Chapter Text
Time: 20:44
Place: Morgue Street, S.T.A.T.S. building
The study was comfortably quiet, with moonlight spilling through the open window, washing the room in a cool, dark-blue hue, while a soft breeze drifted through and stirred the leaves of the few living plants kept about the place.
The only warmth came from the table lamp at his right. Its amber glow pooled across the wooden desk, illuminating the books and documents scattered over its surface, where to anyone else, the arrangement would have looked like utter chaos.
Sitting behind the desk, Hugin wore his woollen shirt untucked over his wide-legged trousers, his white-socked feet resting loosely crossed at the ankles beneath him as he leaned over a pristine sheet of paper held flat at the top by a paperweight shaped like a dark raven; its black glass eyes staring blankly at him, watching the fountain pen in his left hand scratch steadily across the page leaving behind neat yet oddly jagged lines as he composed the letter.
My dear friend, Mr Lorin,
It has certainly been some time since we last spoke in person, and I can only hope you are not drowning beneath the workload you have informed me the Superintendent so generously provides you with. When time allows for the both of us, I should like for us to sit down together at the Memoir Bar — I shall even invite Argos along to swindle his way behind the counter, knowing how fond you are of his drinks.
You have likely already guessed that this letter is more than a simple friend reaching out to another, and I apologise for that. However, I have a favour to ask of you. Having learned of a potential new system within the Constabulary, I have only the old means of reaching you, and I cannot know when this letter will find its way into your hands. I suppose I can only hope it arrives soon, for this favour requires rather immediate assistance.
A package from Maison du Sucre will be delivered to the Constabulary in three or four days after this letter is written. I should like to ask whether you might deliver it to the Superintendent's desk, if at all possible.
It is an apology gift for a moment that was rather uncalled for on my part. I do not wish for him to know that it comes from me, however, which is why there shall be no sender's name. I fear he might refuse it outright, or else seek answers from me that I doubt he would find satisfactory. It is, after all, a simple apology, offered because I felt wretched about what passed between us and wished to ease any added tension between us.
Either way, whether it is delivered or not, I should like you to write back and tell me how things stand. Alternatively, you could simply come and see me at home, where we might kill two birds with one stone.
Ever your friend,
Hugin Corven
With a swish of his wrist, Hugin gave the final letter of his surname a short, sharp tail, bringing the cursive signature to an end. He then set the fountain pen's nib into its holder before reaching beneath the slim drawer built into the underside of his desk. His fingers found the handle, and he slid it open with a quiet scrape.
Inside, several envelopes lay scattered across the surface, overlapping one another in a haphazard layering that made the whole lot look rather untidy.
Unbothered by the mess, Hugin drew one free, then pushed the drawer shut with a soft scrape followed by a dull clack. He turned the envelope, laying it flat upon the desk.
He moved the raven-shaped paperweight aside and lifted the letter. Folding it once along the middle, he pressed the edges together with care before folding it again from right to left, creasing the paper neatly between his fingers. He then slid the envelope towards himself, opened its shoulders with two fingers, and slipped the folded letter inside.
To his right, a small jar of translucent glue sat atop a stack of few books, with a narrow brush resting inside. Hugin reached for it, dipped the bristles three times, then brushed the excess against the rim. Carefully, he dapped the glue along the corners of the sealing flap before returning the brush to its jar.
With his left hand, he folded the flap down and held it centred. His right hand reached for the raven paperweight, pressing it firmly against the flap, then slowly slid it along the length of the envelope, ensuring the seal held from one end to the other.
Satisfied, Hugin straightened in his chair and set the paperweight aside before taking the sealed envelope in his right hand. Propping his left elbow against the desk, he rested his temple against his knuckles, and let out a quiet sigh as his eyes drifted closed. With a slow movement of his wrist, he began to fan the envelope, helping the glue dry a little faster while allowing himself to settle into the stillness of the night.
Another cool breeze drifted through the open window, stirring a few leaves and catching the edges of the papers on his desk, while teasing loose strands of Hugin’s hair across his forehead. He breathed in the evening chill, the crisp air filling his lungs as the quiet hum of the street below settled into his ears. Hardly a minute had passed before his hearing sharpened at the distant, rhythmic flap-flap of wings.
The familiar whir and flutter of mechanical wings was faint at first, but steadily grew louder as it drew nearer. The measured rhythm approached until the mechanical sound slipped through the open window, yet Hugin kept his eyes closed, listening as it crossed the room. He waited until a gentle scrape of metal against metal sounded to his left before his eyelids finally fluttered open.
Turning towards the sound, Hugin’s gaze settled on the mechanical bird perched neatly upon the iron stand on his desk. The base of the perch was hemmed in by stacks of papers and a scatter of small and medium-sized books.
At the sight of it, a smile tugged at the corners of Hugin’s mouth.
The Cogbird had been built to resemble a mid-sized bird, though which species had never much mattered. Its body gleamed with clean, polished silver metal, catching the warm amber of his desk lamp on one side and the cool blue of the night from the window on the other.
Its head tilted from side to side as it studied him, before, with a brisk whirr-click, the Cogbird puffed out its metal chest and gave its wings a few impatient flaps. There was little doubt what it wanted.
Hugin’s smile widened as he breathed out, “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”
He set the envelope on the desk and raised his bare left hand, curling his fingers into a makeshift perch. The bird’s head snapped towards it at once where with a light flutter-clink, it hopped from the iron stand and settled upon his fingers, its slim metal wings folding neatly against its body with a faint click.
"She sure is fast, isn't she?" Hugin murmured next where he reached towards the slim hook at the Cogbird’s neck with his free hand. His fingers caught it easily before he pulled it to the left.
Snap!
The Cogbird's chest sprang open.
