Hamoine seated himself with effortless grace and said courteously, “There’s no need for such formality, Captain. It was I who entered your office uninvited—if anyone has been discourteous, it is I.”

  So you do know you’ve overstepped, Douglas thought sourly, though he kept his irritation well hidden behind a strained smile. The man’s rank was far above his own—complaining would do no good.

  He poured Hamoine a glass of water, gesturing toward his own cup. “Would you care for some kokoqi? It’s quite invigorating.”

  “No, thank you. I’ve never developed a taste for that brew,” Hamoine declined with a faint wave.

  Douglas simply nodded and handed him the water. The Chief Director seemed remarkably unpretentious, taking a delicate sip before setting the glass down.

  “I don’t suppose such a distinguished figure as yourself would come all the way to a remote little town like ours without serious cause,” Douglas remarked, adopting a tone of casual conversation.

  Hamoine let out a low, amiable laugh. “Heh… Indeed, Captain, my presence here means the matter must be of considerable importance. Surely you already have some idea.”

  Just as I thought, Douglas mused grimly. He ventured, “The notice I received said the investigative team wouldn’t arrive for another two days. Why have you come ahead of schedule?”

  “That was the original plan,” Hamoine replied smoothly. “But I deemed this situation… peculiar. So I left my entourage behind and came ahead to ensure nothing goes awry.”

  His voice was calm and sincere, yet Douglas’s instincts screamed that something deeper lurked beneath those words.

  They continued their small talk about the case at hand, with Douglas making several cautious attempts to probe for information—all of which Hamoine deflected effortlessly with disarming eloquence.

  By now, more officers had arrived at the station. Hamoine glanced at the ornate watch on his wrist—clearly worth a small fortune—and said politely, “Captain Douglas, it seems your men are all here. If you would be so kind, take me to the site. Duty calls.”

  Douglas could find no reason to refuse. He assembled a team, instructed a few sergeants to maintain order at the station, and soon set off with Hamoine toward the scene of the incident.

  …

  A stag-drawn carriage rolled leisurely through the bustling streets.

  Glenn reclined lazily against the sideboard, while Laville held the reins.

  A young lady in a pristine long dress passed by—a well-bred woman of the middle class, by the look of her.

  Suddenly she felt a faint breeze brush beneath her skirt. Instinctively, she pressed her hands down to hold it, though the gust was too soft to lift such heavy fabric.

  Her cheeks flushed crimson. Glancing around in embarrassment, she hurried away.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Lowering the book he had been using to shield his face, Glenn cast a guilty glance in her direction.

  Seems I still need more practice. But the spell worked—that’s something. He resumed reading, quill pen in hand, making quick notes across the page.

  He had just read about a beginner-level wind incantation, supposedly simple enough for novices, and had impulsively tried it out—only to find, to his surprise, that it actually succeeded.

  The carriage slowed and came to a stop in front of the tavern.

  Glenn hopped down, stretching lazily.

  At this hour, Luther had yet to arrive for work, and the two newly hired men certainly wouldn’t be there either.

  After waiting a short while inside, the tall, lanky Luther finally pushed the door open.

  At the sight of Glenn, he immediately wore a pitiful expression. “Mr. Glenn, when can we start working for real? Sitting idle here every day makes me feel useless!”

  Glenn laughed and reassured him, “Soon, very soon. We’ve already found new hands—you’ll all have plenty to do before long.”

  It took some coaxing, but Luther’s anxiety finally eased.

  Moments later, two men entered, introduced by Laville as the new hires.

  “Good day, sir,” they greeted in unison.

  They looked quite alike—broad-shouldered, sturdy fellows, a bit shorter than Glenn, each sporting a rough beard and an air of honest simplicity.

  “Welcome,” Glenn said warmly. “I’m glad to have you both aboard. Are you brothers, by chance?”

  “Yes, sir,” the heavier one replied. “My name’s Carter, and this is my elder brother, Cargin.”

  “Excellent,” Glenn said with a pleased nod. “You both look like men who know how to work hard. I admire that. The wages are paid daily—does that suit you?”

  “Of course, sir,” Cargin said eagerly. “We haven’t found steady work in quite some time. We’re nearly out of coin for food, so the sooner we can start, the better.”

  “I understand. We’re not quite ready to open just yet—there’s still some preparation to do. But don’t worry; I can pay you both a month’s wages in advance. In the meantime, I’ll be hiring builders to renovate the place. If you can lend a hand, that would be appreciated.”

  “That’s wonderful, sir! We’ll give it our best!”

  The discussion went smoothly. Glenn took a neatly folded document from Laville—a sheet densely covered with writing.

  “This is a work agreement,” he said with a smile. “A legally binding contract. Read it carefully, and once you sign, I’ll pay you your wages for the month.”

  Of course, “legally binding” was pure nonsense; the phrase was meant solely to impress them.

  The brothers studied the paper for a long time. They’d worked in large factories before—strict supervision was common—but this was the first time anyone had mentioned signing a contract.

  At last one of them spoke hesitantly. “Sir, we… we can’t read.”

  Glenn had anticipated that. He smiled reassuringly. “No matter. I’ll explain it. In short, once you sign, you agree to follow the established rules—nothing unreasonable. For instance…”

  He read the contents aloud. The brothers didn’t grasp every detail, but nothing struck them as unfair.

  “All right, we understand,” Carter said. “We just sign our names, yes?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But… we don’t know how to write our names.”

  “…Then I’ll write them for you. You can copy after me.”

  “Good.”

  The deal concluded smoothly. Glenn folded the paper, shook each man’s hand, and said, “Very good. Take some time to familiarize yourselves with the place. I’ll go meet with the construction foreman to discuss the renovations.”

  He had barely stepped outside when Luther hurried after him.

  “Mr. Glenn!” he called.

  Glenn turned, puzzled. “What is it?”

  Luther stopped beside him, looking faintly hurt. “Sir, why didn’t I sign one of those agreements?”

  Because I only wrote the thing last night, Glenn thought with a wry smile. He patted Luther’s shoulder. “That’s not necessary for you. I trust you completely. You wouldn’t break the rules, would you?”

  “Of course not!” Luther said earnestly.

  “Then there’s no need for paperwork, is there?” Glenn said approvingly.

  Luther’s eyes shone. “Thank you for trusting me! I’ll work twice as hard!”

  Glenn nodded, satisfied.

  The town’s construction crew was really just a close-knit group of local laborers. Glenn had heard about them back when he was still selling meat—the same workers had helped build much of Dud Town’s infrastructure.

  Their foreman—or, more accurately, the man everyone called “boss”—was named John, who lived in the western residential quarter.