“Where exactly did you spring from?”
Ten minutes later, from a secluded corner of the coffee house, Dr. Callan’s voice, laced with ill temper, challenged the man.
She had only dared to speak so boldly after confirming that no one else was nearby.
Under normal circumstances, she would have detected anyone approaching, but these Epidemic Prevention Bureau agents moved with an eerie silence, leaving her to simply gaze helplessly at Konehl-Ghervil across the table, who sat with a stony, uncommunicative expression.
Undoubtedly, she was truly furious…
“…My house is just twenty meters ahead from where you were standing,” Helm offered, a hint of unease in his tone.
Initially, he had merely meant to playfully greet an acquaintance.
Things had, however, taken an unexpected turn.
His jest seemed to have struck a raw nerve.
How could he have known things would escalate to this point between the two of them?
He himself held no strong opinions on such matters; for one, he wasn’t a member of The Order, and for another, similar rumors often circulated among the nobility and the wealthy—a former colleague from the Dream Society was a prime example.
While he had never witnessed it firsthand, rumors rarely materialized from thin air.
“My return from the city wasn’t solely due to a lighter workload; another reason was to find you,” Helm stated.
Seeking to dispel the awkward atmosphere, Helm cut straight to the chase, pulling a letter from his coat pocket and extending it to Konehl-Ghervil.
“What is this?”
Konehl-Ghervil, still sulking with her hands clasped over her knees and her head bowed, cast a sidelong glance at the man.
“It was merely a favor; Jean-Brabant sought me out to inquire about you, and since I was returning anyway, I brought the contract along,” Helm explained.
“There’s likely no one else in Mistfall City who could make that fellow willingly concede defeat.”
‘Concede defeat… Had the orchard cultivation contract truly been drafted already? Such speed was astonishing.’
Taking the letter, Konehl-Ghervil opened it with a mix of skepticism and curiosity, right there before Helm.
Three hundred mu (TL Note: A traditional Chinese unit of land area, approximately 0.1647 acres or 666.7 square meters, so 300 mu is roughly 49.4 acres) was no small parcel, and would undoubtedly require a contractor and a series of bureaucratic procedures.
She had estimated the process would take anywhere from two weeks to a month.
“Would you like me to take a look?”
The woman across from her offered an expectant gaze.
Her response was a death glare.
The contract’s terms were surprisingly clear and concise; after reading it three times, she found no hidden pitfalls.
In essence, the bank pledged to develop the three hundred mu of land into a manor within a year, with a land lease of 750 Trin Gold Coins (TL Note: A unit of currency in the story) per year, to be paid off over four years.
During the contract’s validity, Solis Abbey would receive one percent of the operational profits annually.
At the bottom, the estimated operational profit range for the manor was listed as 7,000-10,000 Trin Gold Coins.
This implied she could earn a passive income of 70-100 Trin Gold Coins annually for four years, simply by doing nothing.
‘Such a windfall seemed almost too good to be true.’
‘From owing a colossal debt of 3,000 Trin Gold Coins, she was poised to transform into a small nouveau riche.’
Even at the lowest estimate, 280 Trin Gold Coins over four years would afford a comfortable life in a place like Mistfall City, provided one avoided high-end luxuries.
“Could they truly be so benevolent?”
She directed her gaze at Helm.
“What does it say? I’ll go with you to settle accounts with them!” Dr. Callan exclaimed, spotting an opportunity.
As Dr. Callan reached out to snatch the contract, her hand was met with a sharp ‘smack,’ causing her to retract it obediently.
Helm watched, utterly dumbfounded.
From their previous collaboration, Dr. Callan had left him with an impression of power, coldness, formidable resolve, and decisive action.
Now, she seemed an entirely different person.
“How did you manage to get her to…”
“What?”
“I meant to say…”
Realizing his blunder, Helm quickly raised his coffee cup and took a deep draught.
“Jean-Brabant hopes you might take on a nominal position at the bank as a lobby manager, dedicating one or two days each month to simple tasks, especially during winter and summer,” he finally managed.
“That wasn’t mentioned in the contract…”
“I inquired on your behalf,” Helm clarified. “It’s not mandatory; you can still sign the contract without agreeing to this term.
However, knowing their nature, they’ll find numerous ways to withhold payment if you refuse.”
Konehl-Ghervil’s brow furrowed.
Winter and summer were seasons when the mist proliferated, and Solis Abbey symbolized safety.
By engaging Konehl-Ghervil, the bank effectively signaled to the outside world a strong partnership between the abbey and their institution.
This strategy aimed to leverage the abbey’s reputation to attract more clients.
In truth, there would be no real loss, and she certainly had a spare day or two each month.
“Lend me a pen.”
Before Helm could even retrieve a pen from his breast pocket, the woman across from him swiftly produced a fountain pen.
