Notes:

This chapters marks the first appearance of Yor Forger, Matthew McMahon, and the Shopkeeper in this fanfic.

Irony is a powerful tool. There is something distinctive about feeling irony while reading a mystery. The reader knows just a bit more than the protagonists do, yet the reader is still as clueless as the protagonists are.

Similar to chapters two and three, there is a secret message hidden in this chapter! The secret message is hidden closer to the end of this chapter. Test your abilities and try to find the hidden message.

Enjoy Chapter 4.

Index

"Bolded text in quotation marks is not direct dialogue. Instead it highlights what each character thinks about to oneself."

"Text in italics is not direct dialogue either. It is a subtext which deciphers original dialogue. It is used to provide the deciphered spy dialect for the reader."

Text surrounded by double asterisks is dialogue communicated through a radio or a phone call.*

Chapter 4 – A Carduus in the Garden

April 29, 13:19 PM – The Garden

Yor Forger was also pulled into the day's events quite abruptly. For Yor, the day started peacefully. But, her peaceful enjoyment of the day transformed in a matter of minutes. Shortly after 13:00, Yor was called to that one room in the Berlint City Hall. In that room, she received a phone call from the Shopkeeper. The Shopkeeper told Yor that she must get to the garden as quickly as she can. Initially, Yor interpreted this urgency as a last-minute client she needed to take care of. It was past noon and she did not yet have lunch. That coincidence was a perfect opportunity for her to step out of her workplace. If lucky, then she could get everything done within an hour.

Yor arrived to the garden. It has been a while since she visited the garden. During mid spring, the garden's plants did not yet bloom to their fullest extent. Conifers, grasses, shrubs, and some tulips were the few plants that were green and blooming. A lot of the trees and flowers had not leafed out. Some plants had visible buds while some plants appeared completely dormant. Despite this difference in the garden's vegetation, it was still a beautiful place to visit. Even in the dormant winter months, the garden was beautiful. In the current moment, it was spring time. A time of freshness, hope, romance, and life. Usually, Yor was fascinated by the garden's beauty; however, this time she felt different. The day was warm, the sky was clear, and the sun was illuminating the garden's colors. Despite all of these soul-warming elements of nature, being in the garden felt different. There was tension in the air. A form of tension that triggered a compulsion in Yor's mind. Something unsettling must have happened. None of the garden's guards spoke a word. They just silently directed her to meet with the Shopkeeper. Yor walked out to the garden's yard. There she saw the Shopkeeper and there she saw her fellow affiliate Matthew McMahon. The Shopkeeper's long garden shears were planted into the ground in front of his boots. His hands were on top of the shears and he was looking sternly down at the shears as if it was a sword. McMahon's stance was simpler. He held a formal posture with his hands in front of him. His face as blunt as one could remember. Both of them were silently standing and waiting for Yor's arrival.

"We have been waiting for you," the Shopkeeper said as Yor approached them closer.

"Hello," Yor answered, "good afternoon. I hope I didn't make you wait too long."

"Not too long," the Shopkeeper answered, "but you are the last one who is currently uninformed."

"Uninformed? Did something happen?" Yor asked in response. This dialogue felt different than her usual experiences in the garden. Usually, the dialogue was pragmatic and straightforward; she would be assigned a new target with no extra words spoken. Now, however, there were certain news. News that she was not aware of.

The Shopkeeper looked down at the ground. His face showed some signs of grief. He had the expression of a military commander who was looking down at the grave of his soldiers.

"I regret to inform you about some unsettling events," the Shopkeeper began formally, "this afternoon, two members of the Garden were killed."

Immediately, the unsettling news had done its deed of sowing disturbance into Yor's mind. She did not personally know any other Garden members, but it was the first time in her entire career that she heard about other members being killed. Yor was struck with disbelief and she made no effort to hide it in her expression. Her eyes widened and she gasped lightly.

The Shopkeeper stood still while looking down at the ground. The old and experienced Matthew McMahon took a brief moment to prop up his glasses with one finger. That act seemed innocent to everyone around him, but only Matthew knew the true intent of that act. He propped up his glasses to distract his mind from descending into a state of complete grief.

