Charles and Joseph took seats at a corner table. Before Charles could begin describing the dreams that had plagued him, Joseph raised a hand, his expression tense and cautious.
"Wait," Joseph whispered. His voice was scarcely audible above the tavern's murmuring. "Too many ears here. This is serious, right? Let's wait until we're somewhere quiet. For now, talk about something else. Maybe fill me in on your last case."
Charles sighed and rolled his eyes at his friend. "Why? Just read the bulletin next week; the details will be published then."
Joseph grimaced dramatically. "Waiting that long would be torture! Come on, I want to hear it now."
Charles let a sly grin surface. "Nope," he teased, the single word laced with good humor.
Joseph merely smiled back. He fished into his coat pocket and signaled for a waiter, ordering a large and ludicrously expensive bottle of choice wine. He set it on the table between them, gesturing grandly.
"What a shame. I thought I'd treat you as thanks if you told me your detective stories, but—" He moved to slide the bottle back toward himself.
Charles's gaze flicked hungrily to the wine. He swallowed thickly, gripping the bottle's neck and pulling it toward him. They briefly wrestled for control like two children over a sweet, until Charles finally yanked it free, wearing the triumphant smile of a victor.
"No need to go that far," Charles laughed. "But if you insist on treating me, who am I to refuse?"
"Oh, your consideration truly stands out, doesn't it?" Joseph said with a playful pat on Charles's shoulder, prompting a chorus of shared laughter.
Charles set the wine aside—he wouldn't uncork it just yet. Then, as promised, he gave Joseph the rundown of his latest cases.
The first involved a maid bent on vengeance, who had poisoned her employer and a visiting noble. Investigating the background, Charles discovered the employers had framed the maid's father, destroying her family and pushing her to infiltrate their household for revenge. That thread in turn led to an unsettling situation at an orphanage—a place that supposedly cared for the poor but, in truth, sold its children to unsavory buyers. Joseph grew notably solemn as Charles recounted that part.
Another case concerned a remote village afflicted by a strange sickness causing severe physical contortions, almost as if the villagers had been cursed. The culprit turned out to be a fungus contaminating the local grain supplies, spurred by poor harvest and storage methods. Further digging showed that someone had deliberately used the fungus to commit murder.
By the time Charles finished, Joseph nodded slowly. "They're both compelling stories. That first one shows how a single act of corruption can push an entire family into ruin. The second underscores how powerful obsessions can twist even something like a mere fungus."
They discussed the cases a while longer, chatting until the tavern emptied for closing time. A staff member arrived to clear their plates, and Charles put down money before Joseph could offer—smiling wryly at his friend's attempt to pay.
"You treated me to this unreasonably costly wine, so let me cover the food."
The food itself cost a crusédo and four denarius, while the wine Joseph paid for was five hundred crusédo. A vast difference.
"All right," Joseph said, standing. "As for that dream of yours, let's talk about it in private. We'll need to get serious."
Charles nodded in agreement. He felt that his dream demanded deeper analysis.
With business done, they left the tavern as it closed. Joseph's carriage awaited them outside; they climbed in, planning for Joseph to drop Charles at his home before returning to his estate. The night air was cold, thick with a hush that accentuated the sound of the horses' hooves.
They settled into the plush cushions of the coach, both men quiet, lost in thought. Through the window, they glimpsed the city under a dim glow of street lamps, silhouettes of buildings slipping by. The chilly breeze seemed to whisper warnings, and Charles tensed involuntarily, feeling a murky dread tug at his heart.
As the carriage rattled through the darkness, Joseph turned to Charles, his expression somber.
"Now that it's just the two of us," he said softly, "tell me every detail of that dream. I want to hear it all."
Charles drew a long breath and closed his eyes momentarily to focus, then began to speak.
"I saw a furious ocean battered by rain and thunder. Two ships locked in savage battle, neither side yielding. Then something impossible happened—space itself distorted, destroying everything in the blink of an eye."
His voice quavered. "I realized I was on one of those ships, with someone whose face looked so much like yours. We both got hammered by that strange force but somehow survived thanks to a fog of some sort, then tumbled into the freezing sea."
