Chương 12: Pulling on Threads

The knights hauled Professor Morris out, and a silence fell over the office. What just happened? Illegal use of memory magic? And what the heck is a 'Memory Void'? No, that's too many questions you won't be able to answer for now. Clara pressed her palms against her cheeks. Assess the situation; look at the evidence. The professor, who'd just agreed to help her, was detained for illegal use of memory magic and something called a 'Memory Void'.

Putting the void thing aside for now, since she had no idea what that was, both Iris and Professor Morris himself had confirmed he had approval from the Church to research memory magic. If so, then why did they come for him now? Was he being framed by someone—maybe even the Church itself—or did he somehow act outside the bounds of his permission? She looked around the office. She thought it had already been as messy as it could possibly get, but the four intruders proved her wrong.

If the professor was conducting illegal experiments, isn't this a crime scene? Why did they let me stay here? The answer to that, of course, was simple: the people of this world thought they didn't need evidence. All they needed was the Blessing of Truth. But as Clara had proven in the High Court, sometimes the blessing couldn't be further from the truth. She chuckled. Good one, Casewell.

Thanks to the inquisition's overreliance on magic, Clara had a unique opportunity that lawyers almost never got—unrestricted access to a suspected crime scene with no supervision. It was time to investigate. She started with the professor's leather notebook, which lay open on the floor where he'd dropped it. Most of it was barely legible scrawl that reminded her of a doctor's handwriting.

Drawings of what looked like brain anatomy sat next to Latin incantations, many of which looked nonsensical or grammatically incorrect to her. If Professor Morris was anything to go by, this world's understanding of the so-called 'Sacred Tongue' seemed superficial at best. Clara carefully flipped through the pages, and when she was nearing the end, she stopped. Something felt off. She held it under the light filtering through the window and ran her thumb along the spine.

There were gaps in the thread that stitched the pages together. Not many, but decidedly there. Meaning some pages were torn out. She set the notebook aside and began a systematic sweep of the office; perhaps the missing pages were hiding within the mess. If she had her minions here—the juniors and paralegals who reported to her at Caine, Polis & Smith—they would've been able to carefully review everything inside the room. But alone, Clara would have to prioritize.

Thankfully, she'd learned from years of due diligence data rooms that the key to finding something important wasn't knowing what you were looking for—it was noticing what didn't belong. Books on magical theory? Expected. Pens, quills, inkpots, empty teacups? Also expected. A half-eaten ham sandwich of suspicious age? Unfortunate but not unexpected, considering the professor's general state of organization.

She moved the stacks of paper carefully, checked behind the bookshelves, and even got on her hands and knees to look under the desk. That's when she saw it. Wedged between two floorboards, partially hidden by a crumpled sheet of parchment, something was catching the light. Clara reached for it, her fingertips pulling on the cool metal until she pried it free. A small brooch. Silver setting, with a diamond at its center. Clara held it up, turning it slowly.

Something gaudy like this certainly didn't match Professor Morris's checkered-scarf-and-rumpled-vest aesthetic. She'd been to enough galas to know this was the kind of accessory worn by someone who wanted others to know exactly how much money they had. But if it wasn't the professor's, then whose was it? For it to get stuck between the floorboards, whoever owned it would've lost it by crawling under the desk just as she had been.

It could have been a visitor, someone who'd ended up trying to help the professor search for something, for example. Maybe even the glasses from earlier. Or it could have been someone else. Someone unexpected. She slipped both the notebook and the brooch into one of her inner pockets. I wonder how many rules of evidentiary law I'd have just broken. If those nags in the discovery practice could see me now, they'd all have aneurysms.

Afterwards, Clara spent another hour sorting through the office's contents, but nothing else seemed out of place or noteworthy, and the missing pages were nowhere to be found. She straightened her apron, then stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her. The bell tower atop the main lecture hall rang, signaling the start of the lunch period.

Clara, who'd just finished sending a letter to the duke to inform him of what happened and what she planned to do, was waiting outside the Mathematics classroom, scanning the students who poured out until she saw the silver drills she'd been looking for. She couldn't help but notice how well the Claves uniform suited Iris. The fitted navy jacket, with golden keys stitched over the breast pocket, sat neatly on her figure, and the pleated skirt fell just below her knees.

A burgundy ribbon was tied at her collar in place of the standard white one most students wore—naturally, Iris von Rhenia would never leave out her family colors. But when Clara was about to call for Iris, a different voice rang out.

"You!" Crown Prince Lochlann strode down the corridor towards Iris. His auburn hair was slightly disheveled, and his collar was loosened. The students in the hallway, who'd been buzzing with post-lecture chatter, fell quiet almost instantly, making way for the prince. A flicker of worry passed over Iris's face, which quickly gave way to the serene mask she wore at the trial.

