At half past nine in the morning, Ghervil slowly awoke to the droning hum of the foundry machinery.
This incessant noise had begun around half past six, and those with lighter sleep would easily have been roused by it.
Yet, by some twist of fate, Ghervil suffered from narcolepsy, which often rendered her incapable of rousing herself, even amidst the clamor outside.
Govet-Ghervil, however, endured a tormenting night.
The heat was oppressive, and after only a few hours of sleep in the latter half of the night, she found herself assailed by the persistent din of machinery.
Rising, she sought refuge in the washroom for a cold shower, only for the water to cease mid-wash.
Stepping out, Govet-Ghervil encountered Esli, who had been waiting by the door, and was momentarily startled.
‘Why was she lurking about so early in the morning instead of sleeping?’
A surge of inexplicable irritation welled within her.
She attributed the sudden halt of the water supply to Ghervil’s ill fortune.
Ghervil, who barely needed sleep and seemed impervious to the heat.
Such a person’s presence here felt like an ostentatious display, a deliberate mockery of Govet-Ghervil.
Though Esli harbored no such intentions, having nothing better to do, she was merely curious how Govet-Ghervil, a large rat, managed to shower herself.
With her fur bristling, her eyes flashing a warning, she warily retreated to her room.
After drying herself with a towel, she managed to snatch a few more hours of fitful sleep.
Around nine-fifty, the woman and the rat emerged from their respective rooms.
Two figures were seated in the living room.
Esli was devouring the breakfast Ramsey had brought, muttering apologies between hearty mouthfuls.
Ramsey beckoned to them, urging them to come and eat quickly.
“Are you settling in comfortably, my friend?”
“Had I not been comfortable, I wouldn’t have slept so late.” Taking a seat at the table, Ghervil picked up a half-eaten piece of toast and sampled it.
The texture was pleasing, though its flavor remained a mystery.
Govet-Ghervil casually took a bite of a meat patty before burrowing back into Ghervil’s embrace to sleep.
Having slept so poorly, she had no appetite.
Ramsey observed this scene with keen interest.
“Today is Sunday, and the foundry workers are simply performing routine equipment checks.
They won’t be operating for long, and will finish in about half an hour.”
The unspoken implication was that if Govet-Ghervil was truly too sleepy to function, she could remain there and sleep for another half hour.
“Have you secured an appointment with the Baron?”
It would be best to act promptly, for I have a premonition that today will be too busy for any idleness.”
Ghervil, on Govet-Ghervil’s behalf, declined the suggestion.
“There’s no need for an appointment.”
Ramsey offered a faint smile.
“The Baron, in a bid to prove his innocence, has confined his activities to Rose Manor, submitting himself to any inspection The Order deems necessary.”
“Meanwhile, the family’s enterprises are managed by his eldest son.”
“Growing and selling flowers?”
Given his title, ‘the Flower Baron,’ it was easy to surmise his primary occupation.
“An astute deduction.
He once cultivated Blood Roses, but now…”
Ramsey’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“The Cambaton family controls half of Florence City’s flower distribution channels, and they are also the nation’s largest exporter and supplier.”
That is quite impressive, especially considering that exports involve international trade.
For the royal family to entrust such a significant business to the Cambaton family speaks volumes about the Baron’s power and standing.
“Why ‘once cultivated’? Does he no longer grow them?” Ghervil inquired further.
“I’ve heard about this!” Esli seized the opportunity to join the conversation,
“Two years ago, affected by the Mist, Florence City’s Blood Roses suffered a blight, triggering a widespread epidemic.
Since then, Blood Roses have been deemed contraband, their cultivation explicitly forbidden in many regions.
Soon after, the flower all but vanished.”
“That’s largely the gist of it,” Ramsey interjected, picking up the thread.
“Ostensibly, it’s prohibited, but as you know, Blood Roses are a vital raw material for certain specialized potions, and the demand is considerable.
Whether they cultivate them in secret is perhaps known only to The Order.”
‘So, they are growing them.’
Ghervil remembered Mrs. Rose’s visit to Mistfall City was specifically to supply Blood Roses to the Cathedral.
Since even The Order had raised no objections, there was little others could say.
Mrs. Rose’s letters had even directly mentioned Blood Roses, indicating that these overt prohibitions were merely for the common populace.
After finishing breakfast, they departed the old district in Ramsey’s car, heading north to the city center.
The journey was estimated to take about an hour and a half.