"Who was killed?" Yor asked. Not that their profiles were important to her, but it was the only question she could think of asking.

"The Ivy Inquisitor and the Bixaceae Baron," the Shopkeeper answered - still looking down at the ground.

"H . . . how?" Yor stammered.

"Apparently," Matthew took over the conversation, "both of them were in the Central Town Square when they were attacked. There was a fight. Both of them were killed by a single assailant. The assailant was disguised as a greaser and he got away before the police arrived. It is all we know right now."

That information was only the little amount of information he managed to gather in the short span of time. It was only an abstract of the events. However, that abstract was more than enough to unsettle everyone involved in the conversation. To kill a member of the Garden was an impossible feat. Even on board of thePrincess Loreleian entire team of professional mercenary assassins were not enough to take down a single member of the Garden. Now, two members of the Garden were taken down by a single assassin in broad daylight; in the middle of a public area. The contrast of those two situations generated a new feeling of alert. A feeling of alert and an extreme feeling of threat that they never felt so close before. The danger would not have been as alarming if it was not as dark and mysterious. Someone attacked the Garden organization, but who did it and why? The answers to those questions were in the dark as were the answers that each one of them wanted.

"I'm . . .I'm . . ." Yor stammered.

"You don't have to say anything," the Shopkeeper calmed her down.

Yor stopped stammering. Then, she quietly and calmly nodded her head. There was a brief pause.

"We are currently investigating the matter," Matthew continued, "but, I have reasons to believe that this attack has a demonstrative intent."

"What was is it supposed to demonstrate?" Yor asked.
"It demonstrates how serious our newcomers are. They show their intention of going after us regardless of where we are. If this afternoon one assailant managed to kill two Garden members in the heart of the city, then they can get us anywhere."

Matthew's conclusion was just a simple assumption. That simple assumption held an unpleasant truth. The Garden was attacked by an anonymous opponent. The opponents first strike was rather heavy. If that strike was only the starting strike, then the worst was yet to be unleashed. That harsh truth sank into everyone's comprehension.

"Regardless of this incident," the Shopkeeper finally raised his head, "our organization will continue to operate as usual until further noticed."

He then turned his head to face Yor.

"You will be informed if you are needed to take care of any clients. For now, we just want to warn you. Be on guard and look out after yourself."

"Yes. I understood," Yor confirmed.

"We have nothing left to discuss. You should return back to your workplace."

Yor once again nodded in acknowledgement of the Shopkeeper's concluding statement. Then, she turned away and she slowly walked out of the garden. She silently walked back the same way she arrived. None of the guards slowed her down. None of the guards spoke a word. As she left the place, she felt a heavy weight on her mind. The weight of a heavy worry and the weight of a heavy anxiety. The Thorn Princess knew how dangerous her job is. She knew that her job could cost her life. Yet, despite the dangers of her job and despite facing the odds numerous times, the Thorn Princess always prevailed. Over time, the feelings of danger and worry melted away. For a moment, it even seemed that peace was established because she did not have to deal with any clients for a long time. All of that peace and serenity was now gone. A new enemy was at their threshold. A serious enemy who can inflict heavy strikes. With two members of the Garden taken down, Yor understood that anyone else could be next. Yor was in disbelief about her emotions, but for the first time in several years the Thorn Princess was fearful.

The Shopkeeper and Matthew McMahon remained in the garden. They waited until Yor was out of their sight. Then the two elderly men spent a few seconds in silence.

"Let us take a walk through the garden," the Shopkeeper said.

"Sure," Matthew answered quietly.

They slowly strolled through the garden. There was little to see in the garden itself, but they were not strolling for sightseeing.

"Are your men investigating?" the Shopkeeper asked.

"Yes," Matthew answered.

"How soon can you get the intel?"

"I hope to get it before the evening."

"That won't do. We need it sooner."

"Getting it sooner is both difficult and risky."

"Our current circumstances are of great risk. Wasting time is not to our advantage."

"I understand our current circumstances. Yet, getting the intel sooner is beyond our capabilities. My affiliates within the State Security Service rebuffed all of the inquires that I sent. Some refused to initiate contact. Some requested to be contacted in six hours."

"Is that refusal related to the current crisis in the city?"

