Indeed, those few documents alone were sufficient to verify her identity; no individual would dare forge official seals to deceive the Royal Bank.
The woman, however, was more consumed by curiosity, wondering if the nun from Solis Abbey truly lived up to the whispered tales.
Her moment of panic had drawn several sharp, scrutinizing gazes, and unnoticed by many, plainclothes security personnel had begun to subtly converge from within the crowd.
Before Ghervil could even formulate a reply, the woman recognized the indiscretion of her question.
“I apologize; my impertinent inquiry has surely caused you undue trouble.”
Humbly, she smoothed out the documents and extended them, her actions serving as a tacit assurance that no disturbance had occurred.
“As a gesture of compensation, we shall ensure you receive our most exemplary service.”
A mere five minutes later, a lean, impeccably dressed man, sporting a neatly trimmed mustache and introducing himself as the lobby manager, escorted her into a lavishly appointed VIP room.
“You may simply address me as Brabant.”
He personally prepared two cups of black tea, then presented a tray laden with exquisite desserts and meticulously arranged fruits, all while a somewhat strained smile played upon his lips.
“We have thoroughly noted your requests, but I regret to inform you that we are unable to process the desired transactions.”
“Would you be so kind as to enlighten me as to why, Mr. Brabant?”
Ghervil elegantly lifted her cup of black tea and took a delicate, measured sip.
“I must reconfirm: are you indeed seeking to open an account under the name Konehl-Ghervil, a member of Solis Abbey?”
“Yes,” she affirmed, offering a slight nod.
“Then there appears to be no misunderstanding.”
The manager’s furrowed brow visibly softened.
“Your account was established with us on July 1st, 1956, and currently holds a balance of five thousand Soldeau.”
Over three hundred Trin Gold Coins!
With an almost innate sensitivity to matters of finance, Ghervil instantly converted the sum into its equivalent in Trin Gold Coins.
‘Could this be the Abbess’s doing?’
The specific date, July 1st… no one else but the Abbess came to her mind.
‘With such a substantial deposit, why would I waste my time squirreling away more funds?’
‘They certainly overestimate me.’
“Ahem,” she cleared her throat, forcing an air of composure.
“Therefore, Mr. Brabant, I would be much obliged if you could facilitate the withdrawal of five hundred Soldeau for me.”
Replacing furniture, acquiring new socks and garments, ensuring Govet-Ghervil had an abundance of delectable treats, and allocating the remainder for future living expenses.
Any leftover funds in the account would be earmarked for acquiring Blood Rose and other vital medicinal herbs.
‘Perfect!’
Even before the funds were physically in her possession, she had meticulously planned every expenditure.
“Certainly, madam. Kindly inscribe your password, signature, and the desired withdrawal amount upon this slip, and I shall proceed to the counter to finalize the transaction on your behalf.”
The man’s face lit up with a broad smile as he slid open a drawer and retrieved a withdrawal slip.
‘Password?’
‘What password…’
‘The Abbess never mentioned such a thing to me!’
Ghervil felt a momentary surge of confusion, though her sunglasses effectively masked any outward sign of it.
‘Do not panic.’
‘Think carefully; there must be some crucial clue…’
‘Numbers associated with the Abbess and myself…’
‘Ah, yes.’
Her mind drifted to the forged entries in the diary.
With swift strokes, she completed the signature and amount on the slip, then, in the space designated for the password, she boldly wrote ‘193771’ before returning the document.
This particular sequence of numbers represented the date, as recorded in the Abbess’s diary, when Ghervil was discovered at the very entrance of the abbey.
“Please, allow me a moment; I shall process this with utmost haste. Meanwhile, I encourage you to sample our exquisite desserts, which hail directly from the royal capital.”
“Thank you, there is no need to hurry. My time is quite ample.”
The manager then exited, softly closing the door in his wake.
Approximately ten minutes later, he reappeared, carrying a formidable stack of documents, yet conspicuously devoid of any banknotes.
‘The password was incorrect?’
“No, no, no,” the mustachioed man quickly interjected, a note of hurried explanation in his voice.
“The password is not, in fact, the issue, madam. It is merely that… your account is subject to certain restrictions and is presently in a frozen state.”
Ghervil’s eyes, obscured by the dark lenses of her sunglasses, fixed upon him with an unwavering intensity.
‘This man is absolutely doing this intentionally.’
‘As a lobby manager, he must have been aware of the account’s status from the very beginning.’
‘His actions are merely a ploy to verify my identity.’
“Could you, perhaps, enlighten me as to the reason?” she inquired, her patience remarkably unflagging.
Seated on the plush sofa, the man’s countenance assumed a carefully crafted expression of appropriate distress.