Konehl-Ghervil, however, made no move to take it, instead watching Helm expectantly until he pulled out a few banknotes.
“…Surely, I can’t allow two ladies to pay, can I?”
“…”
‘What a master of feigned ignorance!’
Reluctantly, she accepted the fountain pen and signed the contract.
As Helm returned after settling the bill, Konehl-Ghervil inquired, “Is there anything else?”
“How did you know… Ah… It’s like this…”
Helm, long accustomed to Konehl-Ghervil’s shrewdness, turned his attention to Dr. Callan.
“When do you plan to return to the capital?”
“In the next few days…” Dr. Callan replied, stealing subtle glances at Konehl-Ghervil, observing her reaction.
“Please make it as soon as possible.
According to intelligence from the Epidemic Prevention Bureau, the situation has become quite severe.”
“I know.”
‘What were these two discussing? Why was she unaware of Dr. Callan’s impending departure?’
Just as Konehl-Ghervil was about to question Helm, a gust of wind, carrying the faint scent of tobacco, swept through—the man shrugged on his coat and rose from his seat.
“My work hour has arrived; I must take my leave.
I will ensure the contract is delivered for you.”
With that, he exited the coffee house, leaving only the two women at the table.
An awkward silence once again enveloped them.
“I can help you buy Govet-Ghervil’s clothes.”
Having discreetly followed and observed her, Dr. Callan had a fair idea why Konehl-Ghervil had hesitated at the shop entrance.
“…Mm.”
Though Konehl-Ghervil had intended to offer an excuse to leave, the woman’s directness only deepened her embarrassment, leaving her no choice but to nod in agreement, her head still bowed.
“The size should be similar to yours.
Once you’ve bought them, have them delivered to the abbey, and I’ll pay you the cost.
I’ll be heading back now…”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll inflate the price?”
“I wouldn’t mind making another trip.”
“If you lack even this small measure of trust, then it seems you wouldn’t believe me if I told you what’s happening in the capital.”
Dr. Callan shook her head with a wry smile.
Rising from her seat, she left the coffee house, walking briskly toward the lingerie shop they had passed earlier, without a backward glance.
Her steps were quick, heedless of the young woman behind her, who wavered between following and staying.
‘That infuriating woman, she must be doing this on purpose…’
Konehl-Ghervil stood rooted to the spot, watching as Dr. Callan swiftly disappeared into the distance.
In truth, her anger had largely dissipated since their conversation began.
A simple gesture of reconciliation would have allowed both of them to gracefully conclude the matter.
Her agreement to let Dr. Callan help had been both an implicit hint and an olive branch.
‘Who would have thought that woman would use the olive branch not to descend, but to ascend further?’
‘To have her curiosity piqued and then left unsatisfied was truly vexing.’
Unable to tolerate being outmaneuvered and teased, she gathered her skirt and dashed after Dr. Callan.
She pursued her to a street corner, but by the time she rounded the bend, Dr. Callan had vanished from sight.
After glancing around for a moment, a voice suddenly materialized from behind her.
“I don’t recall this being the path to the abbey, do you?”
Startled, Konehl-Ghervil turned with a mournful expression to face the smiling woman, then, choosing the lesser of two evils, altered her demeanor.
“…I have a tiny sliver of interest in what’s happening in the capital.
If you’re willing to speak, I might just believe you.”
“It’s not a complicated matter, really.”
Without further gloating over her small victory, Dr. Callan clasped her hands behind her back and continued walking.
“Pope Morsian-Sartre (TL Note: The highest religious authority, similar to a Pope or Patriarch) has fallen gravely ill due to an unknown cause, or rather, causes, as it appears to be more than one ailment.
Now, various factions in the capital are investigating the root of this affliction.”
“When did this happen?”
“Approximately a week ago.”
…As they walked and talked, they soon arrived at the lingerie shop.
With company, the shopping was far less awkward, and they quickly completed their purchases.
On their way back to Solis Abbey, Konehl-Ghervil learned more unsettling details.
The Pope’s illness was peculiar, manifesting with a multitude of symptoms: blackened skin, red rashes across his body, headaches, insomnia, organ failure, and more.
Each time one symptom was alleviated, a new one would soon emerge, making it impossible to ascertain the root cause.
The cumulative effect of these disparate symptoms was more than enough to claim the life of an old man.
Several chief physicians, those who could spare the time, had already departed for the capital, and Dr. Callan was now compelled to cut her vacation short and return early.
“I intend to depart on Friday, treating it as an official assignment.
I hope you’ll consider accompanying me; all expenses will be reimbursed, and you may bring Govet-Ghervil along.”
Standing at the entrance of Solis Abbey, Dr. Callan extended her invitation to Konehl-Ghervil.
“I require time to consider.”
Holding the packaged clothes, Konehl-Ghervil gave a slight curtsey.
“I will give you my answer before Friday.”