Throughout the drive, Ghervil cautiously scanned for anyone dressed as a Hospital Department doctor, specifically looking for the specialized black robes that Dr. Callan wore.
The outcome was predictable.
No one, unless mentally unsound, would wander the streets in such conspicuous attire.
With the windows down for ventilation, they took routes with minimal pedestrian and vehicle traffic, allowing for a faster pace.
The breeze that streamed in was delightfully cool.
Govet-Ghervil, nestled comfortably in Ghervil’s arms, enjoyed a sound nap.
Esli, on the other hand, cowered alone in the back seat, her coat pulled tightly around her, huddled against the upholstery.
Ghervil initially felt a pang of pity for her.
However, remembering the curse of ill fortune, she hastily urged Ramsey to slow down.
The journey proceeded without major incident, save for an old man who deliberately stumbled into their car.
Upon seeing Ramsey’s displayed credentials, the old man tucked his tail between his legs and scurried away in disgrace.
Esli, intending to apprehend him, was stopped by Ghervil.
Such matters were best left to the local police, a task Ramsey’s position would easily facilitate.
They parked in a small plaza, and the trio disembarked to continue on foot.
From this point, walking was their only option.
Florence City’s Cathedral, located within the estate, coupled with Sunday service and the flower exhibition scheduled for the following day, promised a significant number of visitors.
Hence, their early arrival was imperative.
They passed through a wrought-iron archway, approximately twenty-five meters high, adorned with gilded rose vines.
It marked the entrance to the manor grounds.
Rose Manor spanned an impressive twelve hundred mu (TL Note: A traditional Chinese unit of land area, roughly equivalent to 0.16 acres or 666.7 square meters.), with over eight hundred mu dedicated to flower cultivation, and the remaining four hundred mu comprising buildings and functional zones.
The architectural complex included a grand Cathedral, two smaller chapels, along with workshops, a visitor center, residential quarters, monastic dormitories and an academy, and a guesthouse.
Though ostensibly a flower-growing estate, Ghervil found its scale utterly extravagant.
Even the base of the goddess statue in the central plaza was intricately adorned with various floral arrangements.
As far as the eye could see, unfinished flower exhibition stands dotted the landscape, and the monks from the church were bustling with activity.
“Where are we going now?”
Following Ramsey, Ghervil realized that their path did not lead to the residential areas, guesthouses, or other places typically frequented by visitors.
“First, we’ll proceed to the Cathedral, to greet its master.” Ramsey glanced back at her.
“Won’t that expose us?
You promised to help me conceal my identity!”
Given Solis Abbey’s renown throughout the kingdom, she genuinely feared that the image of its last remaining nun would spread far and wide among the nation’s influential figures.
During her late-night conversation with Govet-Ghervil, she had already devised a cover story: they would claim to be Ramsey’s detective colleagues, newly arrived from afar, with Esli serving as her assistant.
“Concealing your identity will require more than just you and me.”
“Then who will it depend on?”
“You’ll soon find out.” With a raised eyebrow, Ramsey continued to lead the way.
Twenty-five minutes later, the three found an elderly man in white robes with short, curly silver-gray hair in the north cloister of the Cathedral.
He was not truly old, though.
Upon closer inspection, he possessed a vibrant spirit and a benevolent countenance.
His left eye gleamed with sharp intelligence, its white pure and unblemished, his pupil like polished obsidian—both profound and lustrous.
Rose-shaped wrinkles graced the corners of both eyes, suggesting an age between forty-five and fifty-five.
Without his robes, he would appear as an ordinary man, unremarkable save for the prosthetic right eye, crafted from genuine obsidian.
His white robes were embroidered with golden thorn patterns on the collar and cuffs as he slowly admired the flowers in the corridor.
Ghervil formed this initial impression because of his stature; he was only half a head taller than her, and his posture was bent over, admiring flowers, with a meticulously carved notebook in his hand.
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
Ramsey bowed to him.
Ghervil removed her sun hat, and Esli followed suit.
“Good morning, Agent.”
The old man’s voice was smooth and gentle.
“It’s rare for you to bring companions.
Allow me to guess the identities of your two friends.”
After greeting Ramsey, his gaze shifted to the two ladies, pausing on the young woman with white hair and golden eyes, his pupils widening slightly.
He took a small step closer, intending to get a better look, and after a few seconds, a smile spread across his otherwise unlined face.
“It is a pleasure to meet you again, Sister Ghervil of Solis Abbey.”