He clenched his hands. "After that, everything was a blur. All I remember is a piece of drifting wood slamming my head, knocking me out. Just before I lost consciousness, I saw… you… swimming toward me."
Charles hesitated. "It felt so real that I can't dismiss it as an ordinary dream. I even had a shorter dream like it on my way back to the capital. Both were so vivid—like memories."
Joseph exhaled, gaze grave. "That wasn't just a dream, Charles. It was part of your missing memories."
Silence reigned for a moment before Charles spoke again. "My memories?"
"Yes. Two years ago, I was returning from Sarnia. Our ship got ambushed by pirates."
"Pirates?" Charles's eyes widened.
Joseph shrugged. "Yes, pirates attacked. Why so shocked?"
"Which ship were you on?"
"A royal vessel. Why?"
"Did you have an escort fleet?"
"Of course, we had several ships accompanying us."
Charles tipped his head back against the carriage, pressing his fingers to his temples as though struggling to process this.
"So there was an escort fleet, but the pirates still dared attack? What were they thinking?"
Joseph spread his hands. "I don't know. But it happened."
"Did they have more numbers?"
"No. They actually had fewer ships."
"Less manpower… yet they still attacked a guarded convoy? That makes no sense."
Joseph let out a weary breath. "In the end, we nearly wiped them out, leaving only their last vessel. Suddenly, the sky turned strange, and a violent storm hammered us. Our own remaining ships sank, leaving just mine and that final pirate ship. And the rest was exactly what you saw in your dream."
Charles's face tightened. "I've spent two years searching for any clue to that day, and it's only now that my memory returns, piece by piece, through… dreams. It's insane."
He paused, brow furrowing in deep thought. "What about that destructive force, or the fog that saved me? Do you know anything more than what I saw?"
Joseph shook his head. "Not really. I only know as much as you do."
He peered at Charles. "But do you remember anything from before that? Anything leading up to the sea incident?"
Charles frowned. "No. Everything before that is a complete blank."
Joseph was quiet a moment before speaking. "I remember you were dressed differently from us. It looked like clothing from Sarnia."
"Yeah, I got that impression too… That's why I've been saving money to go there. Maybe I'll find some lead about who I was."
Joseph nodded, a hint of a smile forming. "Keep at it. Maybe being there in person will help jog the rest of your memories."
Charles's expression hardened suddenly. "Wait a minute… You're saying I should go myself, like you tried investigating me from Sarnia behind my back?"
He stared at Joseph accusingly.
Those bright blue eyes met his evenly. "We did have people check for any record of you there, yes. We hoped to find something but came up empty."
"Why didn't you bring me along?"
Joseph sighed. "At that time you could barely speak coherently, remember? You'd been confined for questioning, and you had to relearn everything. It was simpler to ask local contacts to gather info than to lug you around."
Charles opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, deflating. Joseph was right. Early in his amnesia, Charles had trouble communicating with anyone, had been quarantined under suspicion, and needed to relearn basics from scratch.
Meanwhile, Joseph had faced severe fallout. He was the only survivor from his diplomatic party; the rest had drowned when the ships sank, which let Joseph's political enemies hold him responsible for that tragedy, even though it wasn't his fault.
"Yeah, I remember. I was basically a newborn, babbling nonsense, locked up under investigation…" Charles trailed off, sighing.
Joseph shifted. "Anyway, if your memories come back, what then? Got any plans?"
Charles hesitated, thinking carefully. "I'm not sure. If it turns out I have a family or friends there and they're decent people, maybe I'll stay with them for a while, to make up for lost time. But if they're bad news… I'll probably keep living here. I do like it here—apart from how the law can be skewed in favor of crooked officials," he added wryly.
Joseph chuckled. "Couldn't agree more. That kind of corruption needs fixing." Then he arched an eyebrow. "Earlier, you were grilling me about those pirates, but you never asked why I went to Sarnia in the first place. Aren't you curious?"
He gave Charles a sly, almost challenging look.
Charles snorted. "No thanks. I'd rather not get arrested for knowing too many state secrets."
Joseph gave a hearty laugh, but something in his eyes flickered evasively, making Charles grin in return.
"Right," Charles said, snickering quietly, "you sneaky—"
They both broke off, laughter echoing softly in the carriage's interior as the night wore on.