The sudden movement made the machine clamped its metal claws down around Hugin's fingers with a firm clink as the Cogbird went perfectly still where its head ceased its curious movements and its polished body caught the lamplight without the slightest twitch; looking less like a bird and more as the crafted machine that it was — waiting patiently for its purpose to be fulfilled.
Hugin reached into the Cogbird’s open chest without hesitation, his fingers finding the messily folded letter tucked inside the compartment. He felt a faint flicker of curiosity at the soft clink and the smooth touch of glass against his fingers as he drew it out. Shifting the hand holding the bird slightly to one side, he carefully unfolded the letter with nimble fingers.
The paper had taken on a yellowed tint, its surface faintly stained and its edges softened by wear. A few small tears marked it here and there, though Hugin couldn't say what had caused them, nor did he particularly care. His eyes were already skimming over the familiar handwriting, and the further he read, the wider his smile grew, holding the distinct touch of sheepishness beneath his amusement.
Based on your description of your symptoms, it's quite worrying.
What did I tell you about needlessly using that headache-inducing — for me — skill of yours?! Did you truly have to go and use it for something as simple-sounding as working out whether it was most likely a werewolf on the loose or a harpy crossing some old woman's rooftop?! Now I have to concoct ANOTHER, much stronger stabiliser. Do you think these recipes simply come to me in eureka moments? Do you believe the first trial is ever an immediate success? Do you think I have enough rats left to run another batch on?
Truly, I have no words left for you, "Detective", other than that I expect you to be my guinea pig during my next experiment. After everything you've put me through, this would be your debt to me.
That said, your symptoms do sound rather more severe than usual, even accounting for your habit of overusing what you've termed your "Mental Palace". I should like to examine you myself, so you are to come to my clinic whenever you find yourself near my area, or whenever you have a free moment.
IF it worsens, or returns, you are to come immediately.
Take care, and stop being reckless.
Inside your mail bird, I've left three small flasks of the leftover stabiliser serum. Although they won't work at their fullest strength as they once would have, they should ease the worst of the symptoms.
Use no more than one per week, ONLY when you feel the symptoms. It is NOT to be used as a sleeping draught!!!
Firtho.
Hugin's eyes lingered on the final line. He couldn’t t help looking a touch more sheepish as he stared at the sentence that appeared to have been underlined at least four times with the pen having to be pressed into the paper with such force that the fibres around the words had been slightly indented.
Curious, Hugin turned the letter over.
The rest of the writing had only faintly bled through the paper while that final sentence, showed through most clearly of all.
“Ah... well,” Hugin muttered, before setting the letter aside atop the pile of used papers destined for the fire before reaching into the Cogbird’s chest once more. His fingers brushed against the small glass flasks hidden within, their soft clinks sounding faintly as he shifted them with care. He moved them about until he was certain he had caught two between his index and middle fingers, with another secured between his middle and ring fingers.
Drawing them out carefully, he held them in his palm; The dim purple concoction within each flask caught the low light, glimmering softly against his skin.
Hugin glanced across his desk, his gaze settling on the ornamented box sitting on the left-hand side intended for holding cigarettes.
He reached forward with his right hand, keeping the three flasks secure between his fingers as he hooked them beneath the bottom of the box and pressed his thumb against its lid. He drew it closer and set it before him before lifting the lid.
Inside lay two more stabiliser flasks, slightly larger than the ones he held. Without further ado, Hugin placed the three flasks inside with care, arranging them beside the others before lowering the lid with a quiet click. He then slid the box to his right, nudging it along the edge of the books until it sat safely out of the way.
Only then did Hugin pull the envelope he just sealed towards himself. Shifting it, he reached for the fountain pen with his right, and quickly wrote the Constabulary address with Lorin’s name across the top, followed by the date. Once done, he set the pen against his paperweight to keep it from rolling away before folding the envelope twice, taking care to keep the creases as neat as possible.
He slipped it into the Cogbird's open chest, then turned the lever back to the right. With a quiet click, the bird's chest slid shut, its feet unhooking from his finger right after where the machine turned and hopped onto the desk, presenting Hugin with its back just as the door to his study creaked open.
Hugin paused, his attention drawn towards the sound.
A flash of teal slipped through the dimness first, followed by the man's face coming into view. Hugin gave him only a fleeting glance before looking back towards the Cogbird, choosing instead to focus on the two thin, rectangular wedges set into either side of its back.
He placed his thumbs against them and slid them down the machinery simultaneously, listening as the familiar, silvery voice drew nearer to his desk.
"You certainly are a hardworking man, Detective~," Argos practically purred where he came to a stop before the desk and placed a saucer down with a neat clink in the clear space within Hugin's reach with a cup resting neatly upon it.
Hugin automatically drew in a deep breath—
—and stopped with the wedges halfway down, his fingers still pressed against the machinery as he looked up once more.
First at the cup.
Then at Argos's smiling face.
"That doesn't smell like chamomile. What is it?" Hugin asked, curiosity getting the better of him as he reached for the cup and took a careful whiff.
Instead of the sweet apple with its hint of meadow that he expected, there was the meadow, certainly, but the apple had been replaced by something more floral, grassier, with a trace of spice lurking beneath it all.
“My! I shouldn't be surprised your nose is this well trained,” Argos remarked, genuine amusement colouring his voice rather than surprise. “But I'm still rather impressed. Does this skill of yours extend to poisons as well?”
Hugin smiled faintly at the jest, swirling the tea in his cup. The liquid rolled softly against the porcelain as he studied its honey-gold colour. Chamomile, by the look of it — and near enough by the smell, too. Yet, knowing Argos's skill in mixology, Hugin knew his chamomile always carried the well-brewed sweetness of apple.
This one did not.
Had Argos not let slip that it was not chamomile, Hugin might have been rather concerned for the man.