"Your Highness," she said with a curtsy, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Don't." Lochlann stopped an arm's length from her, jaw tight. Whatever boyish charm might have emanated from his princely features was lost thanks to the anger in his eyes. A dramatic post-breakup confrontation in the school hallways? Why is it that clichés run wild whenever the Crown Prince appears? Clara stepped behind Iris in a show of support, making sure the girl noticed her presence.

"You know exactly why I'm here. The letter that your father sent. What do you think gives you the right to cancel an engagement with royalty?!" Lochlann's voice rose. Whispers arose from the surrounding students. Well, if they didn't know about the broken engagement before, they certainly do now. It's nice that the prince was dumb enough to let everyone know it was Iris who left him.

"I'm sure you'll recall that the engagement contract allowed either party to back out at any point." This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"But that was meant for—""Meant for what, Your Highness?" Iris tilted her head.

"For you to have the option to change your mind, but not me?"

"Do not pretend we are equals," said the prince.

"Of course we are not equals." Iris's voice didn't waver, but her fingers wrapped themselves tightly around the strap of her satchel.

"I would never kiss the hand of another while my betrothed stood accused before the Pope herself." Holy shit. You go, girl! The silence that followed was so thick Clara almost worried they could hear her chewing on her imaginary popcorn. Did this world even have popcorn? Lochlann's face reddened.

"That was—Helena was the victim! She was frightened, and I was comforting her! You of all people should understand, since you were the one who—""Who was found innocent? Yes, I do recall. I was there."

"The charges were dropped because Helena showed mercy. That is not the same as innocence! You still acted dishonorably against her out of jealousy." Clara's hands clenched at her sides. The more the prince spoke, the more whatever enjoyment she'd been getting out of this was quickly being replaced with annoyance—or worse.

"Your Highness." Iris took a single step forward, clutching her satchel tightly.

"Since I acted so shamefully, and as you are so concerned with Lady Helena, then should you not be relieved at my father's decision? What is your motive for marching here with such fury, given that what happened grants you exactly the outcome you so wanted?" He flinched as Iris spoke. It didn't seem he had a reply ready for that.

"Oh, I think I understand." Her voice carried a childlike wonder, as if she were excited to share an interesting discovery.

"Could it be that His Majesty is upset with you, as your behavior damaged the royal family's relations with a critical noble house? Did the outcome of the trial and Papa's letter rob you of the opportunity to paint this as my failing, and not yours?"

"I never asked for the engagement to be broken. You presume too much."

"Of course. My apologies for daring to presume the Crown Prince's wishes." She curtsied, then turned around, giving him her back.

"Prince Lochlann, as you well know, the end of our engagement was Papa's decision, not mine. If you have an issue with how it was handled, you are welcome to write to Duke von Rhenia. Now, I have other matters to attend to." She walked away from the scene briskly, and Clara followed. They rounded the corner and were halfway down the next hall before Iris spoke, her voice very small.

"Was that alright?" Clara squeezed her arm.

"That was magnificent, my lady." Iris let out a shaky laugh that was half a sob.

"I feel like I'm going to be sick."

"That's normal. I've felt like that too, after important negotia—" Clara coughed.

"After serving important guests at the estate." Iris pressed her hands to her eyes, took a deep breath, then released it. Her serene mask was back in place, though the redness around her eyes betrayed her.

"Did you need to speak to me about something, Clara? I thought I'd only see you in the evening. Did you visit Professor Morris?"

"About that, my lady. I wanted to ask your leave to go to the city garrison."

"The garrison? Why?" Clara glanced behind them. With the students now all gone for lunch, the corridor was empty, but she lowered her voice anyway.

"Professor Morris has been detained."

"What?" Iris's voice came out flat.

"Knights came into his office when I was talking to him. They suspect him of using memory magic illegally, and causing something called a Memory Void." Iris's eyes widened." Professor Morris? A Memory Void? There must be some mistake."

"What's a Memory Void, my lady?"

"Oh. Right." Iris looked at her with pity.

"A Memory Void occurs when all of someone's memories are removed, then their magical energy is severed so they can't create new ones. It essentially makes them a lifeless puppet, an entity that can't even register what it is experiencing, and it's almost impossible to revert. Needless to say, it's highly cruel and illegal." Clara gulped. Now that's a horrifying thought.

"I don't think the professor would ever do something like this," said Iris. Clara nodded.

"He didn't seem like the type to harm anyone."

"Meet me at the academy gates after class, Clara. I'll go with you to see the professor."

"That's unnecessary, my lady. You were absent for weeks—you have studies to catch up on," objected Clara.

