The heavy atmosphere, which had shown no sign of dissipating, was abruptly shattered by a light ‘ding-a-ling’ from outside.
By the time the girl and her mouse companion scampered downstairs and burst outside, the bicycling messenger had already vanished at the road’s distant end.
After a quick glance left and right revealed no one, she retrieved a letter from the mailbox.
It bore no postmarked stamp, no signature, and no date.
Still, the crimson lotus seal emblazoned at the letter’s center was enough for Ghervil to instantly recognize its sender.
****
In the ground-floor hall, Govet-Ghervil, nestled comfortably in the young woman’s embrace, meticulously read the letter aloud.
“If only you weren’t illiterate, we could exchange letters freely. But no matter, you can find someone to read it to you. I trust by now you’ve already secured the money inside.”
“The key to number 100 is beneath where you usually keep it. Please look after the house for me. Due to a mission, I won’t be back for a while.”
“Your wages for this period are all enclosed, with my month’s nursing fees deducted.”
“Don’t go wandering off while I’m away. If I return and you’re not home… of course, by contract, you cannot disobey this instruction.”
“If you truly miss me, you can come to the Royal Capital. I’ll treat you to a grand meal.”
“That’s all.”
“Your best friend — Lottus-Callan.”
Having finished the letter, Govet-Ghervil looked back.
“Are you two close? She said you’re illiterate…”
She had intended to seize the opportunity for a teasing jab.
Her words froze mid-sentence, abruptly halted by the sight of the young woman grinding her teeth, a gold coin clutched tightly in her hand.
A moment later, her face was painfully tugged.
“Why didn’t you show up sooner?”
“Wh-what?”
Her body was tossed into the air, only to be caught by the girl, their eyes meeting.
“If you’d appeared sooner, she wouldn’t have had to look after me, and my wages wouldn’t have been deducted!”
Before Govet-Ghervil could even utter a response, she found herself laid flat on the girl’s lap, her fur roughly stroked against its natural grain, starting from her tail.
“Because of you, we’ve lost over six thousand six hundred Denarii, which is more than twenty gold coins! I don’t care; you’re compensating me for these losses!”
This calculation only accounted for a month of normal working hours during her slumber, not overtime, which would have made the sum even greater.
Rounding up, Ghervil felt as though she had been shorted a hundred million (TL Note: A common Chinese hyperbole to express an immense loss).
In no time at all, Govet-Ghervil was ruffled into a veritable prickly ball, her words slurred and her vision swimming with dizziness.
“What illegal work have you been doing… to earn so much…”
In truth, the deduction wasn’t nearly so steep; Dr. Callan would never charge two hundred daily for her period of slumber, only about a month’s basic salary.
She sought a pretext to tease Govet-Ghervil, for how dare her elder sister brand her younger sibling illiterate and then reiterate it with such emphasis?
Had she simply furnished Dr. Callan with more accurate details, such a misunderstanding would never have arisen.
“Don’t overthink it; it was perfectly legitimate work, of course.”
Ghervil narrowed her eyes, smoothing its fur back into place.
“Which bank in Mistfall City has the largest presence?”
“The Royal Bank. Why do you ask…?”
“You stay home and guard the door. I’m going to open an account now and deposit most of our assets.”
Currently, the household’s cash amounted to eight gold coins.
Seven would be deposited for buying Blood Rose, leaving one gold coin and over two hundred silver coins for daily expenses.
“That’s… possible.”
Govet-Ghervil shook her tiny head.
“It’s already closing time. You’d most likely make a wasted trip.”
Ah, right, tomorrow was still the weekend, so she’d have to wait another two days.
Ghervil’s burgeoning enthusiasm instantly evaporated. She flung the furry toy onto the sofa and, with a grim expression settled upon her features, marched towards the kitchen.
“What are you going to do?”
After rolling a few times on the sofa to right herself, Govet-Ghervil shakily rose, her inquiry tinged with a blend of indignation and trepidation.
“As a reward for reminding me and saving me a wasted trip, I’ve decided to personally cook dinner tonight.”
Her large tail drooped, and the entire mouse slumped onto the sofa.
‘It’s over.’
‘How will I survive dinner tonight…?’
‘Being bad isn’t the problem; being bad and unaware of it is deadly.’
****
As dusk deepened, Govet-Ghervil found herself utterly unable to bring herself to touch the separate, abundant, and undeniably appetizing dishes served before her on the table.