"Yes. A total of five people were murdered. Two were our men and two more are presumed to be SSS officers."

"The fifth one?"

"We're still figuring it out. But if two SSS officers were really murdered, then the entire service is extremely serious about this attack. They locked down the city and now they are ruffling through it. Us trying to get any intel directly from the SSS can cause great trouble. Shall we start getting too nosy the SSS will start suspecting us."

"All is fair. Get the intel at a safe pace, although try to get it quickly."

"Already working on it."

Silence followed. The two men walked about ten paces before McMahon asked.

"Do you have any hypothesis? Who do you think we are dealing with?"

"I think that this attack could have been perpetrated by members of a rival organization," the Shopkeeper answered.

"From Ostania?"

"There is no one else in Ostania expect us. I speculate that our new foes came from abroad."

"That is a rather weighted speculation. Why would our rivals from abroad need to do what they did? Then what about the banal code of conduct? Members of a rival organization would know better than to commit demonstrative attacks on foreign territory; especially, if there was no prelude for them to commit such acts."

"When organizations that live in the shadows confront each other, there is no reason and there are no rules."

McMahon took in that statement with a pinch of salt.

"Let's assume that our newcomers are from abroad. What do they want? To wage war against us?" Matthew asked.

"There is a wide range of reasons to explain their attack. We just need to figure out what that reason is."

"My men are already trying to figure that out. Do you have any plans?"

"Yes. I'll send a polite inquiry to all foreign organizations."

"Is an inquiry from a rival organization something they would bother answering with honesty?"

"Politeness is a powerful tool," the Shopkeeper started, "there may not be a code of conduct, but every organization has a sense of honor. To commit an attack on foreign territory without any declaration or ultimatum . . . such acts are despised by every organization. Shall there be a chance on our side, I will find out who perpetrated this attack. Otherwise . . . I do hope to acquire some support from our rivals. Maybe a pact of neutrality . . . or perhaps a temporary alliance."

"I see," McMahon affirmed.

They spent the next few seconds in silence. After walking about five paces McMahon asked.

"What if these foes were somehow related to our organization?"

The Shopkeeper turned his head towards McMahon. There was a rather alarming appearance on the Shopkeeper's face.

"What do you mean?" the Shopkeeper asked.

"I'm talking about loose ends," McMahon replied.

"Loose ends?" the Shopkeeper asked alarmingly.

"Yes, loose ends. Someone who got more intel about us than we thought or someone who we failed to neutralize."

"Matthew," the Shopkeeper started, "there are no loose ends in the Garden! The Garden does not leave any loose ends behind. You know that better than anyone."

"I know that. But, in our line of work absolute guarantees do not exist."

The Shopkeeper stopped walking in the middle of the garden's trail. Matthew walked a few more steps forward before stopping as well. Matthew turned around to face the Shopkeeper. The Shopkeeper was agitated.

"Matthew," the Shopkeeper began, "if these deadly newcomers were somehow related to our organization, then we have made a terrible miscalculation."

A quick pause full of tension took place.

"I reckon that we could have made such a miscalculation," Matthew admitted with some sense of dereliction, "I'll start reviewing our operations to identify any loose ends."

"No, you don't understand how terrible it is," the Shopkeeper repeated with more agitation.

Another moment of silence took place. The two elderly men exchanged a tense glance.

"If this attack is somehow linked to a loose end on our behalf," the Shopkeeper speculated, "then our foes know our organization from the inside. That is the worst possible scenario."

Then, the Shopkeeper took a pause in his speculation. It was not a dramatic pause. It was a pause of terror. The more the Shopkeeper thought about his own theory, the more terrorized he became. A gloomy thought rooted into his mind. A thought of great unsettlement.

At last, the Shopkeeper concluded his theory with a harsh closure, "in that condition, both of us are as good as dead."

Another pause full of silent terror occurred. This time, both men were affected by the realization of a possible compromise.

"I guess it is time for me to make a few arrangements," McMahon said.

"Get it done," the Shopkeeper answered.

Their slow stroll through the garden came to an end. The two men split up and each one of them proceeded to carry out their pre-discussed tasks.