"Of course it's necessary. Do you think they'll just let a servant walk into the garrison?" Iris raised her hand above her mouth.

"But me? I am Iris von Rhenia! Oh ho ho!" Clara and Iris followed a knight into one of the garrison's holding cells, where Professor Morris was being kept. The cave-like stone room would've been big enough to hold quite a few people, but the professor was by himself, sitting on a narrow bench against the far wall. The knight closed the metal door behind them and left the trio alone. Clara was thankful she'd listened to Iris—as soon as the girl told them her name, the men at the garrison became quite obliging.

She turned to the professor. He looked even more disheveled than this morning: his checkered scarf had come undone, hanging limply over his shoulder, and to call his vest 'wrinkled' would be generous.

"Lady Iris? Miss… Casewell, was it? What are you doing here?"

"Professor Morris. I have your class on Thursday, you know. This won't do at all," said Iris. The professor chuckled.

"I apologize, my lady. It does not seem like I will be returning to Claves."

"And why ever not?"

"I've been told they're sending over an inquisitor, since there isn't one posted to Westwick. I'll be put on trial tomorrow." Tomorrow? I know everyone complains about the courts being too slow, but surely there's such a thing as 'too fast'. Then again, when all you need to do is interrogate the accused with magic, I guess there isn't much preparation to be done to judge somebody.

"Do you mean to say the Blessing of Truth won't exonerate you, professor? Surely you'd never cause a Memory Void."

"Of course I would never intentionally do that. But… I did use memory magic on a student. And we know how volatile that kind of magic is."

"You did what?" Iris raised her hand to slap him, but Clara grabbed her arm.

"My lady, perhaps we should listen to the professor's full story before dishing out punishment." Iris cleared her throat.

"Yes, quite."

"Professor, can you tell us what happened?"

"Hmm." He looked at the two of them carefully.

"Yes, I suppose I can. Yesterday around noon, one of my pupils from the Spellweaving Club came to my office after practice—Forrest Lorne. He is usually bright and cheerful, someone everyone can rely on, but yesterday he was quite devastated, like he'd lost the will to live."

"Forrest? He's not in my class, but I've heard of him. He's quite well known, for a commoner. Supposedly very good at earth magic." Professor Morris nodded.

"Why was he so depressed?" asked Clara.

"I… I can't say. He made me promise not to. It's a personal issue, but suffice to say, it was quite an unpleasant experience for young Forrest. And that's why he asked me for a favor. He wanted me to tweak his memory of the incident, to make the pain bearable."

"Casting memory magic on other people is the sole domain of the Church. Even a research permit only lets you test on animals or on yourself," said Iris.

"That is correct, Lady Iris. I'm glad to hear you remember my lecture on that." He sighed.

"Yet Forrest is one of my brightest pupils, and he was practically begging me. Seeing him like that broke my heart. I wanted to help him."

"I see. So you did tamper with someone's memories."

"Yes. But when I finished, he was fine. We ran through all the tests; I examined his magical energy, I even walked him back to his dorm. What I did shouldn't have caused a Memory Void."

"Is memory magic the only way to cause a Memory Void? Would it be possible for it to occur naturally or through some form of poison?" asked Clara. Morris shook his head.

"No. It can only result from magically tampering with memories. I thought my spell went fine, but if that's how Forrest is now, I can't see another explanation besides me making some mistake… There's much we don't know about memory magic, and any slight deviation can cause permanent damage."

"It's too early to say that, Professor." Clara reached into her apron and pulled out the diamond brooch.

"Let me ask you something: do you recognize this? Is it yours?"

"No, I'd never be able to afford something like that. The bulk of my income goes to magic books, artifacts, and tools."

"Where did you get that, Clara?" asked Iris.

"I found it in the professor's office. Do you think it might belong to Forrest?" Iris shook her head.

"Definitely not. That's far too expensive for a commoner, unless they come from a wealthy merchant family, which the Lornes most certainly are not."

"You say you found it in my office?" The professor eyed the brooch curiously.

"That's odd. I can't think of anyone I met there who'd have worn something like this." Odd indeed.

"There's one other thing." This time she handed him the notebook, and pointed to the loosened threads.

"There are pages missing here. Do you remember what was on them?" The professor took the notebook and flipped through its pages. His eyes widened.

"My notes… the notes I took when I was preparing the spell for Forrest. They're not here. Why are they gone?" Her gaze met the professor's. He seemed genuinely baffled. Clara's instincts were practically screaming at her that there was more to this story, that it wasn't just a case of an unfortunate side effect. And she still needed the professor to help her with her own memory—which required him not to be jailed or executed.

"Professor Morris," she said, "I don't believe you're guilty of causing a Memory Void. Will you let me defend you in court tomorrow?"