"Don't be ridiculous. Poison mixed into tea — or any aromatic drink, really, odourless or otherwise — would be lost among the complexity of the aromas they give off. Unlike a trained hound, a human's olfactory range is far inferior," Hugin replied with ease after which he closed his eyes and drew in another breath, letting the calming, slightly spicy scent settle in his nose. The fragrance made the corner of his mouth quirk where he lowered the cup and studied it knowingly.
"Though I might still catch the odd off note, there are plenty of brews which smell peculiar and yet taste perfectly good once tried.”
One such example was the tea Ms Eliza had given him. It had carried a strange note of bitter honey, yet once tasted, the bitterness and sweetness had mixed beautifully.
Ah. Just thinking of it makes me want another taste. Hugin sighed inwardly. He brought the cup to his mouth and took an easy sip, covering the sudden recollection of Ms Eliza's tea upon his tongue. His mind eased by only a fraction, but his expression smoothed over nonetheless.
His tongue recognised the tea at once now that he had tasted it.
Passionflower.
Yet there was a hint of something sharp and sweet running through it, too — something that Hugin felt was dulling the edges of his mind far more than the tea should.
“Ah, I see — so a trained dog is capable of alerting someone to a poisoned drink.” Argos's tone carried quiet contemplation, as though he were turning the information over in his mind and tucking it away for later.
Hugin narrowed his eyes and looked at the man over the rim of his cup, more curious than sceptical. He set the cup down before him with a soft clink, not fighting the small, knowing smile that crept across his face. Argos stared back, a faintly suppressed, suggestive look in his eyes — clearly understanding that Hugin had picked up on something.
Rather than ask, however, Hugin chose to extend his thoughts instead. A silent deal: information for information.
“Not necessarily,” Hugin said carefully. The response immediately piqued Argos's interest. The man stepped around to the left side of the table and leaned his hip against it, crossing his arms as he settled in to listen.
“If the poison isn't imprinted on the trained dog, they won't react as they would to one they were trained on. In the case of a foreign poison, an untrained dog is actually the better bet. They're more likely to keep sniffing around the drink, unlike a trained dog, which is more inclined to hold still,” Hugin explained.
“I see~” Argos's eyes sparked with wonder before settling back into that sly, resting smile.
Hugin brought the cup to his mouth, but before taking another sip, he asked, “Should I concern myself with this sudden interest of yours in the topic?”
Argos let out a light, chiming laugh, tipping further to the right with a small grin, his eyes falling closed. “Of course not~ But the more an attendant at MISS knows, the more valuable they are,” he said in a drawn-out, sing-song tone.
Hugin hummed in understanding as he swallowed, his gaze settling on Argos’s clear blue eyes. There was always something beneath all that easy cheer — a depth of darkness that few, if any, ever seemed to notice, revealing just how much those eyes had seen hidden beneath Silvernia’s bright lights and seemingly safe streets.
“So…” Hugin began, raising the cup a touch higher for emphasis. “The brew?” he asked, his brow lifting slightly.
Argos’s eyes flicked towards it before he shot Hugin another grin. “Ah, yes! When I went to restock our tea, the lady at the shop suggested passionflower. I’d mentioned, in passing, how you’re never quite able to fall asleep properly,” he explained, nodding towards the cup Hugin was sipping from tentatively. “Said it’s a good brew for restless minds~”
Hugin snorted softly into the cup, the sound barely more than a huff against the rim. His mind did feel genuinely lighter, his body more at ease, though he knew well enough it was less the tea’s doing than something else entirely.
A small smile crossed Hugin’s face as he glanced up at Argos through half-lidded eyes who smiled right back; plainly unashamed of whatever it was he seemed to realise Hugin had already worked out.
“Mmh — that so?” Hugin muttered, taking another sip before setting the nearly finished cup down beside the Cogbird, which remained standing there, perfectly still. With a quiet scrape of fabric, Hugin shifted in his seat and turned towards Argos, folding his arms across his chest and crossing his left leg over his right.
“Mind telling me what else you’ve put in there to strengthen those effects?” Hugin asked. The sticky sweetness lingering across his lips far too familiar for him to ignore.
Argos grinned right back. “Why, just something to speed up its effects, of course~”
Hugin snorted and shook his head. “Right. ’Cause rum’s famous for doing just that, innit?” he said, his words looser than usual — not that he minded. He was at home among people he trusted enough to keep him safe, where for once, there was no need to keep every word and gesture under careful control.
Argos laughed openly, the sound ringing lightly through the room as he shrugged and leaned further to his left, his grin still fixed in place. “Can’t blame a friend for trying to ease his mate’s worries the best way he knows how,” he said honestly before his eyes softened the longer he studied Hugin’s expression while Hugin drained the last of the tea.
Argos straightened and continued. “You’re overworking yourself again,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Hugin set the now-empty cup back onto its saucer with a soft clink. The small sound seemed almost unnaturally loud in the quiet that followed. For the moment, at least, his mind remained blessedly still as he watched Argos’s gaze sweep across the cluttered table.
A quiet sigh escaped him. “Yeah… I know,” he admitted, voice low. After a moment, Hugin shook his head and looked up, meeting Argos’s steady, open gaze.
“But I can’t stop now. For her, and for me.”
Argos searched his face for a moment before sighing. His shoulders dropped, his eyes closing as a small, bitter smile settled upon his face. A moment later, he opened them again and looked at Hugin with an understanding that needed no explanation.
“I know… just—” Argos sighed again, his gaze drifting towards the messy table, then the Cogbird, before returning to Hugin. “Don’t force yourself to rush,” he said, his smile stretching into something more playful. “A mystery can’t be solved without its clues and the truths you uncover, and those aren’t easy to piece together, let alone find in the first place.” He raised a finger gun and pointed it at Hugin, his expression calm but carrying enough sternness to make the gesture feel more pointed than playful.
“You taught me, Detective, that for a mystery to be solved, all truths must first be revealed before the grand finale, when it can finally be unveiled for the world to see.” His finger swept upwards towards the ceiling as he rested his elbow against his crossed arm.
