One sentence perfectly encapsulated Konehl-Ghervil’s current state of mind: she was like a country bumpkin arriving in the grand city, beholding everything with fresh, boundless curiosity.
Along the streets of the Capital, Morpheme, black taxis were ubiquitous, with luxury sedans occasionally gliding past.
The number of automobiles dwarfed those in Florence City by two or even three times, rendering horse-drawn carriages a surprising rarity.
The buildings, neatly aligned and of nearly uniform height, were not towering skyscrapers, yet their exquisite designs exuded an impressive grandeur.
Even after exiting the train station, the distant rumble of colossal cruise ships remained audible.
The train had arrived midday on Sunday, and upon disembarking, Konehl-Ghervil was eager to distance herself from the madwoman.
Indeed.
Following her condition spiraling out of control on Friday night, Dr. Callan had, predictably, gone mad again on Saturday evening.
Emboldened by having held Konehl-Ghervil throughout the previous night, Dr. Callan shamelessly attempted to climb into her upper bunk the second night.
Konehl-Ghervil’s tactic for this was to feign indifference, agreeing to a few seemingly reasonable requests; in reality, while Dr. Callan was distracted by conversation, Konehl-Ghervil delivered a swift kick to her face, sending her tumbling from the ladder, clutching her head and backside, wailing in agony.
Having not rested well that night, Konehl-Ghervil spent most of the day catching up on sleep, slumbering until the train pulled into the station at noon.
As a result, her spirits were now exceptionally high.
“You certainly can sleep,” Dr. Callan remarked. “If calling your name fails to rouse you again, I’ll have to resort to other methods.”
Carrying her luggage in one hand, Dr. Callan bought an iced tea and pressed it directly against the young girl’s face, startling her into a grimace and eliciting a resentful glare.
“…Do you truly believe I’d want to hear you utter those methods aloud?”
“In the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty… a kiss awakens the protagonist… I wouldn’t mind trying it once.” Feigning deafness, the woman raised the hand not holding the suitcase to hail a taxi.
“Still haven’t forgotten that bullshit fairy tale, I see.”
Konehl-Ghervil took the tea, too weary to argue further.
“Unless absolutely necessary, do not awaken a narcoleptic,” Konehl-Ghervil stated. “Sleep is paramount for her.”
Calculating the time, it had been almost a month since she last reverted to her ‘idiot’ state.
Currently, there were no other side effects apart from being prone to mental fatigue; at this rate, she should be able to endure until the planted roses matured.
“Sir, please take us to the most expensive hotel nearby,” Konehl-Ghervil instructed as the taxi stopped, squeezing into the front passenger seat. “The more extravagant, the better.”
“The Royal Grand Hotel is the most expensive nearby… but it requires a reservation to check in, unless you are…” The driver’s words trailed off, prompting a thorough scrutiny from the middle-aged man.
Her face was strikingly beautiful, captivating even this seasoned driver, who, after years in the taxi business and countless passengers, couldn’t help but let his gaze linger a moment longer.
Her attire, while gracefully highlighting her temperament, was ultimately just a simple, unadorned dress.
Based on this assessment, she was clearly neither a member of the royal family nor a renowned noble in the Capital.
Konehl-Ghervil noticed the driver’s appraisal, and just as she pondered how to offer him a straightforward, easily understandable ‘gentle reminder,’ several large-denomination banknotes appeared in her peripheral vision, offered from the backseat.
“Don’t listen to her,” Dr. Callan interjected. “Take us to the Mayfair District.”
“The Mayfair District, you say!?” The driver’s eyes widened instantly as he craned his neck forward slightly, his gaze skipping over the money to the backseat.
“Yes, Cley Street.”
Oh… this was quite something.
Either nobles or truly wealthy individuals resided there, and rumor had it, even some high-ranking church officials.
Considering its proximity to the train station, this made sense.
The answer surfaced: these two were either friends of Cley Street residents, or the woman in the back was herself an inhabitant.
The driver, no longer judging by appearances, pocketed the money and looked at the young girl in the passenger seat with renewed enthusiasm.
“Should you require a suite at the Royal Grand Hotel, you may book by letter,” he explained. “Of course, it might require a deposit or identification, but I’m sure that wouldn’t be an issue for you and your friend.”
