After dinner at Ramsey’s, and leveraging his connections, they managed to locate a single-story detached bungalow before nightfall that barely met their requirements.
Nestled between the iron foundry and the produce market on the east side of the Rose District, it necessitated a detour past a sewage canal and a traverse through a narrow alley, its walls overgrown with wild roses.
The bungalow, constructed of red brick, bore several wooden planks nailed to its exterior, which had darkened with age and exposure to rain.
It comprised four rooms, a kitchen, and a separate washroom.
Upon entering, one could discern the numerous thin cracks on the cement floor of the entryway, where blades of grass sprouted; a modest living room was cluttered with firewood, and a walnut workbench stood tucked into a corner.
Furnishings were sparse, with merely a few stools and chairs in the two bedrooms, which were equipped with spring beds and adorned with faded, yellowing posters advertising apples.
Behind the bungalow lay a withered apple orchard, the very reason for the structure’s original construction—to serve as a watchman’s lodge for the fruit trees.
Basic utilities, including water and electricity, were available, though the tap in the kitchen offered only a pitiful trickle.
Had it not been for its relative cleanliness and sufficiently secluded location, Konehl-Ghervil would have surely reconsidered.
The landlord, a seemingly amiable old man, was addressed by Ramsey as Mr. Diller.
Their acquaintance had stemmed from a past commission: apprehending apple thieves, only for the culprits to be revealed as his twelve-year-old grandson and their friends.
Blinded by rage and unaware of the thieves’ identities, Mr. Diller had nearly fired his weapon at his own grandson in the orchard that night, but Ramsey’s timely intervention prevented a tragedy.
The old man’s neck bore a dark blue-black eagle tattoo, hinting at a past involvement with gangs in his youth.
Ramsey handled the entire negotiation, informing Mr. Diller that they were travelers from out of town who had lost some of their funds en route and sought an inexpensive place to stay.
Ultimately, a contract was signed for a short-term rental of one month, including utilities, for forty Denarii.
This was an exceptionally low price, seventy to eighty percent cheaper than comparable accommodations on the market.
Unlike Mistfall City, prices here were considerably higher.
Konehl-Ghervil quickly counted out forty silver coins and handed them over, preempting Ramsey’s offer to pay.
She possessed that much self-awareness.
“Tomorrow, I’ll take you to meet the involved parties,” Ramsey stated. “The rest is up to you.”
Having conveyed what was necessary, Ramsey turned and departed.
“Remember not to tell anyone my identity, nor to reveal where I’m staying,” Konehl-Ghervil called out to him.
“Rest assured,” Ramsey replied. “You can trust a professional detective.”
Removing his hat to brush off the dust, Ramsey vanished around the dark corner of the alley.
****
Returning to the bungalow, Esli had already boiled water for her, tidied the rooms, and prepared a bed.
Esli had chosen the room closest to the door for herself, claiming it was for better protection.
Emerging from a quick shower in the washroom, Konehl-Ghervil observed Esli still meticulously inspecting the bungalow, searching for any potential hazards.
“Aren’t you going to wash?” she inquired. “I saved enough hot water.”
“No need,” Esli replied. “It’s too cold at night; I’m not accustomed to bathing in the evening.”
Picking up a stool with one hand to examine its underside, Esli offered a genuine smile.
“I left in such a hurry that I didn’t bring much money,” she said. “Thank you for covering my rent and for introducing me to such an interesting person as Ramsey.”
The female knight had changed back into her sweater and donned a pair of warm leather boots.
The evening temperature was noticeably cooler than during the day.
“Is there anywhere you’d like to go?” Konehl-Ghervil asked softly, her gaze lingering on Esli for a moment.
“Somewhere I’d like to go… I’d love to wander down Hundred Flowers Street, which we passed earlier today, but… that would delay our work, wouldn’t it?”
“…That’s correct,” Konehl-Ghervil conceded. “We can wait until the case is concluded.”
“If it’s money you’ve spent, you should be able to get reimbursed by your superiors, shouldn’t you?”
“Procedurally, there’s no issue… if I may be so bold, what is it you intend, Sister Konehl-Ghervil?”
Esli silently set down the stool she held, then, as if unable to remain idle, began inspecting the cups on the table.
“Clever,” Konehl-Ghervil murmured.
