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Apollo allowed his phone to ring for almost a full half minute before he remembered that he shouldn’t just be standing here listening to the Guitar’s Serenade. He almost didn’t hit the answer button in time.
“Morning, Trucy,” he said pleasantly as he unlocked the office door. “On your way to school?”
“You got it!” Trucy replied. “I just wanted to pass along a message from Dad.”
Apollo froze in the Wright Anything Agency’s doorway. In the time since he’d joined this establishment, he’d learned to dread whatever his boss had up his sleeve, and he swallowed hard in anticipation of the question he knew he had to ask.
“A-A message, huh?” He cursed himself for stumbling over his words. “What message?”
“He said you’re going to have to take care of pretty much everything until I’m done with school,” Trucy told him. “He’s going to be way late getting there today.”
After stepping into the messy office, Apollo frowned in the direction of his phone.
“And he’s actually letting me know this time?” He rounded the couch and headed for his desk. “It must be something pretty important. What’s he up to?”
Trucy hummed in thought.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I saw him doing some stuff with bowls before I left, but he was doing stuff with them yesterday too.”
Apollo continued frowning as he sat down.
“What was in those bowls?” he asked. “Trucy, what the heck is your father up to this time?”
“There was, uh…” Trucy hesitated. “Goo.”
Somehow Apollo managed to frown even harder.
“What do you mean, goo?” he demanded.
“I don’t know!” Trucy replied. “Gloopy white stuff! It was like pizza dough, but really wet and sloppy. And when I sniffed it, it smelled like yoghurt.”
Now it was safe to call Apollo well and truly baffled.
He sighed, leaned forward on his desk, and rubbed his eye.
“You know what?” he said. “I’m sure he’ll explain everything eventually. We might have to wait a few months, but he’ll tell us.”
“Yeah,” said Trucy, “so he said he won’t be at the office until after I’ve gotten there, and I won’t be getting there until after school, so you’re going to have to find some way to keep busy until then. Okay?”
Apollo nodded.
“I got it,” he replied. “See you then, Trucy.”
“Take care, Polly!”
With that, she hung up.
Apollo sighed and slumped back in his chair.
So he was going to be alone for the whole day, was he? And while it was true that the office had seen an uptick in traffic since the Best Defence in the West got convicted of… of so many crimes, that didn’t mean staying here by himself for five or six hours wasn’t going to leave him bored out of his skull.
Good thing he’d made provisions for times like these.
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out the volume of Dr Stone that he’d picked up from the second-hand bookstore a few days back. It was a great series and a fun read, but the volume covers weren’t something Mr Wright would like him exposing to Trucy, misleading though they were.
He flipped open to where he’d last left off and began to read.
“Hey, Polly!”
“AH!” Apollo sat up so fast that Dr Stone flew off his face and crashed to the floor.
From the doorway, he heard two different voices laughing.
“Sorry, Apollo,” he heard Mr Wright chuckle. “Did you fall asleep?”
Mind racing, Apollo snatched his manga off the floor and stuffed it back in his drawer.
“I guess so,” he said, and quickly tried to look Professional as his boss and co-worker entered. “You guys are here at the same time?”
“We ran into each other at the elevator!” Trucy bounced happily over to the couch.
“I didn’t take as long as I thought,” said Mr Wright as she sat down. “Sorry to make you spend the whole day by yourself, Apollo.”
The now-fully-awake Apollo got up from his desk. He managed to tear his eyes away from Mr Wright’s face – man, it was still so weird seeing him without his hat or stubble – and noticed, for the first time, that his boss was carrying something wrapped in cloth under one arm. No, two somethings wrapped in cloth.
“What’s that?” he asked. “Is that what made you late?”
“Uh, yeah.” Mr Wright set his two little packages down on the coffee table. “You want to take a look? I’m pretty proud of what I managed to make.”
Apollo sat down on the couch beside Trucy, who gleefully clapped her hands between her knees.
“Are you ready?” asked Mr Wright.
“Yes!” cried Trucy.
“Whenever you’re ready, Mr Wright,” said Apollo.
With a playful smirk, Mr Wright reached for one of the bundles and gently unwrapped the cloth, and Apollo was hit in the face by a smell that could only be described as delectable.
