Chapter 121
Jeremy York. He had once been Isaac’s most loyal subordinate. Had he not betrayed him, Isaac might perhaps have introduced him to Sasha as his one and only “friend.” Though now, what use was there in thinking of that?
After Isaac was transferred to the 4th Infantry Regiment in what was practically a demotion, Sergeant York became General Thurston’s adjutant. After that, whenever Isaac had nearly forgotten him, Sergeant York would steadily send letters asking after him. At first, Isaac had not known they would contain such shameless words.
York had always had an astonishing way with words, so Isaac had thought perhaps the first letter might be some miserable plea for forgiveness, and had read it. Then he had torn up that worse-than-useless letter of concern on the spot. After that, anything with York’s name written on it was torn apart or burned without being read.
If he had felt any inclination to reply to that damned bastard’s letter, in a way, it was because of Sasha. In terms of timing, it had been before Sasha was caught lying to him, but because of the things she had once said about him—that he seemed stubborn, as though he knew nothing of forgiveness—he had thought that perhaps even he might change now, and so had answered York’s letter.
There was, in truth, something slightly strange about it. Sergeant York’s letters had always arrived at intervals so regular they were almost irritating, and Isaac found it a little odd that several had been sent during the few weeks he and Sasha had been away at the county.
That was why he had replied.
Isaac had sent his answer about two days after the wedding had been held here. The reply came quickly. So immediately that it was as if York had been waiting for Isaac to write back.
Isaac examined the ordinary-looking brown envelope front and back, even shook it, then settled into his chair. Instead of a letter opener, he used a rough jackknife lying nearby to slit open the edge of the envelope.
Captain. Thank you for replying to my letter.
I had half given up, wondering if I was to be hated forever, but you cannot know how relieved I was that you sent even a brief reply.
Though belated, I would like to congratulate you on your marriage, if only by letter. I heard through rumor that she is a young lady from a very fine family.
It was a letter asking after him in the same casual tone as ever. At the part congratulating him on his marriage, Isaac let out an involuntary snort.
No matter how close Isaac and he had once been, York was not merely moderately cunning; he had always prioritized his own survival above all else. Had his relationship with the general truly soured? No, even if it had, that was no reason for him to send Isaac a letter.
After being transferred to the 4th Infantry Regiment, which was mocked as practically a dead-end post, Isaac was on the verge of retirement. It was quite strange that the calculating York would now seek reconciliation with him, a soon-to-be retired officer, merely to ease his own guilt.
Isaac turned the letter over as it was and took out a match from the corner of the desk. He lit it and brought it close. As soon as the small flame touched the paper, it flared up and burned.
Isaac picked up the still-intact envelope. Then he peered inside. He slipped a finger into the neatly folded corner and stirred it around. It was very familiar. Yes, there had been a time when he and York had exchanged confidential letters in this manner.
Thud. As if meeting his expectations, something fell from inside the folded corner.
It was the torn corner of a piece of paper. One side alone was straight, as if someone had hastily torn off part of a sheet.
A small piece of paper the size of a finger, and written on it was a date.
Date: April 15, 1879
It was a note bearing the date of that day.
Isaac stared at it blankly. In an instant, he was standing in the heart of Selwood Fortress on April 15, amid those terrible days.
Ah, how could he ever forget? Isaac would likely never forget that day until the day he died.
Selwood Fortress had been occupied by rebels from the Duchy of Lukin. Refusing to be absorbed into Serman, it had been one of the prince’s last fortresses, where he had gathered his remaining forces and held position. Isaac had set out from the outpost with some fifty men under his command.
According to the scout report from Northern Command, half of the fortress’s troops had already left long ago. A nearly empty fortress where only minimal resistance was expected. Isaac’s mission had been simple. He was to infiltrate that fortress near Selwood Pass, secure the sensitive materials, and extract them.
The memory of that day was still vivid. It was a day with a moderate veil of fog, and Isaac, following the recommendation in the report, boldly chose to forgo supporting artillery and carry out the operation with a single company alone. The artillerymen, instead, were to draw the enemy’s attention on the western approach.
Isaac and his men advanced along the eastern ridge, treading through undergrowth damp with morning dew.
The moment they neared the fortress, he saw a light flicker above the stone rampart.
Isaac immediately halted everyone and quietly held his breath, looking upward.
After one light, another was added.
Even now, it was a moment he could not forget no matter how he tried. When he blinked again, a blaze of light incomparably larger than before was shining down on Isaac and his men.
Bang! A bullet flew in and pierced through Isaac’s right shoulder.
After that, his memories scattered into fragments. Contrary to the scout report, a large number of troops were stationed there, as though they had been waiting. Isaac immediately ordered a retreat. Bullets poured like rain over the cover behind which they had barely managed to hide.
The one commanding the rebels atop the rampart was a seasoned colonel who had been the prince’s right hand.
It was different from what had been written in the report. A young officer with no proper tactical training.
……It was far too different from what had been written.