“Time to take your own advice and use it on yourself, doncha think?”
Hugin held Argos’s gaze for a moment before a soft sigh slipped past his lips, where he ws unable to hold it back. He let his back settle against the chair and closed his eyes, a tired smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth. “Aye, aye. Loud and clear,” he muttered.
When he opened his eyes again, they settled easily upon the waiting Cogbird before him. At the edge of his vision, he caught Argos nodding, apparently satisfied.
“Good. Good. Glad to hear,” Argos said. But beneath the words, Hugin caught a quieter murmur. “Just hope I can see it too.”
The words trailed into a sigh carrying little expectation that they would ever become reality. Hugin barely registered it though. His mind had already settled elsewhere, occupied by the metal bird sitting before him as he considered why it was—
Ah, right — the letter for Lorin.
The thought alone was enough to rouse him. Hugin leaned forwards and reached out, sliding the thin, rectangular wedge fully down into the bird’s back.
Click.
A larger panel sprang free from its centre.
Hugin took it between his fingers and drew out the slim tablet fixed within, turning it towards himself. A translucent map of Silvernia glowed across its surface, its streets and landmarks traced in crisp white lines and marked with bold lettering.
As he slid a finger across the display, searching for the Constabulary’s address, Hugin made a mental note of finally updating the map. He had already noticed the differences when he first dusted off the machine, and once again, he was reminded that his current mental map of Silvernia no longer matched the one stored in the Cogbird.
Paying little attention to the amazed whistle from his left, which barely broke through his thoughts, Hugin continued moving through the outdated map as the shuffle of approaching boots drew nearer.
He had only enough time to register the sounds before a warm body pressed against his left side.
His eyes narrowed as he tried to lean away, but Argos simply followed, closing the gap until his right side was flush against Hugin’s left. A moment later, Argos’s hand settled on Hugin’s right shoulder as he peered down at the device.
Hugin went rigid.
Every muscle seemed to lock beneath the warm touch, yet he kept his gaze fixed on the map, forcing himself to concentrate on the streets and landmarks rather than the weight pressed against his side.
“What a fancy device you’ve got there. Never knew the bird had this tucked inside it,” Argos said.
Hugin felt the man turn his head, presumably glancing between the Cogbird and the tablet as he murmured, “Always wondered how it finds its way.”
A moment later Hugin felt his attention return to him where soon after Argos’s arm shifted, moving from his shoulder to the back of the chair, easing some of the tension from Hugin’s frame, though Argos remained close enough that Hugin could still feel the warmth of him against his side.
“Where did you actually find such a beauty?” Argos asked, his voice returning to its usual volume.
The question held unmistakable curiosity making Hugin suspect Argos was already hoping he might be able to put him in touch with whoever had made the thing.
Keeping his attention on the map, Hugin traced his finger towards the Constabulary. Once he found the address, he pressed down on it, with the display shifting, letting out a faint electronic whirr as it began calculating the easiest route.
“Didn’t find it,” Hugin answered. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, letting the familiar rhythm steady him before opening them again.
The screen continued working through the route.
His body felt looser now, the lingering effects of Argos’s tea taking the edge off the tension that usually held him taut. For once, after what felt like far too long, his thoughts were not racing ahead of him, determined to run him ragged.
“You can’t find it on the market,” he added.
With a soft hum, the map suddenly unfurled, spilling across the table in a wash of pale light as the route the Cogbird would take appeared in a thick line.
With that, Hugin slotted the tablet neatly back into the bird’s back and reached for the wedges, ready to slide them back into place.
“Ohoho~ I sense there’s something more to it than meets the eye.” Argos’s knowing tone stopped him mid-motion, the wedges half-raised, the Cogbird still dormant.
Hugin’s heart gave a small jolt.
Drawing a quiet breath through his nose, he glanced at the man, who had taken to treating him rather like a tree he fancied climbing.
Part of him knew that, if he told Argos to drop it, he would. The other part — mellowed now by the rum, with the tea’s effects beginning to settle in as well — nudged him towards giving the man a little of the trust he had promised himself he would try giving back to his confidants.
Studying the bird, Hugin could sense the easy air around Argos, where although he was still leaning close, mind you, there was no pressure behind it, nor in his words. No expectation that Hugin should answer.
He was beginning to suspect that Argos’s closeness was simply his way of letting Hugin know he was there, should Hugin need to speak his mind and sort through the clutter filling it.
Darn bartender’s skill. Hugin eyed his Cogbird, unimpressed. He knew perfectly well that Argos’s sharp eye and sharper tongue were precisely why MISS sent him, or had him hired, for so many of its missions that required him to work behind a bar.
With a slow, steady breath, Hugin decided to gamble a little more of his trust. Would be a touch hypocritical not to. His thoughts circled back to the brief conversation he had shared with Rex earlier that day.
Wetting his lips, Hugin withdrew his hands from the bird and leaned back into his leather chair. The seat gave softly beneath his weight as Argos shifted against it rather than retreating. Hugin looked up at him, meeting his gaze as Argos regarded him with open curiosity. Yet beneath all that easy confidence, Hugin caught the worry lurking there, visible in the slight tension gathered around the man’s eyes.
“It’s rather galling that I had to go through university to build a foundation for my deductive skills, while you got to pick yours up on the job, doing exactly what you enjoy,” Hugin said evenly.
Argos grinned in response. With a theatrical sweep of his arm, he dipped into an exaggerated bow.
“My~ A compliment from the infamous detective? Colour me honoured,” he declared, only partly serious. The rest was simple jest, though a touch of unexpected softness coloured his eyes all the same when he continued. “Though I’d say, compared to you, my eyes lack the sharpness yours possess. I simply see too much, is all.” Argos gave a small shrug, and Hugin smiled despite himself before shaking his head. He turned back towards the Cogbird, his gaze settling over its familiar frame. The smile on his lips gradually faded, leaving something faintly sad in its place.