The cloth fell away, and Trucy gasped in delight while Apollo stared in confusion.
Bread.
It was a loaf of bread.
A loaf burnished with spatters of deep brown amidst powdery white flour, its top bulging from end to end where it had been scored, and the scent wafting away from it was…
…wow.
“Daddy, it looks amazing!” Trucy cheered and bounced in her seat. “Oh my gosh, it smells so GOOD!”
“Mr Wright, I…” Apollo ran a hand over his hair. “I had no idea you were a baker!”
His boss’s smile became bashful.
“A man’s got to have a way to feed his daughter, hasn’t he?” he asked.
Apollo picked up the loaf and turned it around in his hands. It was warm to the touch, with a solid crust that made a hollow thump when he tapped on the bottom, and the amazing smell got even stronger when he brought it closer to his face. It was hard not to just shove the whole thing into his mouth and take a huge bite.
“Is this sourdough?” he asked. “I know sourdough’s got the flour on top and the scoring and stuff.”
“Daddy, you did it!” Trucy chirped. “You baked sourdough!”
Apollo put the loaf down before he was overcome by temptation.
“Is sourdough hard to make or something?” he asked.
“Hard to make?” Mr Wright was staring at him with visible incredulity. “I had to make a starter weeks ago so it would have enough time to ferment! I had to feed it with flour every day and I started baking these yesterday! Sourdough is pretty much the ultimate challenge for any baker, professional or not!”
He slumped into a sitting position on the floor.
“But I did it,” he sighed in satisfaction. “It was exhausting and time-consuming, but I did it.”
After dusting the flour off his fingers, Apollo’s gaze wandered to the second cloth-wrapped bundle.
“Did you make two loaves?” he asked.
“Yeah, I didn’t notice the recipe was for two until I already had a bowlful of dough,” Mr Wright replied. “Don’t worry, Apollo. I’m not going to let it go to waste.”
He stood up and stretched his back.
“Trucy,” he said, “you think you could go get us some butter? Good bread should be enjoyed with good butter, you know?”
“Of course!” Trucy leapt to her feet.
“And Apollo,” said Mr Wright, “I was hoping you could deliver the other loaf for me.”
“Really?” Apollo cocked his head in curiosity. “Who would I deliver it to?”
Klavier lowered the earbud to his desk.
“So what do you think?” asked his friend.
It was difficult not to frown. How could he put this without sounding incredibly hurtful? Would he end up driving his friend crying out of his office?
“It, ah…” He idly traced his finger over the USB sticking out of his laptop. “…it isn’t quite what I expected.”
His fellow prosecutor blinked at him in visible annoyance.
“You didn’t like it, did you?” they asked.
Klavier gave them a small, apologetic smile.
“Darn it all!” Sebastian slapped their hand onto their forehead. “I knew it was going to suck! The fact that I had to drag myself through the finishing bars just so I wouldn’t have to listen to it anymore-”
“It’s a good start, Herr Downy!” Klavier quickly responded. “I’m sure that with a little more work, I might even find a way to work it into my next album!”
Sebastian glared at him from between their gloved fingers.
“You broke up your band, Klav,” they pointed out. “I’m not that stupid.”
A stab of guilt twisted in Klavier’s gut.
“Of course you aren’t,” he reassured his friend. “Please listen when I tell you I don’t hate it. You know what they say about first drafts, ja?”
The composer set their chin in their palm and glared at him.
“So what do you think I should do for the second draft?” they asked.
Klavier closed his laptop’s media player before it ate up too much of the battery life.
“The main melody is quite stirring, Herr Downy,” he explained, “and using piano was an excellent way to make it stand out, but I feel as though you may have tried to push it back somewhat, if that makes any sense.”
Sebastian frowned at the laptop.
“I didn’t want it to be overwhelming,” they explained.
“It’s the main melody!” Klavier pointed out. “I’ve written enough music to know that you don’t hold back on the hook, mein freund. The hook is what your listeners are here for, but after the opening bars, I could barely even hear it under all those strings!”
“And…” Sebastian fiddled with their baton. “…and the strings aren’t good?”
Klavier shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.
“They aren’t bad,” he clarified, “but they’re a little too loud. I feel as though you meant for them to compliment the piano hook, but it sounds like the two are at war. Not only that, but I worry that the cello part you composed may be a little off-key.”