April 29, 13:20 PM – Western District of Berlint - 6379 Vettin Street

The investigation on Vettin Street was ongoing. Evidence was collected. Photos were taken. Theories were tested. Conclusions were made.

The coroners examined the two dead SSS officers. Once the primary steps of the investigation were complete, the order was given to clean up the crime scene. Body bags were brought in to put away the deceased officers. With the cleanup in progress, Lieutenant exited the Livius Café. The outdoor air was tense, yet it was better than the stale air inside of the café. He had a hankering to light up a cigarette, yet he had to withhold the urge. Soon, Lieutenant was joined by the senior coroner who walked up to stand beside him. Both of them had just examined the vague crime scene and they made some conclusions. Lieutenant decided to discuss their findings.

"What's the conclusion, Carl?" Lieutenant asked.

"Do you need the full report?" Carl the coroner asked in response.

"A brief report is fine. I'll need to present it for the high command. Submit the full official report without hurry."

"Do you need to write it down?"

"I have a good memory. I'll remember it."

"Alright, listen," Carl exclaimed, "both Merlich and Hedimann were killed by a melee weapon. Each one of them received only a single stab wound, but both of those wounds were lethal. The wounds are distinctive. Merlich was killed with an uppercut strike. The hit punctured his liver, his heart, and his aorta. Instantaneous death. Hedimann suffered a slash wound to his neck. His cervical plexus got severed, so were two jugular veins. Instantaneous death as well. My initial conclusion is that the murders were carried out by a prepared individual."

There was no doubt between them that the murder of the two SSS officers was carried out by a professional. A standard homicide that either of them witnessed for the past several years was simple. There were specific patterns, traits, and characteristics for a standard homicide. None of those things correlated with their current case.

Inappropriate swear words ran through both of their minds at the thought of having to report the details of such a case. The case was especially heavy for Lieutenant. The least he could do before having to report for the high command was to find any valuable clues or facts.

"Can you identify the murder weapons?" Lieutenant asked.

"Only after I conduct closer examination. The wounds were inflicted by non-standard weapons."

"Makeshift weapons?"

"Those were not even makeshift weapons. Two different weapons were used. Both weapons left highly distinctive wounds. None of the two wounds match any standard melee weapons."

"Can you think of anything approximate?"

"I can give you an approximate description of the weapons, but I cannot directly identify them until I examine the wounds closer."

"Anyway, what sort of weapons should we be looking for?"

"Merlich was stabbed with something narrow and pointed. Something similar to a big needle or an awl."

"If that is the case, then can an awl be one of the murder weapons?"

"No, a standard awl is very thin and short. His wound was inflicted by a rather thick and an extremely long awl. I've never seen an awl that big."

Lieutenant absorbed Carl's conclusion. The identification of a murder weapon was a dead end until further examination was conducted.

"Hedimann?" Lieutenant asked.

"He was slashed with something strange. His wound has the pattern of a claw wound" Carl answered.

By the moment Lieutenant heard that last bit of information, his mind became overflown by the absurdity of the crime scene. Two officers were dead. The suspect was gone. The witnesses did not see anything valuable. And there were no valuable clues to follow. Lieutenant let out a brief ironic chuckle filled with grief, anger, and disappointment. He looked up to the clear sky. From the side, it looked like he was questioning fate. His mental disconnection lasted only for a brief moment. Shortly afterwards, he lowered his head back to the eye level.

"How am I supposed to report this to the high command?" Lieutenant asked rhetorically.

"It's simple," Carl answered carelessly, "just tell them that the two hot-headed idiots of our service finally met their Maker."

Lieutenant gave Carl a dirty look.

"Go ahead. Try to convince me that they weren't hot-headed idiots," Carl replied passively without much hassle from Lieutenant's triggered gaze.

Lieutenant quickly chained down his slight irritation. After all, he was talking to a chief coroner of the SSS who was indifferent. Not to mention that Carl's words, despite the libelous context, held some truth.

"Everyone thought of them that way," Lieutenant came to terms with the truth.

"Who didn't tell them that their recklessness would kill them?" Carl asked.

"They didn't care about danger. That's a fact," Lieutenant started, "but could you have envisioned them dying in such a way?"

"When people die, they die. My job is to examine," Carl answered, "in terms of my opinion . . . what can we do? The case is rubbish!"