Only after Ghervil had sampled each and every dish did Govet-Ghervil finally summon the courage to take her first bite.
“Unexpectedly good!”
It was a world away from the clandestine flavors she had previously sampled.
A flicker of puzzlement crossed her face as she looked up, meeting the young woman’s decidedly triumphant gaze.
“I forgot to tell you, I’ve lost most of my sense of taste.”
“As long as I don’t taste as I cook, the flavor usually isn’t bad.”
Compared to her days of learning culinary arts, she could now only discern the potent sensations of sourness, bitterness, and saltiness; other foods remained largely flavorless to her palate.
Her sense of smell was not significantly affected, not to a degree that would disrupt daily life.
For Ghervil, a month of slumber and this subsequent sensory loss was a price she was more than content to pay for resurrecting so many souls.
“Oh… so you knew sometimes your cooking…”
Govet-Ghervil felt a faint pang of remorse, for she had more than once subtly implied that the other’s cooking was, to put it mildly, unpalatable.
“For every meal from now on, I can help taste and tell you how much seasoning to add.”
“Are you questioning my professional expertise?”
“…Absolutely not.”
Govet-Ghervil buried her head in her food.
‘All that worry for nothing.’
‘Do as you please, but for the love of all that is savory, possess the self-awareness not to taste it yourself.’
‘I’m done with you.’
****
Days spent with companionship always passed swiftly.
In the blink of an eye, Monday arrived.
Ghervil had gradually grown accustomed to the morning ritual of waking with a soft furball pressed against her chest, emitting gentle snores.
Donning a cream-colored everyday tea dress, her eyes shielded by dark sunglasses, a white sun hat perched atop her head, and carrying a sturdy case filled with various essential documents and seven gleaming gold coins, Ghervil stepped confidently out of Number 101.
“Are you really sure you don’t need me to accompany you?”
On the windowsill, the familiar furball was perched.
“Just keep an eye on the house.”
She offered a dismissive wave, simultaneously pressing down on her hat brim as a playful gust of wind threatened to whisk it away.
“I wouldn’t want anyone to see how adorable my older sister is.”
****
She did not take the public bus.
Opting instead for the more economical horse-drawn carriage.
It took roughly an hour and a half to reach the Royal Bank’s Mistfall City branch.
The edifice itself was a majestic structure of symmetrical design, fashioned from grey-white marble and pristine limestone.
It was certainly befitting a bank with royal investment.
Within, the grand hall was sumptuously adorned with exquisite murals and an intricately carved, ornate ceiling.
Though vibrant in its palette, it nonetheless exuded an air of solemn and refined elegance.
The service counters, crafted from thick, solid wood, were meticulously polished and varnished to a rich sheen. The chairs, with their elegantly curved backs, bespoke a clear dedication to fine craftsmanship.
The only drawback.
There were far too many people.
It was, in part, her own oversight for not having arrived earlier; she had reached the bank at the relatively late hour of ten in the morning.
After enduring a wait in line for over an hour, her turn finally arrived at eleven.
“Hello, I would like to open an account with your bank.”
The counter was not particularly tall, allowing her, seated comfortably on a stool, to converse without the slight stoop many others adopted to speak with the clerk inside.
“Please provide valid identification.”
Perhaps sensing a young girl’s voice, the woman behind the window—her face etched with faint nasolabial folds, clad in a business suit and spectacles, likely in her early thirties—did not even deign to glance up, her eyes remaining intently fixed on the documents in her hand.
“Are these sufficient?”
With a gentle push, Ghervil slid forward the meticulously prepared property deed, the official inheritance papers, the church’s seal of approval, and several utility bills that Dr. Callan had helped pay, asking softly.
“To open an account, an initial deposit of fifty Soldeau is required, in addition to certain other conditions. If you agree, please fill out your identification information.”
Pushing the documents aside, and casually pulling a form from the counter, the person inside still did not look at her.
“Are gold coins acceptable?”
“This bank supports all currency settlements.”
Finishing quickly, Ghervil pushed the form across.
The woman picked it up idly, intending to discard it, but then her brows furrowed. With a touch of panic, she retrieved the identification documents and examined them closely.
Moments later, she looked up, her expression incredulous.
“Oh, my goddess!”
“Please… no, would you mind removing your sunglasses?”