Poor Sebastian looked as though they could start crying.
“And also,” Klavier continued, “I feel that the rhythm is a little inconsistent. You need to work a little harder on the timing.”
Sebastian sniffed hard in an effort to regain their composure.
“Do you think working with a real metronome might not have been the best idea?” they asked.
“A real metronome?!” Klavier stared at them in disbelief. “What about that plug-in I sent you?”
“It wasn’t compatible with the program I use,” Sebastian explained. “I tried searching for a fix, but the only help I found was some post on a form five years ago.”
“Forum.”
Sebastian blinked in surprise.
“Excuse me?” they asked.
“You mean ‘forum’ Herr Downy,” Klavier told them. “That’s where people on the Internet go to talk about things.”
He gave his friend a pat on the shoulder.
“Just take your time with it, okay?” He paired it with a smile. “The foundation is there. You just need to build the house.”
Sebastian blinked in surprise again.
“I don’t know what that means,” they said.
Klavier held back a laugh.
“It means you’ll get there if you just keep trying,” he assured his friend. “Remember everything I told you and you’ll be fine!”
To his relief, Sebastian managed a smile of their own.
“Of course!” they responded. “I’m The Bastion, after all! However long it takes, I’ll get this piece where it needs to be!”
Before Klavier could speak any more words of encouragement, the conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Both of them stared at it in confusion.
“Expecting someone, Klav?” asked Sebastian.
“Nein, not that I can recall,” said Klavier.
The knocking repeated.
“Don’t leave them dangling!” Sebastian prodded Klavier in the arm.
“That’s hanging, Herr Downy,” Klavier corrected as he got up.
He half-jogged over to the door, hasty to prevent any more knocking that would annoy his office neighbours, and opened the door.
And was greeted with a petite lawyer whose face was almost as red as his waistcoat.
The sight certainly wasn’t disagreeable, but not one Klavier had anticipated.
“What brings you here, Herr Forehead?” he asked, and offered a friendly smile. “Would you like an expert prosecutor’s advice on a difficult case?”
Without speaking, only giving a grunt of annoyance, Apollo thrust something wrapped in cloth at Klavier’s chest, and the prosecutor stepped back in confusion.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Mmm!” Apollo shoved it at him again, grumbling louder than before.
The bemused Klavier reached up and accepted the bundle.
“Um…” He eased it out of Apollo’s fingers. “…danke, I guess.”
Apollo nodded at him.
Then covered his face and stormed away down the corridor, mumbling something about how someone “did this to me on purpose” before his voice was too quiet to hear.
Klavier stared down at the bundle.
“What on earth was that all about?” Sebastian asked behind him.
After closing the door, Klavier returned to the desk and rested the bundle down between them, and he gently pulled the cloth away from its contents.
It was a loaf of bread.
“What the…” muttered Sebastian. “Did that attorney just bring you a loaf of bread?”
Before he could reply, Klavier noticed a small card that had fallen out of the folds of fabric, and he picked it up to see what it was.
A business card.
Wright & Co. Law Offices.
He frowned. This thing was seven years out of date, wasn’t it?
He turned it over and found a simple message on the back.
No hard feelings
He looked down at the loaf again.
“What does it say?” Sebastian got to their feet to examine the card. “Klav, who the heck sent you a loaf of bread?”
Klavier took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep his composure, and wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about, Herr Downy,” he assured Sebastian, “but why don’t you give Fraulein Faraday a call? I’m sure she’d love to try this… bread we’ve suddenly come into ownership of.”
“Um…” Although he was still confused, Sebastian drew out their cell phone. “…sure.”
While they called the pair’s mutual friend, Klavier looked down at the business card again.
He could only hope this meant he could consider Phoenix Wright his friend now.
“Daddy?”
Hershel looked down from the laptop he’d borrowed from his brother.
“How may I help you, darling?” he asked.
His daughter leaned up on her toes.
“What’re you doing?” she inquired. “You’ve been here all day!”
Hershel threw a look at the screen. None of this information was classified, so surely it would be safe to let a five-year-old girl in on his work.