Before Lieutenant or Carl could continue the conversation, they were approached by a different group of investigators. Yuri Briar stepped out of the newly-approached group.

"Sir," Yuri approached Lieutenant.

"Report," Lieutenant answered.

"We found eight bullets and eight casings on Baumgraten street. It is the .32 caliber. The pistol does not have any fingerprints or a serial number. Furthermore, the barrel of the pistol was filed down; it's technically a smoothbore pistol. That modification makes the firearm untraceable. Based on the expertise it was a standard manufactured pistol, but the perpetrator specifically modified the firearm in order to make it untraceable."

"Simply amazing!"a sarcastic thought filled with irony ran through Lieutenant's mind. The pistol, a strong piece of evidence found at the scene, was too a dead end for the investigation. Without a serial number or ballistic patterns on the bullets, the pistol became a 'ghost gun.' A firearm that cannot be traced and therefore cannot lead to a resolution of the mystery.

"Are we dealing with a privately made firearm?" Lieutenant asked.

"Probably," Yuri answered with a tone of self-loathing.

"Sir," one of the ballistic experts called out from the group of officers, "we also received an update from the dispatch at Main Street in the Eastern District. They found a similar pistol there. A Walther PP with a silencer. No fingerprints. No serial number. Filed down barrel. And two spent bullets of the .32 caliber."

"Any specific leads?" Lieutenant asked.

"Nothing," the ballistic expert answered.

The guns were now a long shot of a clue, but they were still worth following.

"Return back to the headquarters," Lieutenant ordered, "send the directive to investigate all arm dealers in the state. Have our informants investigate all underground dealers; tell them to keep track of any Walthers that were sold in the past two months. Also, issue a directive to investigate the inventories of all SSS and PD armories. Make sure that no weapons are missing. Finally, get in contact with the licensed arm owners in the state and check if anyone's arms were stolen."

"Yes sir," the expert answered reluctantly.

The ballistic experts walked away from the Livius Cafe. They got into one of the service vehicles and drove away towards the main headquarters. Lieutenant, Yuri, and Carl remained standing in front of the café. They took a short moment to absorbed the renewed atmosphere in the city's air. There were no more sirens sounding on Vettin Street. Instead the sirens were echoing elsewhere in the city. Those sounds were somewhere beyond the facades of the buildings on Vettin Street. A sense of a chilling cool overflowed the three servicemen. That sense of cool too became a mystery for each one of them. Either it was a spring breeze that ran through the street or maybe it was a compulsive sense of the crime scene becoming colder. All of them ignored the cool chills. Lieutenant and Yuri ignored it for the sake of their mentality. Carl ignored it because he was indifferent.

"Is there anything else we can do?" Yuri broke the stalemate.

"Lieutenant," a different voice called out from behind the three.

All three turned around to see Officer Chloe Christoff emerging from the Livius Café. This time, Lieutenant decided to skip the formalities. He got straight to the point of asking her about any updates in the investigation.

"Anything new?"

"Most of it is the same as before," Chloe proceeded to answer, "but, some witnesses have identified specific articles of clothing that the suspect was wearing. We have it written down. We also have witnesses who affirm that they will be capable of identifying the suspect if they see him again."

"The barista?" Lieutenant asked.

"The barista recovered from the shock. She is now ready to provide an account of the incident."

"Good," Lieutenant answered with some positive relief. That update was perhaps the only good news he received ever since he arrived at the scene.

"Carl, tell your men to . . ." Lieutenant started as he looked back into the café. But, as he looked into it the main doorway, he saw his order being already complete. His mind and tone changed immediately as he gave a different order, "step aside everyone."

Everyone cleared the pathway in front of the café. Soon, one of the coroners emerged from the café, he got outside and he held the door open for those who followed him. Following him were two stretcher trolleys. Each trolley was loaded with a body bag. The personnel pushing the trolleys silently carted their way out of the café.

A new wave of rushing emotions hit everyone. Lieutenant and Carl were flooded with a sense of guilt and disappointment. On the other hand, the young officers Briar and Christoff were filled with shock and fear. Both of them believed that they recovered from the awful sense of shock. Both believed that they could handle seeing their dead comrades a second time; especially, when the bodies were concealed within body bags. Yet, both of them found themselves lost in shock once again. Shock was a little problem compared to the fear. There was something distinctive that they felt once they saw the body bags.

