The House of Leonett
The carriage carrying Bayul came to a halt before a towering, imposing front gate. Aidan hadn't thought to include anything so useful as his home address in his letter, but finding the residence of House Leonett—the wealthiest family in the Empire and the masters of Carrington itself—was hardly a difficult task.
"Could you take me to the Leonett estate, please?"
That was all it took. He'd picked any one of the carriages lining the city streets, said those words, and after an hour's ride, he finally arrived at the family home where Aidan was surely waiting.
"What business brings you here?"
A guard posted at the front gate approached and asked.
"My name is Bayul. I've come to see Aidan."
"Ah—you would be Young Master Bayul, son of Duke Randert?"
"Yes, that's right."
Aidan had apparently given word ahead of time, for the man greeted him with a bright, formal bow.
"It is an honor to meet you. Would you step down from the carriage, please?"
The man's manner was exceedingly respectful. Bayul found it curious, but he obliged and climbed down as asked.
"Might I ask who these gentlemen are?"
"Ah, these are my subordinates."
The ones accompanying Bayul on this visit were the three brothers—Death's trio. Ian had insisted on tagging along, and it was only after Bayul begged and pleaded that he'd managed to bring just the three of them.
After all, no matter how he turned it over in his mind, Bar was the only one who could help with Ingrid's molting problem. But if he'd tried to bring Bar alone, the family would surely have found it strange, so all three brothers had come along together.
He'd worried Ian might dig in his heels over the security issue, but to his surprise, the knight gave up quickly. It was an uncharacteristic decision—strange, even—but from Bayul's standpoint, a relief.
"Will you follow me this way?"
The guard gave the three fearsome-looking brothers a lingering, inwardly uneasy glance, but said nothing, soon leading the group to another carriage.
"You'll take this carriage from here. It's a security measure, so I ask for your understanding."
Given the reason, Bayul could hardly object. House Leonett conducted business across the entire continent. This much precaution was only proper—and entirely expected.
"So there really is a lot of food here, right?"
Death checked, mid-ride.
"It seems you still don't quite believe me."
"You're not just saying that to lure Bar in, are you?"
"You said the skewers and donuts you had at the night market were delicious, didn't you?"
"I did."
"The people who made all of those came from this very estate."
"...Really?"
Death's expression shifted in an instant. The suspicion he'd been wearing like a mask melted into naked anticipation.
"Aidan's family, House Leonett, is counted among the richest in the entire Empire—not just in Carrington."
"So?"
"Which naturally means they'd have plenty of exquisite, mouthwatering dishes, wouldn't they? Just leave it to me. Today, you'll eat your fill of truly good food."
Stuffling Death first, then extracting advice about Ingrid—that was Bayul's ambitious(?) little scheme on behalf of his friend.
"So how far does this go, exactly?"
They'd been riding a long while since passing the front gate, and all that met the eye even now was endless foliage.
Did they build their house in the middle of a forest?
Just as Bayul was musing this to himself, the carriage finally stopped. At the driver's announcement of their arrival, Amon wasted no time throwing open the door and stepping out.
"Whoa, this place is huge."
"It really does seem like there'll be a lot to eat."
"One would have to call it a castle rather than a manor. The gardens are truly magnificent."
Amon, surveying their surroundings with those unseeing eyes, was practically overcome with emotion.
The vast garden stretched out in flawless, immaculate order. Beautiful statues stood arranged at intervals throughout, and ornate fountains sent cool plumes of water spraying skyward again and again.
With its pure white marble walls and cool blue-tiled roof, the mansion struck a remarkably harmonious yet striking figure.
"Welcome, Young Master Bayul. Allow us to escort you inside."
Word of their arrival must have gotten through, for the manor's front doors swung wide open and a middle-aged butler came out to receive him. Following the man's guidance, the group was shown into a drawing room whose elegance was apparent at a single glance.
"Please wait just a moment."
The butler offered Bayul another courteous bow—Bayul still gawking at the interior with wide, round eyes—then withdrew, leaving the group alone.
"So when do we eat?"
"Commander, we only just arrived. That might be a bit..."
Amon voiced what Bayul was too polite to say. Besides, it was an awkward hour for a meal in the first place. It wasn't that Bayul didn't understand where Death's interests lay, but they hadn't even seen Aidan yet.