“Also, please fasten your seatbelt.”
Nodding in acknowledgment, Konehl-Ghervil glanced toward the back.
“What kind of place is Cley Street in the Mayfair District? What are we going there for?”
“My residence is there,” Dr. Callan replied. “I’ll take you to get acquainted with the area first.”
“Your home?”
“If I still had a home,” Dr. Callan said, a strange note in her voice, “that place could certainly be considered one.”
While her words sounded strange, Konehl-Ghervil had no intention of falling for a trick.
“Sir, please stop the car.”
‘Are you kidding me?’ she thought. ‘She wouldn’t even dare go to Number 100, so how could she possibly dare go to this person’s lair?’
“Well…”
The driver hesitantly sought approval from the woman in the back with a glance through the rearview mirror.
“Leaving aside the matter of accommodation for a moment,” Dr. Callan began, “the cheapest taxi ride costs twenty Denarii.”
Dr. Callan calmly tallied the costs for her.
“Even a simple meal won’t be cheap, and I distinctly recall you didn’t bring a single coin.”
“When did I ever say I’d use my own money?” Konehl-Ghervil retorted. “And you clearly know I’m not talking about money.”
The fact that Dr. Callan was feigning ignorance when fully aware only solidified Konehl-Ghervil’s suspicion that this trip had ulterior motives.
“Rest assured,” Dr. Callan said, “I understand what’s important and when to act. Truthfully, the hotels might not offer conditions as favorable as my place.”
“Indeed, Miss,” the driver chimed in enthusiastically, siding with Dr. Callan. “The Mayfair District is one of the Capital’s premier noble areas, and Cley Street is the finest stretch of road within it. It’s close to the sea, boasting beautiful beaches. I’ve heard the sand there even gleams silver!”
Having finally secured a substantial fare, he couldn’t allow the opportunity to slip away.
“By the sea? Then I must… *ahem*.”
Konehl-Ghervil composed herself slightly.
“I hope you remember your promise.”
With an outsider in the car, it wasn’t appropriate to say too much, so she could only hint at it.
“As long as you don’t run around wildly,” Dr. Callan replied.
Truth be told, Dr. Callan brought Konehl-Ghervil home not only to keep her out of the current incident, but also because the Mayfair District boasted excellent public safety.
Having experienced the Florence City incident, Dr. Callan acknowledged Konehl-Ghervil’s abilities; to single-handedly resolve a mythical creature made her a standout across the entire kingdom.
However, there was one critical prerequisite: in the true dream, Konehl-Ghervil’s physical capabilities in the real world were even weaker than an ordinary person’s, and this was precisely where Dr. Callan felt uneasy.
With less free time ahead, Dr. Callan couldn’t always be by Konehl-Ghervil’s side, necessitating extra considerations for her safety.
Seeing that the two had reached an agreement, the driver rolled up the windows and accelerated.
Over an hour’s drive, Konehl-Ghervil once again witnessed the Capital’s undeniable prosperity; most people on the streets wore relaxed, unburdened expressions, scarcely appearing to live in a world plagued by pestilence.
This tranquility was undoubtedly linked to the patrolling detectives in black, who could be seen every few minutes along the roads.
Passing a toy store, she experienced a dizzying sense of returning to the twenty-first century: the toys were powered by electricity, controlled by remotes, fitted with colored lights, emitted sounds, and included intricate models of airships and steel battleships.
If there was one drawback…
The greenery was sorely lacking; aside from parks, trees and green plants were largely absent, a stark contrast to the verdant beauty of Florence City, which was far superior in this regard.
When they finally entered the Mayfair District’s Cley Street and disembarked to walk, the sight that greeted them was hardly surprising.
The terraced mansions on both sides of the street were uniformly styled and neatly arranged.
Their off-white exteriors exuded an ancient, heavy sense of history, the intricate carvings on their doors and windows bore the marks of wind and rain, and their surrounding iron fences were overgrown with ivy.
Each mansion resembled a miniature ancient castle.
“We’re here.”
Dr. Callan led her to a heavy oak door.
“This is one of my properties in the Capital, Number 19 Cley Street.”