Being in their early twenties, both Chloe and Yuri barely crossed the threshold into adulthood. But, their minds were still young and unripe. Despite everything that either one of them experienced in their lifetime, the pair of young officers were never familiar with the horrors that were familiar to the older generation. Their young minds were still highly impressionable and vulnerable to the tremors of misery. The sight of their dead comrades frightened them. Yet, it was not the fear of seeing a dead person nor the fear of death that bothered them. Instead, they were frightened by the shocking realization of the world's harsh reality. A strange absurdity of a harsh reality. The fact that energetic and healthy people could be suddenly put out of existence made both Chloe and Yuri realize how disposable a human life can be. They realized that people must not die in such a way.

As the trolleys were pushed past the small crowd of officers, Lieutenant took off his cap. The old, war-hardened, veteran did so routinely. It was something he got used to doing during the war. After the war ended, he hoped that he would never have to do it again. Yet, now he found himself once again taking off his cap in honor of deceased comrades.

The young officers were shortly startled by Lieutenant's gesture. Soon after, they quickly remembered what that gesture meant and they too took off their caps. The trolleys were carted out onto the street, then they were loaded into the back of the SSS van.

"Carl," the van's driver called out from the van.

"What is it?" Carl responded.

"The other three bodies from Main Street and Central Town Square are packed. Do you need them in the headquarters?"

"Tell them to bring all of them into the morgue in the headquarters."

"Understood," the driver answered.

Carl turned back to Lieutenant.

"I'll get going. Should I call you if I discovery anything?"

"Submit the full report to the higher tier first," Lieutenant answered, "then call me if you do find anything significant."

"Will do," Carl ended the conversation.

The chief coroner then walked away from the Livius Café and he got into the van. The van slowly drove off from the scene. The SSS officers who remained behind watched the van drive out of their sight as it turned around the corner. As the van was gone from their sight, so was their feeling of grief. Lieutenant put his cap back on.

"Alright," he orated, "no one told us to stop working!"

The two young officers quickly put their caps back on as they restored their composure.

"Let's question the barista," Lieutenant said.

He had the intention of entering the café and questioning the barista himself. But, as he turned back towards the café he saw his own reflection in the café's glass façade. Immediately, he saw a menacing aura in his reflection. His reflection made him realize that his stern scarred face was not the perfect candidate for the upcoming task. He looked at the younger officers.

"Christoff, will you be capable of questioning the barista?" he asked Chloe.

"Yes sir," Chloe answered.

"Take off your coat and cap."

"Why sir?" Chloe asked, slightly dumbfounded by the order.

"The person you are about to question is not a criminal detainee. She is an ordinary person who just witnessed something terrible. The very last thing she needs is to be intimidated by SSS officers. Right now, she needs the support from a fellow human being."

There was no need for Lieutenant to explain it further.

"Understood sir," Chloe answered as she started to unbutton her service coat.

"I'll give you a briefing on how to behave and what to ask. Let's clear up the scene," Lieutenant concluded as he stepped back into the Livius Café.

The two young officers remained outside.

"Goodness," Chloe exclaimed nervously as she continued to unbutton her coat.

Yuri silently looked at her. He could not help but notice that Chloe's hands were slightly shaky. As Yuri noticed that little detail, he found himself in an awkward situation. A situation in which he must provide support for a fellow comrade. Right away, Yuri discovered that there was nothing he could think of saying. He remained indifferent and silent.

Chloe finished unbuttoning her service coat.

As she was taking her coat off she remarked, "Just when the whole nation was looking forward to the Exposition in Bonnt."

That remark caught Yuri's attention. The two looked at each other.

"With this lockdown in place . . ." Chloe speculated uncertainly, "do you think that it won't . . ."

Chloe stopped mid-sentence. She realized that there was no purpose in speculating.

The only thing Yuri could think of doing was to encourage her to focus on their current task.

"Let's focus on this current matter," Yuri said.

Chloe silently nodded. The two young officers went back into the Livius Café.