“Well, you see,” he said, “Daddy’s cataloguing his findings from his most recent dig. We found a lot of very nice things, but we aren’t allowed to just write with pen and paper anymore. Daddy has to write it all on a computer.”
“But that’s Uncle Des’ computer!” Katrielle angrily pointed out. “Why can’t you use your own?”
Her frustration was enough to make Hershel laugh.
“Daddy doesn’t have his own computer, sweetheart,” he told her. “Would you like to have a look at some of the things I’m writing about?”
She lit up like a lightbulb, gasping with joy.
Hershel picked her up from the dining room floor and rested her on his knees.
“You know what that is, don’t you?” He pointed at the picture currently on display.
“Of course I do!” Katrielle said happily. “It’s a coin!”
“It is,” said Hershel, “but this is an old coin, you see. Do you want to guess just how old it is?”
“Um…” Katrielle kicked her tiny feet against his shins. “Is it ten?”
Hershel laughed again.
“I’m afraid it’s rather a lot older than that,” he replied.
“Is it fifty?” asked Katrielle.
“You’ll need to go higher than that.”
“No way! Is it a hundred?!”
“Your number still isn’t big enough.”
“But I don’t know any bigger numbers!”
Hershel chuckled and ruffled her auburn curls.
“This coin, little Kat,” he said, “is over two thousand years old.”
Katrielle stared at him in amazement.
“Two THOUSAND?!” Her jaw had fallen slack.
“Yes, it is!” said Hershel. “I told you, didn’t I? It’s a very old coin. There’s a special word we use for things this old, and do you know what it is?”
She shook her head.
“We call it ‘ancient’, Kat,” her father told her. “It’s a word that Daddy says a lot in his line of work.”
The little girl frowned in determination.
“Ain-shunt,” she repeated.
“That’s right,” Hershel said happily. “Aren’t you a clever girl for getting it right on your first try?”
She beamed at him in pride.
“This coin was used by people called the Romans, Kat,” he continued. “They used to live in England a long, long time ago. It was such a long time ago that almost all of their buildings have fallen down, and then they got buried.”
“Huh?” Katrielle stared at him again. “Who buried them?”
“They weren’t buried by people, sweetheart,” Hershel told her. “If you leave something alone outside for long enough, it gets buried by itself.”
“Ooooh!” She smiled in sudden understanding. “And that takes a long, long time, does it?”
“Absolutely,” said Hershel, “and it’s Daddy’s job to find the things that get buried.”
Katrielle swung her legs against his again.
“Does that mean you dig up people’s graves?” she asked.
It was impossible not to laugh. This little sweetheart was just so innocent.
“Daddy doesn’t dig up cemeteries, darling,” he told her. “Not the ones where people only died a hundred or so years ago. The graves Daddy digs up are…?”
“Ancient!” Katrielle finished for her.
“That’s right,” said Hershel. “Aren’t you a clever girl for understanding?”
Katrielle flashed him a big, cheesy grin.
Hershel looked up at the screen to return to his work, but his eye was caught by… Des had called it a notification, hadn’t he?
He clicked on it and was redirected to his email account. A new message had arrived in his inbox.
It was from Phoenix.
“Daddy?” said Katrielle. “What’s that?”
“One moment, darling,” Hershel said. “Daddy needs to take care of something personal.”
Heart in his mouth, he clicked on the email to open it.
The moment he did, he was faced with a photograph.
A photograph of a loaf of sourdough bread.
It took him a moment to remember why Phoenix could have sent this to him, but when he read the accompanying caption, everything came flooding back to him.
I did it
He had, hadn’t he?
He’d done it. He’d won.
He’d followed through on the promise he’d made half a decade ago.
Such a horrific, unbearable low point, such a dark period of his life…
…but he’d managed to find his way out.
Hershel’s throat ached. Tears brimmed in his eyes.
“Daddy?”
He felt Katrielle’s little hand on his cheek.
“Daddy, please don’t cry!” she said fearfully.
Hershel wiped his eyes on his hand and gave her a smile.
“It’s okay, darling,” he told her. “These are happy tears.”
“Huh?” Katrielle stared at him. “You can cry from being happy?”
He nodded to her.
“I’m sure you’ll understand when you’re older,” he said. “For now, why don’t I tell you a little more about the Romans?”