The orange lamplight shone on the aged paper, lending it a gentle warmth that made anyone looking at it feel comfortable deep down.
Yet Arthur frowned as he stared at the messy, hurried handwriting.
The young Medium had thought of something crucial.
Namely...
Did Old Charlie understand [Ei a]?
If he could trick William out of the incomplete Book of Death, tricking him out of that notebook would hardly have been difficult. And after reading its contents, would Old Charlie have remained unmoved?
No.
In Arthur's memories, Old Charlie had always been an intensely curious old man. His daily schedule was tightly packed and sensibly arranged, as though he never grew tired.
Besides, even if Old Charlie had refrained from swindling William out of the notebook to preserve his dignity as a Medium, the fact that [Ei a], with all its peculiar properties, had never affected him in the slightest over all these years was telling enough.
So, judging by everything before him, Old Charlie seemed to understand [Ei a]!
Great. Now it's pretty much certain that Old Charlie understands [Ei a].
Then...
Does Drake understand it?
Does Cassandra?
Does Winters, who went missing?
Did my late parents?
Thinking back to how grave Malinda had looked when she casually mentioned the supposed "demon haunting Baker Farm," his family should, possibly, probably understand it, right?
So I really am the only Muggle in the whole family?
And the whole family was putting on an act just for me!
Fine, fine, fine. So that's how you want to play it?
Having reached that conclusion, Arthur could not help rubbing his aching brow.
Still, grumble though the young Medium might, he felt no resentment at all. What had happened to the Blood Marquis's family remained fresh in his mind, and Arthur fully understood