“The machine was built by me and my sister,” he began. His fingers rested loosely against the arms of the chair. “Bit of a bored project, really. It came about because we were sick to death of constantly trekking everywhere. I suggested the idea, she drew up the plans, and together we built it.” He sighed, sinking a little further into the chair. “Never got the chance to make more,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
There was a quiet pause that Hugin didn’t mind. He wouldn’t have known what to say either. So the two of them simply stared at the unmoving Cogbird, its metal frame silent as it waited for Hugin to switch it on.
With a quiet sigh, Hugin rose and reached forward to push the wedge fully home. Before his fingers could touch it, however, a hand appeared from his left, making him pause.
He turned.
Argos wore a serene smile as his fingers traced lightly along the Cogbird’s slim, silver metal feathers, the faint ting-ting of metal beneath his touch barely audible in the quiet room.
“Suppose that also answers why you never tried to make copies to sell...” Argos trailed off as he withdrew his hand and straightened from his slouch. He looked down at Hugin, their eyes meeting in a calm, understanding exchange. Hugin returned the smile, though his carried a little more sadness before he turned back to the bird and carefully cradled it as he drew himself closer to the table, bringing the machine with him.
Argos didn’t pull away. Instead, he simply shifted around to Hugin’s right and leaned in to peer over that side, listening closely.
A man like Argos — curious primarily so he could put whatever he learned to use later — was dangerous. The sort of man who ought to have put Hugin firmly on his guard.
And yet, somehow, he didn’t. Hugin found he could speak freely with a man whose connections stretched far beyond Silvernia and who was almost certainly keeping more cards close to his chest than he cared to show.
Hugin had never quite understood what had made Argos hand him his trust so readily, nor would he ask. Not today, at least. Tonight didn’t feel like the moment for it. So, instead, he followed the playful thread Argos had spun and turned to study the man’s profile as those sharp eyes wandered over the machinery.
“Are you referring to the complexity of it — that I need my big sister’s help — or to me being sentimental about what we built together?” Hugin asked, in a casual tone — his voice making Argos turn. Those sharp blues met Hugin’s inquisitive gaze evenly, and in that instant, Hugin understood why he trusted a man like Argos not to betray him.
This man, as sly and scheming as they came, trusted Hugin enough to let his expression show. He was willing to play along with the little mind games that Hugin enjoyed, treating him like a dear friend rather than an equal, a partner, a master, someone he needed to protect, or even an older sibling. Few of Hugin’s confidants had ever made him feel quite so at ease.
Argos had not known him since childhood as Firtho had, either, allowing them to build a fresh relationship shaped by their experiences and the things they had gradually come to understand about one another. Somehow, that made connecting with him all the simpler, and far more engaging.
Argos’s smile sharpened faintly before he parted his lips, closed his eyes and draped himself fully over the side of the chair. His arm slipped around Hugin’s shoulders before settling across his chest.
Hugin jolted, his muscles tensing on instinct before he huffed quietly at himself, forcing them to relax — reminding himself who was the one who acted like a touch-starved koala.
“Knowing you, I’d wager on the sentimental side. However...” Argos’s voice softened. From the corner of his eye, Hugin caught him leaning further down, his longer teal strands brushing lightly against Hugin’s neck as he slipped from his field of view. Then Argos murmured against his ear, “Knowing you personally, I’d say it’s a mix of both.”
Hugin settled back into his chair with a sheepish, sad smile. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched Argos shift his right hand onto the armrest, while from the sound of it, his left moved to bear most of his weight against the back of the chair as he continued.
“It’s not that you need Mademoiselle Munin to recreate it — non, non. Rather, I’d believe it would feel like you were filling the gap she left behind, erasing her further from your life than you’ve already had to.”
Hugin’s fingers, which he had laced together in his lap, tightened. His smile turned fully sad as he stared longingly at the machinery before him. Argos’s silver tongue had spun his assumptions with such precision that they struck far too close to the truth, leaving Hugin with the choice of confirming them, denying them aloud, or simply fibbing his way past the whole thing.
He could practically feel the smug fox grinning, his cheek resting against the back of Hugin’s chair, that warm breath still brushing against his ear as Argos made it perfectly clear that, whatever Hugin chose to say, he already knew the truth either way.
With a deep sigh, Hugin rose once more, deciding it was time to activate the Cogbird. He pushed the wedge fully up its back with a firm click as he spoke. “What an astute deduction,” he said, before adding more softly, “Correct.”
The Cogbird’s eyes flashed a sharp blue, the light dimming almost at once, vanishing back into darkness. Its wings gave a quick whirr-whirr before flapping a few times before the machine hopped neatly on the table, turning towards Hugin, clearly waiting.
Without wasting a second, Hugin extended his cupped palms, prompting the Cogbird to spring lightly from the table and land in them with a quiet clink, settling comfortably against them. Rather than stand, however, Hugin lifted the machine to eye level, holding it where both he and Argos could see it. Turning to his right, he found Argos slumped once more against the side of the chair, watching the bird with an unmistakable hint of wonder.
Hugin’s brow furrowed, though the corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. “When did you get this good at deductions, Monsieur Argos?” he asked.
Argos turned towards him, blue eyes widening with such innocent sincerity that Hugin nearly laughed.
Then the man broke into a broad smile. “Why, how else?” His smile softened as he held Hugin’s gaze. “I have the privilege of working alongside you, of course.”
Hugin’s eyes widened briefly before he turned, pressing his forehead against his outstretched forearms. His snort came out muffled against them as he shook his head. “You truly are a dangerous man,” he muttered, though the quiet study carried his words clearly enough for Argos to hear. In response, the man broke into laughter.
“Neeh~ I simply pick things up faster than most, I’d say,” he replied, his smile making it painfully clear that his words carried a thread of truth woven through something decidedly less honest.