“Perhaps, if you would be so kind, you might first peruse these contracts and the official ruling documents issued by the Royal High Court.”
“Just tell me directly. I trust you would not deceive me.”
“I have investigated, and it appears a significant portion of the funds in your account originated from the Royal Family. While I am not privy to the exact reason for the freeze, it seems to be a directive from higher authorities.” The man lowered his voice, leaning forward conspiratorially, as if burdened by an unspoken secret.
“However, I do possess knowledge of how you might yet access these funds.”
His tone reverted to its usual professional cadence.
“These documents stipulate that Solis Abbey must complete at least one ‘formal commission’ before October 1st, 1956. Upon presenting the appropriate certification at any branch of the Royal Bank, your account can then be unfrozen.”
****
Declining the bank manager’s polite offer of an escort home, Ghervil, having acquired some essential provisions and her midday meal, boarded a carriage bound for her residence at half past twelve.
As Brabant had explained, a ‘formal commission’ was defined as any case or event officially entrusted to Solis Abbey.
The term ‘official’ encompassed a broad spectrum of entities, including governmental departments, the police force, the Epidemic Prevention Bureau, and even The Order itself.
Such commissions usually involved matters they found particularly vexing or for which they lacked leads, and they weren’t necessarily tied to epidemic diseases, as the Epidemic Prevention Bureau and hospital departments primarily handled those.
Indeed, there were even situations where both entities would jointly commission the abbey.
The Abbess’s ongoing efforts in Mistfall City, assisting with the Mists and the Long Night over the years, certainly fell into this category.
These commissions arrived in written form from all corners of the nation, and Solis Abbey retained the prerogative to accept or decline them.
Commissions originating from The Order tended to be more numerous.
As Solis Abbey was an integral organization within The Order, directives from higher echelons were not to be refused by those beneath them. Within The Order, the sole figure who could truly be considered the abbey’s superior…
was the Pontiff himself.
This implied that, as a nun, she possessed the liberty to forgo prayers and worship, abstain from doctrinal study, and abstain from other church activities, unless, of course, her two theoretical ‘superiors’ explicitly commanded otherwise.
This time, however, such a choice was clearly unavailable to her; without unfreezing her bank account, she would lack even a place to safely store her funds.
Seeking out other banks might not prove to be a viable solution.
No one, surely, would be so utterly foolish as to openly defy the Royal Family.
In most instances, these commissions came with considerable remuneration.
Ghervil surmised that Solis Abbey had likely sustained its operations over time through the stipends received from these very commissions.
This was merely a conjecture, of course; she could always glean more information from Govet-Ghervil once she returned home.
It was approaching two o’clock when she finally arrived home, her arms burdened with numerous packages.
A soft tap with her knee against the door, and it promptly swung open.
“Why have you taken such an eternity to return? My stomach feels utterly shriveled with hunger!”
Govet-Ghervil, who had been perched impatiently on the doorknob, dropped to the floor, her voice tinged with a plaintive whine. Yet, at the sight of the packages clutched in the young woman’s hands, her grand tail began to wag with unrestrained enthusiasm.
“What treasures did you procure?” As the door closed, Govet-Ghervil nimbly sprang onto her shoulder, intent on a closer inspection.
“Just some household essentials,” Ghervil replied vaguely.
“Is there food, though?”
“None at all.”
“Liar! I can distinctly smell it!”
No sooner had the items been set down than Govet-Ghervil burrowed into the bags, rummaging until she unearthed a paper-wrapped roasted meat pie. Before she could even take a bite, however, it was snatched away.
“Eat at the table, I have something important to ask you.”
Over the next half hour, while they ate, Ghervil recounted the situation in broad strokes.
Govet-Ghervil, however, reacted with surprising nonchalance, lying on the table and leisurely popping peanuts into her mouth.
“If you accept a commission to another city… aren’t you worried that Ms. Callan, who sent you the letter, might return and be upset at not finding you?”
“She should still be some time away; we simply need to return before then.”
“Mind your phrasing, it’s ‘you,’ not ‘we.’ Even in the past, I only accompanied the Abbess once or twice.”
“Can you truly bear to send your sister off alone to an unfamiliar place?”
A mischievous smile played on Ghervil’s lips as she leaned in and gently stroked Govet-Ghervil’s plump belly.
“Don’t you desire the money from the Royal Family?”
A sudden chill ran through Govet-Ghervil.
She had, by now, gained a fairly good understanding of the young woman’s character and temperament.
Carefully, she moved her paw away, stood up, and, in an attempt to curry favor, peeled a peanut and placed it in Ghervil’s hand.
“Before any of that… you must first find a way to secure a commission.”