Isaac had lain unconscious for nearly an entire week before barely coming to his senses. And when he had only just survived, people had been waiting to point their fingers at him and demand responsibility.
They accused Isaac of falling for the enemy’s shallow ploy, their false information. They claimed the scout report he had received had been a fake forged and sent by the rebels.
……That could not be. The person who had delivered the report to him at the time had been none other than General Thurston’s adjutant.
Isaac, lying there with half his body shattered, had called for the general while barely managing to sit up in bed, too weak even to stand. At that, fierce condemnation and mockery rained down on him, asking how he dared try to drag the general into it.
They were people who had been waiting for Isaac for a long time. People who, out of old inferiority, had been waiting for him to fall.
Isaac had screamed, scraping his throat that could produce nothing but a metallic rasp, and then fainted.
When he woke after fainting again, several more days had passed.
Only then did his surroundings come into view. He saw the funerals of his subordinates who had already died, and the faces of those who, gravely wounded, had been forced into retirement.
Crack. Isaac, clenching his teeth without realizing it, lowered his head toward the desk. He saw his own right hand gouging into the edge of the desk. Just before the nails at his reddened fingertips were about to be ruined, Isaac barely managed to pull his hand away.
What had happened after that?
General Thurston had behaved as if nothing had happened. He had pinned his own mistake on Isaac and sealed his mouth with brazen impudence.
The failure of the operation had been fatal. It had given a spark of hope to rebels on the brink of death, and at the same time dealt a direct blow to the Queen of Serman. Since the queen herself had spoken about that “small duchy” as if making a boast, public opinion among the people of Serman had been even worse.
Isaac recalled the queen’s face, which he had seen only yesterday, and for a fleeting moment was overcome by a strange feeling. Then he looked back at the small corner of paper lying on the desk. Somehow, Isaac felt that even from this tiny scrap, he could know what it had originally been.
Yellowed and faded paper with a fishy smell. Old ink and neat handwriting.
He had the feeling that below it would have been written, “Operation Name: Selwood.”
Isaac carefully moved the small piece of paper to the right side of the desk, then lifted the remaining envelope. He turned it over once more, and as before, carefully brought a lit match to it.
Instead of burning, the paper only blackened. Isaac held it there for several seconds, then threw away the match and checked the inside of the envelope again.
Letters that had not been visible earlier appeared.
Thursday, two o’clock in the afternoon
At my old school.
Seeing the message that so boldly informed him of the date and place, Isaac could not help a wry laugh.
Only for a moment. Soon, he calmly calculated the date.
Thursday. That was tomorrow.
＊＊＊
Ten o’clock in the morning.
Sasha was already dressing for the charity event scheduled for two in the afternoon. Calmly, as if nothing had happened. The same was true not only of her, but of the servants attending her. Sasha looked with a dry gaze at the faces of the servants who asked nothing.
‘Of course. They’re people who have been trained from long ago not to blink no matter what happens.’
Early that morning, as soon as Isaac had left the mansion by carriage, a servant had come to her carrying a basket filled with countless letters. Most were from reporters; scattered among them were letters from the dowager lady’s old acquaintances asking about the truth of the matter, and among those were letters addressed to Sasha that were protests, yet not quite protests.
The latter were people who had once tried hard to curry favor with Sasha. Potential suitors who had wanted to marry her, young people around Sasha’s age who had wanted to become her friends. Most of them were like that.
The final letter was from a businessman. It mentioned some business venture they had discussed in jest at a party, declared that it would be as if it had never happened, and threatened her not to speak of it to anyone else. Since Sasha had never seriously agreed to that business proposal in the first place, she found it somewhat absurd, but decided not to write a reply correcting him just to provoke him.
The mansion was still quiet. Sasha looked in the mirror one last time and checked the shape of her pinned-up hair.
“The carriage is already prepared.”
Jason, the butler, said from where he stood holding the door on the other side.
Sasha accepted the summer shawl the maid handed her, draped it around herself, and looked around at everyone.
“Thank you, all of you. ……But why is no one asking me anything?”
The moment Sasha finished speaking, silence settled over the room. The maid who had been helping her into her dress, and the other maid who had been helping with her hair nearby, said nothing. Without a word, they looked at Jason the butler.
“It seems all of you have had some kind of conversation with Mr. Jason.”
“Mistress. That is……”
“You’re still calling me ‘mistress.’”
Sasha said as she rose from her seat, her face looking almost expressionless.
“……Thank you, everyone.”
And she quietly expressed her gratitude.
“For now, I have a schedule to keep, so I’ll go as planned. It’s a charity event that he has faithfully attended for some time, so I don’t think I should be absent. I’ll pay a high price for his violin and return.”
Sasha walked past the servants, who remained as rigid as stone, and approached Jason, who was holding the door.
“……After that, I’ll explain everything to you. Please wait until then.”
Still, no one, including the butler, could answer. But as if she had expected as much, Sasha turned away with a face that showed little concern.
Then she went down to the first floor, where the carriage was waiting.