smith. Former Navy. You’ve already met at the Debutante Ball, so we’ll skip the greetings.>
As Mycroft spoke, the young man beside him nodded with a stiff, frozen expression.
At the Debutante Ball, he had seemed brighter in temperament, but it appeared that had been a mask meant to deceive others.
<We have no time, so shall we speak while we head to the operation HQ?>
After confirming we were seated, Mycroft tapped the backrest, and the driver set the carriage in motion.
His expression was subdued and calm unlike usual. He was clearly being driven to distraction by this incident.
“If you keep popping up like that and startling people, one day there’ll be no one left around you.”
<Regrettably, this elder brother has a chronic ailment. I cannot hear the voice of one whose Sword Debate chess record is poor.>
Even his ability to return a joke was below par. It meant he had no room to spare.
“How did you know we would board this carriage…?”
Meanwhile, having calmed her startled heart, Watson immediately began trying to resolve her curiosity.
Since I began working with the Butler Agency, Mycroft appearing from places one would never expect had happened often enough that I showed little reaction, but for Watson this was her first time, so it was natural.
<Every carriage moving through this area is under the British Intelligence Butler Agency’s control.>
“…Pardon?”
Of course, Mycroft’s answer was far from normal.
<As we must continuously monitor Alexander III’s movements, I judged it correct to seize control of transportation.>
“I see. But what does that have to do with predicting which carriage Holmes would choose…?”
<It is simple—>
“Mycroft simply knew I prefer carriages with high ceilings.”
When I could not bear it any longer and cut in, Mycroft stared at me with irritated eyes.
“Indeed. As brothers, you even know each other’s preferences inside out, is that it?”
“That’s not it.”
<A misunderstanding.>
He said so, yet it remained undeniable that Mycroft was a most reliable ally.
The British Intelligence Butler Agency, commonly called the Butler Agency, was an organization that carried out Her Majesty’s orders in secret, and thus differed in nature from the ordinary offices of the British court.
Setting aside the maids of the Eastern Office and Western Office, their chief work was to handle matters of national security, freely drawing on enormous budgets and manpower.
And in that sphere, by Her Majesty’s command, they could exercise authority beyond the law.
先斬後奏 (Execute first, report later.)
王權特許.(Royal Warrant.)
Those eight characters best revealed the Butler Agency’s nature.
They were the sole force permitted to cut down those who threatened security first, and only then submit the report.
Even the innocent feared the Butler Agency, for they worried that such overwhelming authority might become a blind blade and fly at their own throats.
My brother Mycroft was Chief of the Butler Agency, the very head who led it.
Even crooked methods the laws of Britain would never permit could be used freely if one borrowed his power.
To foreign spies and terrorists who crossed in from abroad, the Butler Agency was no different from a Grim Reaper, yet if drawn to one’s side, it became the most reassuring group.
To achieve my purpose while resolving this affair, Mycroft’s help was indispensable.
<…It is as Russia’s local informant said. The Tsar was a man of deeper schemes than even our analysts had grasped.>
A moment later, Mycroft brought up the main point with a grave expression.
<If, as the Tsar says, it is not an ordinary treasure but a spark that will burn London, then we must export it out of the country by any means necessary.>
“Have you already reported to Her Majesty?”
<As if. Her Majesty covets that stone the Tsar would risk even war to reclaim. Until she confirms with her own eyes what it truly is, she will not heed a word I say.>
I nodded without thinking.
To think Mycroft’s view, as one who had long attended Her Majesty at close hand, could align so neatly with my own, having only recently begun meeting her directly.
Her Majesty truly possessed a steadfast character like bamboo, without a doubt.
“This is the problem with masters. Having reached the Unrestrained Realm by their own judgment, when it comes to sensitive things like elixirs, Kung-Fu manuals, or poisons, they will not listen to anyone at all until they see it with their own eyes.”
<I concur.>
Of course, when I first heard that what lay inside the Fabergé egg might turn London into a sea of fire, I doubted it as well.
Perhaps it was the Tsar’s grand delusion, or merely a figure of speech.
I even found myself thinking that.
But there were several possibilities that pricked at me too sharply to dismiss it as mere fantasy, and I could not ignore his words.
<It seems the Tsar believes Her Majesty Victoria and Lady Norton—no, Irene Adler—cannot control that unidentified power. Or perhaps because three days is simply too short.>
“Setting a deadline from the start is suspicious. It’s not just one or two strange things. He spoke as though those without secret knowledge cannot even control it.”
<That Russia’s future hangs on it may indeed be related to ‘that.’>
“With the Tsar dropping hints this far, it’s obvious.”
Watson looked at us with a face that still did not understand.
The next moment, my voice and Mycroft’s Direct Message rang out at once.
“…An Ice-Free Port.”
<…An Ice-Free Port.>
Nothing else came to mind that the Tsar could want.
After alighting from the carriage that had run along the Thames riverside, we headed for the Butler Agency’s external operation HQ, disguised as an ordinary townhouse.