Hugin merely shook his head. He caught the casual brush-off for precisely what it was.
Cupping the seated Cogbird securely between his palms, Hugin pushed his chair backwards. Its wheels scraped against the wooden floor with a rough skrrt, prompting Argos to step aside and give him enough room to stand. Without pausing, Hugin walked towards the open window, his back turned to the man as he spoke.
“If you were this charming when meeting with Gratia, should I expect a letter from her soon, questioning me about the sort of company I keep?” he asked, half in jest and half in genuine complaint.
He still owed her a reply about what had happened a fortnight ago, though Hugin had rather hoped her busy schedule might make her forget about it. The absence of any letters — or her frantic appearance at his home — rather confirmed that she indeed had. No doubt trusting Hugin had already written back, her rabbit-hybrid mind readily convincing itself of that possibility, no doubt easing her racing heart before she turned her attention elsewhere, whereupon it had started racing all over again.
Hugin winced faintly.
He really ought to have told Rex that most people felt deceit, choosing to simply ignore it as there were those — too pure by nature — who needed to watch the person who had wronged them to do it right in front of their eyes before their trust finally broke.
Though... Hugin suspected Gratia would still hold out hope that such a person might one day step into the “light” she believed so firmly in.
She was simply kind-hearted like that.
Hugin came to a stop before the open window. Night air brushed coolly across his face, carrying the distant hush of Silvernia beyond the study. The quiet was broken by a soft chuckle from his right.
Hugin glanced towards the sound and found Argos had followed him, now standing just beside him near the edge of the window.
“Please~ What sort of image do you have of me?” Argos asked.
The sideways look Hugin gave him was enough to make Argos’s smile strain. His eyes squeezed shut as he raised one hand in surrender. “Don’t answer that. I’d rather keep believing you see me as a respectable citizen of Silvernia, your dear friend and partner-in-crime sidekick. Thank you.”
Hugin snorted, glancing down at the waiting Cogbird. His thumb slid over its smooth metal casing as he listened to Argos continue.
“For your information, Ms Gratia and I had a lovely chat. Our meeting went splendidly once we got to bonding over the various adventures we’ve both had with our darling detective~” Argos practically purred.
Hugin was not distracted by the honeyed words though. Without looking up, he continued stroking the bird’s casing and replied simply, “Once we got?”
A brief pause followed the question. When it stretched on a touch too long, however, Hugin glanced up, only to find Argos’s mouth clamped shut, plainly stunned.
Hugin suspected it was because he had caught such a small detail, and he could hardly blame the man for being surprised. His mind should have been — and was — a touch sluggish from the tea, true enough, but his instincts had sharpened in turn, no longer muddled by endless overthinking, where for once, he could simply notice things without his thoughts immediately running off in a dozen different directions, chasing one possible explanation after another. Instead, they remained fixed squarely on the present.
Hugin merely raised a brow at Argos’s expression who in turn blinked slowly before lifting one finger and pointing it at him, his face settling into an almost comically straight expression.
“Alf said that Grimm had taken the money as a donation and expects his silence to be bought in exchange for you sharing every detail of your current case with him the moment it closes, without passing it to any other outlet,” he said in a single breath.
Hugin stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, before closing them and smiling down at the Cogbird. He let the sudden change of subject slide, if only because, for a man usually so sleek and composed, the dodge had been rather clumsy.
Still, he had answered the question all the same.
Not that I expected her to put her trust in him straightaway, Hugin thought as he reopened his eyes, stepping closer to the window, he extended his arms. Keeping his gaze fixed on the the Cogbird that gave a soft metallic click as it hopped in his palm, its tiny feet adjusting against his skin as it turned towards the open sky.
“Sure. Sort of expected as much,” Hugin said. Though he did hope the money would be enough, the fall must have been a nasty one for Grimm to turn it into such an opportunity.
“I’ll send him a letter that I’ve—”
“Already drafted it out for you,” Argos interrupted smoothly, making Hugin stop and turn.
The man stood exactly as he had before, only now there was a knowing smile upon his lips, as though he had anticipated Hugin’s response.
“All you need to do now is send it through your messenger bird, or let me or Alf deliver it in your stead,” Argos continued with a small shrug. He briefly looked away before returning his gaze to Hugin. “Or, if you don’t trust me, you may review it. Though I ought to have you know, the President at MISS has made some rather lovely comments about my letter-writing abilities.” The last part carried an almost smug edge — Hugin suspected Argos was attempting to ease the vulnerability that flashed across his eyes, whereas Hugin felt as he could do little more than stare at him in stunned silence for another moment.
He truly had not expected Argos to know him to such an extent, let alone go so far as to prepare the letter himself. The gesture was so unexpectedly considerate that Hugin scarcely knew what to make of it. So, with a small smile, he decided to ignore the hackles that instinctively rose along the back of his neck and enjoy, instead, the strange warmth of simply being known by someone other than his sister.
With that, he lowered his arms and gave the Cogbird a gentle upward toss.
Fwish.
The metal bird shot into the night air, dipped for half a heartbeat, then corrected itself with a quick adjustment of its wings. Soft whirring followed as its mechanisms settled into a steady rhythm, the Cogbird finding its balance before turning towards the direction Hugin had set it to follow.
Watching it go, Hugin come to rest his forearms against the windowsill, his eyes following the faint glint of metal until the Cogbird grew too distant to distinguish from the darkness surrounding it.
Beside him, Argos had drifted closer. His elbow now brushed Hugin’s arm, and from the way the man settled beside him, Hugin gathered that Argos had folded his arms.
Together, they stared out into the starry night with neither of them speaking, allowing the silence to settle comfortably between them before Argos gently broke it. “Can it only deliver letters?” he asked, pressing more firmly against Hugin’s side.