While Konehl-Ghervil wasn’t there on official business, the knight’s situation was different.
Having been assigned by both the Order and the Royal Family, Esli would surely need to find a way to mitigate her losses.
“I don’t feel quite right about this…” Esli trailed off.
“There’s nothing ‘not right’ about it,” Konehl-Ghervil declared, placing her hands on her hips and feigning a serious demeanor to champion Esli’s cause. “Just think, they sent you to stay with me in this dreadful place during your vacation. If it were me, I wouldn’t tolerate such treatment.”
“This place is actually quite good,” Esli countered. “It’s much better than where I usually work.”
Esli’s voice, however, grew hesitant.
“Besides, it’s well-hidden and the rent is cheap… didn’t you choose it yourself?”
“Work is work, and life is life; they must be kept separate,” Konehl-Ghervil asserted, cutting off further protest. “It’s settled then.”
Boldly, she took the cup from Esli’s hand and placed it securely.
“You should get some rest too,” Konehl-Ghervil added. “We’ll rise early tomorrow and aim to close this case as soon as possible.”
“But I don’t need much sleep…” Esli began.
Disregarding the knight’s words, Konehl-Ghervil returned to her room in good spirits, only to find the large white furball standing by the head of her bed, staring intently. Its eyes tracked her movements, clearly indicating it had something to say.
“I know you didn’t have enough for dinner, but there’s nothing for it,” she said, sitting on the bed and pulling out her suitcase to retrieve pajamas. “When we’re out, we can’t eat as much as we want like we do at home.”
“Just bear with it a little longer, my dear sister,” Konehl-Ghervil continued. “Tomorrow, if we have time, I’ll take you out for a proper feast.”
“Thump.”
A muffled thud from outside suggested something had fallen.
“Oh, what am I to do with you?” Govet-Ghervil finally spoke, her tone exasperated.
“Living with that unlucky brat means constantly facing unknown risks,” she warned. “You could even meet an untimely end, like that man on the train. Generating sufficient malice isn’t necessarily the only condition.”
Without retort, Konehl-Ghervil untied her bound hair and lay flat on the bed.
“I used to believe the Order, and even the Kingdom, treated all the afflicted (TL Note: ‘Yibing’ refers to a mysterious, widespread illness that grants abilities but often leads to madness or death.) equally,” Konehl-Ghervil mused. “But I’ve since learned that isn’t true. Dr. Callan, a physician, suffers from the affliction, and so do knights of the Order. Not all who are afflicted become enemies. I want to discover what common threads bind these people.”
“Such individuals are exceedingly rare,” Govet-Ghervil responded. “And the conditions for joining the knightage are not as lenient as the unlucky brat might suggest. Many of them will still eventually succumb to the affliction, with the more fortunate ones dying by their comrades’ hands before the illness takes full control.”
Govet-Ghervil settled beside Konehl-Ghervil’s face, her large tail swaying gently.
“Is hypersomnia truly a manifestation of the affliction?” Konehl-Ghervil asked, turning her head to gaze at the furball so close to her, its soft fur brushing pleasantly against her cheek.
Silence.
The swaying tail stilled.
“Yes,” she finally confirmed, looking into Konehl-Ghervil’s eyes, not shying away from the question.
“Perhaps no one in this world will ever find a cure for temporal dysperception.”
Feeling a sudden surge of annoyance, Konehl-Ghervil began to pinch Govet-Ghervil’s fluffy tail, section by section, before moving to playfully squeeze her face.
“You’re utterly merciless, aren’t you?” she chided. “Telling me the brutal truth so bluntly, aren’t you afraid I’ll be upset?”
“Because I know you’ve been accustomed to this illness for many years,” Govet-Ghervil replied, unfazed.
She had contracted the illness at six, making it twelve years now.
She had almost forgotten, had it not been mentioned, that she was only a few months past adulthood.
Indeed, she had grown accustomed to it over all these years.
Releasing Govet-Ghervil, she pulled back the covers and settled into bed.
*Click.*
The light extinguished.
Govet-Ghervil, having turned off the light, hopped onto the pillow and found a comfortable spot to lie down.
“Don’t worry about the future,” she advised. “Focus on the present, like fabricating an identity that won’t arouse suspicion.”