Passing through a lobby where the agency’s butlers bustled about, we went up to the second floor, entered a room stocked with all manner of projectiles, disguise tools, and props, and locked the door.
The moment we sat across the central table, Mycroft began pouring out what he had not finished saying in the carriage.
<If, as you said, Irene Adler truly lived a double life for years as an opera singer and a criminal, then explaining this affair is not difficult, Sherlock. She seems to have operated meticulously without leaving traces, yet you managed to catch her tail.>
“A bit of luck followed me.”
I could not possibly say I knew because I had lived through the future, so I answered as humbly as I could without lying.
After all, was it not luck that I could return to the past at all.
<So, to summarize, Irene Adler’s estate contains many items she has stolen from various places over time. We can insert the agency’s agents while she is out.>
“It won’t be as easy as you think. When I looked into it, she seemed to be the head of some faction.”
<Meaning we must consider the possibility that many Kung-Fuists are standing by inside the estate—>
“There may be security formations or traps prepared for thieves. Above all, if we take the Tsar’s words into account, what’s stored inside that crafted piece is certainly a handle-with-care item.”
<If we are careless even slightly while transporting it… I’d rather not imagine it.>
Watson, who had been listening closely beside us, cautiously opened her mouth.
“I’m sorry, Holmes. I still can’t quite understand. The treasure that was stolen doesn’t seem that large, so how can something inside it be enough to reduce London to ash? No matter how extraordinary an elixir or secret manual it is, wouldn’t burning a whole city be impossible with that alone?”
“It isn’t something like an elixir.”
“What…?!”
Mycroft seemed to have already reached the same conclusion as I had, so I decided to tell Watson as well.
“Think. Why did the Tsar speak with such certainty that London would burn?”
“Well, wouldn’t it be because no one but him knows the true way to use the treasure? If handled wrongly, it would be disastrous…”
“Then why did he present a grace period of three days.”
“Hm. He might have used some device like a timed thunderbolt pellet?”
“…”
“Why? Is there a problem with my deduction?”
“That… is… deduction…?”
It seemed Watson had little talent in this field.
“Do you recall the Ice-Free Port coming up in the carriage?”
“Of course.”
“Then consider why the Tsar called the treasure ‘the most ancient fire’ and ‘Russia’s future.’”
“If he spoke of melting the frozen earth, perhaps something related to pure Blazing Yang Essence is hidden inside.”
“If, as you say, that item possesses powerful Blazing Yang Essence, then why does the Tsar not fear it passing into the hands of Her Majesty Victoria, an Unrestrained Realm master.”
“…Now that you say it, indeed.”
The brains of most humans, excluding myself, perform at roughly the same level.
And yet the reason this world is not overflowing with riddles ordinary people cannot solve is simple.
If one can endure until the fated moment when heaven’s wisdom descends, investing time and effort, even the commonplace can surpass a genius’s achievement.
The secret of the Indulgence Talismans too, no matter how the Vatican and I conceal it, will surely be uncovered someday by someone else’s hand.
Therefore, if Watson’s supposition were correct, the Tsar ought to be afraid.
For others might discover how to use the treasure.
Yet instead of fearing, he sat in the hotel, peddling ominous prophecies.
That meant he was confident others would not uncover the secret in time.
A power that even an Unrestrained Realm Kung-Fuist cannot control would be released in three days.
The truth implied by that fact was only one.
“This time, I will ask.”
Watson’s eyes gleamed, anticipating the question to come.
And then.
“What do you think is the oldest flame on earth.”
“Uh… Prometheus?”
Wrong.
“Fire existed before human history began. A tree struck by lightning catches fire as well.”
“I cannot tell what intent lies behind your question.”
“Think again why a limit of three days was given. It means that when that day comes, something will occur that even the original owner, the Tsar, cannot control.”
I saw Watson’s pupils slowly widen.
“How many things are there that a queen and an emperor, who rule the mightiest empires in the world, cannot bend to their will. At most, death, the weather, and—”
“…Nature.”
I nodded in affirmation.
“What is inside the treasure is a beast.”
“If a beast, what beast do you mean?”
“One that does not submit to human authority, and that has ranged freely across earth and sky since before myths were even born.”
“What does a beast have to do with fire?”
To her, muttering with a face that said this was absurd, I gave the answer.
“Did I not say it was the oldest fire?”
“Surely not…”
“A beast that builds its nest in boiling magma. You’ve heard of it. In Russia, bordering Midfield, it is seen often enough, and even appears in folk tales.”
It was late May, the tail end of spring.
The threshold of summer, when Fire Qi grows strongest in the year.
“A bird that, hearing the voice of its hatched young, flies in carrying prey from hundreds of kilometers away.”
The leader of winged spirit beasts with red-glowing feathers, said to bring both blessing and ruin to whoever captures it.
The season had come when the ancient spirit beast, the Vermilion Phoenix, would fly in search of its child.