Hugin smiled and closed his eyes, savouring the fresh breeze drifting through the open window. His body remained relaxed, too worn out to properly bristle at Argos’s stubborn closeness. Hugin breathed out, “No,” the word barely more than a murmur before he pushed himself back from the sill. His left hand remained against the wood as he turned towards Argos, who stepped back and faced him, a flicker of genuine curiosity crossing his features.
“It’s also got a built-in voice recorder,” Hugin explained. He paused for a moment, gathering the details in his mind before raising his right hand to the back of his neck. “There’s a small hole at the back where a slim, T-shaped key fits. You turn it five times, then speak into the side of its head.” He tapped his right temple, indicating where the microphone sat. “You’ve got exactly ten seconds to say whatever you want it to repeat. Afterwards, you send it off using the same key, where once the key is placed into that same hole, it’ll begin recounting whatever you told it.”
Argos let out a low whistle, his attention shifting back towards the window and the darkness where the Cogbird had disappeared. “What a neat little device. Would certainly help you out financially, ‘Master’~” He turned back with a grin broad enough to make Hugin roll his eyes.
“Don’t start,” Hugin muttered, pushing away from the window and heading back towards his table.
“What?” Argos called after him, sounding genuinely incredulous. “You know I’m right!”
Hugin didn’t glance back as he moved towards his chair, if only because he could not honestly argue with him. Argos was not wrong, though, as they had already established, the man knew perfectly well why Hugin would never try to sell copies of his Cogbird and was simply needling him now.
Although… perhaps he did mean it a little.
After all, Argos was the one who had sat through most of Hugin’s grumbling about his lack of funds.
With that in mind, Hugin didn’t fight the smile stretching across his face as he settled back into his chair and pulled himself closer to the table. Argos stepped into his line of sight, already reaching for the empty cup resting on its saucer even before Hugin dismissed him with barely a glance, his attention returning to the clutter across the table as he mentally ticked through the things he still needed to do.
“Give it a rest and get on with it. Aren’t you supposed to be off to bed already, seeing as you’re up at four with Alf to sort the house and breakfast?” Hugin asked offhandedly, making Argos unexpectedly gasp.
It was a grand, theatrical gasp that forced Hugin to look up at the sheer suddenness of it, only to find him clutching his chest, the saucer balanced perfectly in his right hand, his posture ramrod straight as he stared down at Hugin in exaggerated horror.
“Le maltraitement!” Argos cried, his voice thick with mock outrage. “L’esclavage!”
Hugin grinned, unable to stop the quiet laugh that slipped beneath his breath as he watched Argos turn sharply on his heel and sweep towards the door, his hips swaying with such ridiculous exaggeration that Hugin had to bite back another chuckle.
Argos pouted all the way across the room, every step practically announcing his wounded dignity.
Hugin covered his mouth with his left hand, resting his elbow against the table as he tracked Argos’s progress. Just before reaching the door, Argos lifted his free hand and wagged a finger towards him without bothering to turn around. “I expect you to follow your own advice soon, Hugin!” he called, stopping at the door and pulling it open, though he didn’t go through. Instead, he glanced back over his shoulder —The theatricality vanished from his expression, leaving it completely flat, while Hugin’s amused gaze shifted to the right; something had caught his attention, sharpening his eyes as his focus snapped towards it.
“I do refuse to massage your neck again just because you fell asleep at your worktable. Again,” Argos said, yet before he could step fully through the doorway, Hugin straightened and lowered his hand from his mouth.
“Argos?”
At the sound of his voice, the man stopped and took a step back, one hand still holding the door. His eyes widened with curiosity, his expression plainly asking, Yes?
Hugin gestured towards the wooden coat stand in the corner. His one-shoulder cape hung there beside his vest, with his top hat perched neatly on top. He had shed all three the moment he returned from Ms Eliza’s and had completely forgotten to take them to the boot room, even after deciding to leave his study to freshen up and eat before returning to his work.
“Could you reach into the left breast pocket of my vest, please?” he asked.
Argos blinked at him, bewildered, before backing away from the door. He turned only once he reached the coat stand, then picked up the vest and turned it in his hands until he found what Hugin was after.
He drew out the handkerchief wrapped around the biscuit and held it up for Hugin to see, his expression plainly asking: This?
Hugin nodded.
“Could you throw out what’s inside and wash the handkerchief, please?”
Argos’s expression softened, a small smile settling over his face. “Sure. And while I’m at it—”
He set the wrapped biscuit on the saucer before reaching for the shoulder cape and his vest, draping both over the arm already balancing the saucer. He then tucked the top hat beneath his right armpit, making Hugin wince.
The sight was a bit uncomfortable to watch, but he kept his mouth shut as Argos picked up the handkerchief again. With practised fingers, he unwrapped it to see what he was meant to throw away, only for his eyes to narrow almost at once.
Hugin watched as he brought the biscuit closer, a faint crease forming between his brows, followed by a flicker of recognition that Hugin hadn’t expected in the slightest.
“Ah, wait. I know this brand. You sure you want to bin it?” Argos asked, turning towards him with an almost offensively unbothered expression.
Hugin stared at him, prompting Argos to give him an odd look in return.
“What?” he asked, as though Hugin were the one being peculiar. He held up the biscuit for emphasis. “It’s a luxury brand. Saw plenty of rich folks tuck into it with real gusto. Even I tried it once, and I’ll admit, it’s rather good. A touch too sweet and nutty for my taste, mind.”
Hugin’s eyes widened. That did not sound remotely like the biscuit he had been carrying.
“Do they go off?” he asked, the question leaving him before he had the sense to think better of it. “Get worse the longer you keep them?”
Argos’s eyes widened for a brief moment before his expression relaxed again. He shook his head. “Not that I know of. From what I’ve heard, these biscuits keep their fluffy texture and sweetness even after they’ve been opened. That’s half of what makes them so pricey. One of the secret ingredients is meant to keep them from going too stale,” he emphasised, making Hugin fight back a gag.
