Even without this letter, she would have eventually made a trip to Florence City.
The acquisition of Blood Rose had been a long-standing plan, hindered primarily by her insufficient financial resources.
She could entrust the matter of sourcing to Ms. Rose; since the abbess could cultivate it, obtaining permission for her should not prove difficult.
On Thursday morning, she purchased a train ticket for Friday at the city station.
On her way, she stopped by the Mistfall City Epidemic Prevention Bureau, which, in essence, was the police headquarters.
To conserve resources and facilitate personnel deployment, both departments operated within the same building.
Most of the agents here recognized her; many had been deeply impressed by her ringing of the Holy Bell at the Cathedral, and coupled with recent odd rumors of a nun inexplicably fond of sunglasses, they swiftly confirmed her identity.
Upon learning she sought Helm, they enthusiastically led her, taking the elevator to an office door on the seventh floor.
Knock, knock, knock.
After rapping on the door, the agent smiled and departed.
Ghervil inclined her head in thanks.
“Come in,” a leisurely male voice drifted from within.
Pushing the door open, she found a man seated at a desk, leisurely sipping tea and perusing a newspaper.
Compared to some time ago, his demeanor had vastly improved; his stubble was shaved, and his hair, neatly trimmed, no longer appeared disheveled.
“I’m going to Florence City,” she stated, wasting no words with a familiar acquaintance, pulling a chair opposite him and sitting down.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Helm said, glancing up at her, utterly unsurprised by the young woman’s arrival.
With summer still lingering, agents and officers patrolled the entire city; while he might not have known the exact itineraries of every key figure, he certainly had a general understanding.
“I’m not here to ask for permission; I’m here to inform you,” she declared, placing the train ticket on the desk.
“I leave tomorrow.”
“The election for the new Bishop at the Cathedral hasn’t even begun, and they won’t disregard your opinions and vote.”
Ghervil remained unmoved.
This incident, both significant and minor, presented a complex overall situation; by the time a new Bishop was elected, months, or even longer, would have passed.
Indeed, by then, the meeting agenda would surely include an additional point: who would inherit the abbey’s legacy.
If they could treat a million lives as expendable, what else were they incapable of?
“Furthermore, you should inform the Cathedral yourself; my assistance to you is extremely limited, and outside this city, even basic security cannot be guaranteed.”
“I’m not acquainted with anyone there; I need to inform someone reliable.”
“Now that’s what I like to hear.” Helm grinned, lowered his newspaper, and flicked a small, cigarette-rolled piece of paper from his pocket, sending it flying across the desk like a coin.
“What’s this?” Ghervil caught it and unrolled it; the contents appeared to be an address.
“31 Tour Street, Rose District,” Helm read aloud.
“That’s Ramsey’s private address.
Besides his work at the Epidemic Prevention Bureau, that fellow also takes on private commissions.
You can seek him out if you run into trouble.”
“When did he return?”
“A couple of days ago.”
“What about Agent Lalviye-Komel?” She recalled the agent she hadn’t seen since waking, who hadn’t even visited when others came to see her.
“She returned to the Royal Capital, even earlier, on Monday morning.”
He gently swirled his cup, then emptied a full glass of tea into the wastebasket beside his feet.
“Ah, if only you had decided sooner, you could have traveled with that fellow Ramsey.”
It was fortunate she hadn’t decided earlier.
Ghervil felt a distinct disdain for his regret.
Acting alongside particularly clever individuals often felt restrictive, demanding meticulous attention to every single movement.
Moreover, she intended to bring Govet-Ghervil along, but hadn’t yet settled on a method.
She certainly couldn’t tuck it into her skirt pocket; it was far too plump to fit and would be instantly noticeable.
In recent days, it had grown considerably fatter from its constant meat diet.
Nor could she tie a leash around it like a common pet; no one would treat their own family in such a manner…
“Haaah—” Stretching his arms out and puffing out his chest, Helm let out a massive yawn before rising to see her out.
“If there’s nothing else, I’m off for my lunch break.
Go confidently; I’ll pass on your message to The Order.”
Instead of immediately following him out, Ghervil surveyed the room, her gaze falling squarely on a black leather zippered travel case by the wall.
That afternoon, she acquired a smaller version of the very same case.
Since Helm only vaguely recalled the street, it took her many shops to find one, most cases featuring sliding latches or buckles.
A zipper, however, would solve the ventilation problem.
“What? You want me to hide in *this* during the train ride! In this small, dark box that reeks of some unknown, strange scent?” Govet-Ghervil began to gesture wildly around the travel case, picking faults.
“Never mind suffocating me in there, won’t my fur get caught when this thing scrapes open?”
“And you’re going to put luggage in there! My hiding space will shrink even further! In this weather, I might die of heatstroke before I suffocate!”
“You only need to evade inspection; once we’re on the train, you can come out.
I didn’t refuse the private compartment they arranged for me,” Ghervil kindly persuaded.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“What about when we get off the train?”
“Uh…” She guiltily avoided its gaze.
Her white hair alone was conspicuous; carrying a furball or letting it perch on her shoulder or head would only draw more attention.
“As I thought, I’m not going after all.” Govet-Ghervil, the entire rat, hopped onto the case and turned its head.
“Don’t worry, I’ll gradually teach you about Blood Rose through dreams.
Your sister certainly has that ability.”
“On Sunday, you slept on my bed and didn’t clean up your fur,” Ghervil began, ticking off its offenses one by one.
“On Monday, you snuck into the kitchen to steal beef jerky, broke a plate, and then threw the shards into the forest to cover it up.”
“On Tuesday, you left an orange peel in the backyard, almost making me trip.”
“On Wednesday, you fell into the pond…”
“Stop! Stop reading! Fine, I’ll go, alright!” It covered its round ears, shaking its head vigorously, its expression, if human, would have been a mix of shame and indignation.
“Just think of it as a trip.
Don’t worry, I’ll let you out at the appropriate time.”
****
The following morning, Ghervil, clad in a black and white Gothic dress, arrived early at the station, pulling her travel case behind her.
This dress had the advantage of appearing neither too casual nor too formal, making it ideal for travel and leisure; inside the case, she had also packed two additional outfits for changing.
As she passed through the ticket barrier, the staff, with a smile, merely asked what was inside before allowing her to proceed.
It was far smoother than she had anticipated.
With a low hum, the Blue Rose entered the station.
Florence City, indeed, was one of its stops.
Guided by a steward, they arrived before a solid wooden door with a brass handle; this was the private compartment prepared for her.
Opening the compartment door revealed a spacious area, approximately ten to fifteen square meters.
Directly opposite stood a dark brown velvet two-seater sofa, adorned with three exquisitely embroidered throw pillows; before the sofa, a small coffee table held a delicate tea set.
This served as the lounge area.
To one side of the window, a small bookshelf contained various books and magazines.
Moving through the adjacent dining area, Ghervil drew back a curtain and pulled her travel case into the bedroom, where a large bed awaited.
Before she could even set it down, a large furball unzipped the suitcase from within, sprang out, and bounded onto the bed.
“Finally, a breath of fresh air!”
Ghervil glared at it, continuing to unpack.
“Be careful someone outside doesn’t hear you; there are other compartments.”
“You’re overthinking it…” Knock, knock, knock— Its retort was cut short as a knock sounded on the compartment door, startling Govet-Ghervil, who instantly dove into the wardrobe’s cubby, leaving half its large tail exposed.
“Let’s see if you’re still so smug now,” Ghervil muttered, forced to stop unpacking.
With an amused tug on a strand of its tail fur, she then belatedly retracted her hand before going to open the door.