The memory of that biscuit’s dryness seemed to return with a vengeance, coating his tongue with the phantom taste of sand. The longer he thought about it, the more his stomach turned.
He shook his head and waved Argos off. “Thank you for sorting the clothes. As for the biscuit... I don’t know. Maybe it’s a knock-off, but it was dry as sand. So unless you fancy it yourself, you can throw it out.”
Argos tilted his head before turning to study the biscuit still resting in his hand. “Really?” he mumbled, genuine confusion in his voice. The quiet word sounded absurdly loud in the silent study as he appeared to turn the matter over in his head where he bid Hugin good night in the distracted tone of a man whose thoughts had already wandered elsewhere.
Without taking his attention from the biscuit, Argos crossed towards the door and slipped through the open gap. A soft click followed as it shut behind him, leaving Hugin’s study to settle back into its familiar stillness.
Hugin stared at the closed door for a moment, still far too startled by the revelation that what he had eaten was supposed to be a luxury brand — one that apparently stayed fluffy even after being opened.
That certainly had not been what he had eaten, he thought as he rolled his shoulders, easing some of the lingering tension from his neck. Whatever the explanation was, he had no intention of wasting the rest of his evening puzzling over a posh biscuit.
His thoughts shifted instead to whatever he had meant to do next, though it didn’t take long for him to realise—
Right... I’ve done all I meant to for now… The thought trailed off as Hugin’s narrowed gaze settled on the discarded letter at the top right of his desk. It lay atop a book whose only contents were a single line: My dear Lady Red R.
He had never finished it. There had been little point once he realised Rose had told him she would be away for some time on what she had rather vaguely called “family business”. She had promised that, once she returned to Silvernia, she would be the one to send her reply first. That realisation had made Hugin stop before he could put pen to paper again.
Might be a while... What was it now, a month? The thought came absently as Hugin reached for the letter. He folded it in half before opening the fourth drawer from the top on his right and slipping it beneath the folder marked L.R., where few correspondence with her was kept neatly tucked away. He could use the letter the next time he needed to reach her; But for now, there was little point dwelling on it.
He closed the drawer with a quiet thunk and settled back into his chair.
With Rose’s situation set aside for the time being, Hugin’s mind fell unusually quiet. He welcomed the silence, allowing the tea Argos had brewed for him to take full effect as he sank further into his chair, his tired eyes drifting towards the window once more.
From this angle, the half-moon peeked in through the window on the right, its pale light barely reaching into the study. The room seemed darker than Hugin remembered, its corners swallowed by shadow where Argos’s earlier words echoed faintly in his ears, and he slumped further into the chair, closing his eyes with a weary sigh.
That late already, is it?
He reopened his eyes halfway, his gaze slipping almost of its own accord towards the drawers on his right. It settled on the top one, distinguished from the others by the small silver keyhole set into its face.
He stared at it for a moment without much thinking, then let his eyes wander towards the lamp. Amid the clutter sat the sun-shaped device Rex had tossed his way: Relay. Its mirrored surface angled towards the ceiling, catching the lamp's warm glow and throwing it back in a dull, golden shimmer.
Hugin paused. Considering how long it might be before the kameras caught their culprit.. In the meantime, he could...
Straightening, Hugin moved closer to the table and reached for the paperweight with his right hand. After setting the pen neatly in its holder, he turned the paperweight over and inspected its underside where without a second thought, he pressed the raven’s dark eyes between his left index finger and thumb.
The orbs yielded beneath his fingers at once. He pressed them twice in quick succession, released them, then followed with four short presses.
A faint creak broke the silence as the wooden base gave way, prompting Hugin to slid it free, revealing a slim, dark-silver key concealed within.
He plucked it from its hiding place with his left hand, set the paperweight back on the table, then reached for the first drawer and fitted the key into its lock. A soft click followed as he turned it, and he slid the drawer open.
Inside lay what appeared to be a disorderly collection of open letters and documents, most of them clustered towards the middle beneath what Hugin had mentally labelled Ongoing. At the back, Main Cases sat completely empty, and up front, beneath Pending Cases, only a handful of documents remained with most belonged to the Cinderella case, with only two documents pertaining to the Rooftop Ghost case.
Hugin suspected the latter would soon be moved to his archive, seeing as it was already nearing its close.
He reached into the middle stack and drew out a handful of letters before shutting the drawer again, leaving the key where it was. Setting the correspondence on the table, he looked through it with slightly furrowed brows, recognising several letters from people and establishments seeking his services, while others bore the names of senders he had never heard of.
Nothing in there was urgent enough to demand his immediate attention. Hugin could sift through them at his own pace, dealing with each in turn whenever he had the time where with no major case yet to sink his teeth into and two smaller ones already pending, he supposed he might as well start earning back the coin he had lost over the course of the day through his “side cases”, as he liked to call them.
Hugin sighed and reached to his left for the paperweight, his gaze never leaving the open letters as he slid the base shut with a soft click with his thumb before setting it aside.
With a bored look, he gathered the correspondence into a neat pile, straightened the edges, then spread the letters across the table and began skimming through them to see which one caught his fancy for tomorrow. Let’s hope the Cinderella case starts moving soon, or some grand mystery lands on our doorstep — eh, Munin? The thought came easily enough, followed almost at once by a dull ache that seemed to spread from the cavity in his chest. His fingers tightened against the table as he quickly snatched one letter at random from the spread. He began to skim it, forcing his wandering mind back into focus, though doing so only made the phantom warmth along his left side harder to ignore.
As though someone were still there.
As though Munin had merely leaned over his shoulder, reading alongside him and ready to decide whether a case was worth their time rather than merely the money it might bring in.
Hugin kept his eyes on the letter, even as he felt that mockingly familiar presence beside him.