"It seems someone has gone to fetch Aidan, so please have a seat on the sofa and rest. They'll likely bring out some light refreshments first."
Bayul had sent his reply to Aidan late yesterday afternoon. Judging by how readily the guard and butler had recognized him, the letter had clearly made it safely into the boy's hands.
He wouldn't actually make his friend work on the day of a visit... right?
Hoping to see the boy soon, Bayul quietly assured himself it would be so.
How much time had passed since then?
"Ho ho, is that so. So the son of Duke Randert has come to call."
No refreshments arrived—nor did the Aidan he'd been waiting for. Instead, an elderly gentleman appeared before them.
"...Could you be Count Leonett?"
Startled by the man's sudden entrance, Bayul shot to his feet in a fluster.
"That's what everyone calls me when I'm out and about. Though 'Chairman' sits a little easier on my ears."
Count Leonett strode right up to Bayul and stopped, as if to inspect him properly.
"Heh heh. You take after your father a great deal."
"...I do?"
The only thing Bayul had ever inherited from his father was his silver-white hair. That he—a born weakling—could resemble the strongest man in the Empire was a thing he'd never once heard said.
"Those kind, gentle eyes of yours are just the same. Your father had that same look when he was young."
"I once heard my father say he'd dreamed of becoming a valiant knight like you, Count Leonett. It is an honor to finally meet you. My greetings are late in coming—I am Bayul Romanov von Randert."
Belatedly, Bayul offered the Count his formal respects.
"All that fuss over a greeting—none of that. Sit down with me first. My legs, you see."
The Count lifted his cane to show them, then made his way to the sofa and sat. And so, by some quirk of arrangement, he and the three brothers of Death found themselves seated face to face.
"Now, who might these grim-faced fellows be?"
The Count was genuinely curious about the three men who sat there blankly staring, despite their host himself having arrived. No one had ever treated him this way in all his years—and rather than offended, he found himself more intrigued than anything. Just what were these characters?
"Ah, these are the people looking after my residence while I stay in Carrington."
"Looking after your residence? You mean they're servants?"
"...Yes, well. Something like that."
"Lies."
"Excuse me?"
"Since when do servants have faces like these?"
The Count's eyes, half-hidden within their folds of wrinkles, flashed shrewd and sharp. In seventy-odd years of life, putting countless people to work, he had never once seen men like these.
"There's some scheme afoot here, isn't there?"
"...A scheme?"
The man's abrupt remark drew a nervous sweat from Bayul alone.
"Sponging off him, are you? Do you know who this boy's father is? You'd best not try any funny business."
Gah!
Bayul barely swallowed a gasp. They said experience was not to be underestimated—and indeed, the old man's eye was anything but ordinary. To pierce straight to the truth of Death's brothers the moment he laid eyes on them.
"How did you know?"
"...?"
"That they're latched on for a free meal. You've got a remarkably good eye, I'll say that."
"What did you say?"
"Death!"
Did you forget what we agreed on already?
Bayul could sympathize completely with Death's frustration over his long-awaited snack failing to appear, but this was a place where manners mattered. He shot Death a warning look, then hurriedly stepped forward to apologize.
"Count Leonett, I'm terribly sorry. Death isn't normally like this—he's just been a little high-strung lately..."
"Ha ha, no harm done. Lacking in manners, perhaps, but he doesn't strike me as the type to do real mischief. Whether his temper makes him more a help or a hindrance to keep around, that I can't say."
"He's an excellent cleaner. His praise was loud enough even back at the capital to reach the Earl's own ears."
It was lamentable that this was the only defense he could offer, but Bayul had to say something to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"Oh? He cleans well? A surprising talent, given his looks."
"It astonishes everyone who witnesses it."
"Is that so? Then I may just send word when I have work that needs doing. Sometimes cleaning is a very serious matter indeed."
"...Pardon?"
"I'll see he's paid handsomely."
Ugh, that's not what I meant at all...
Just as a flustered Bayul was worrying, what do I do if he actually summons him?, yet another voice cut into their midst.
"Grandfather, were you here?"
"Ah, Ace. Since you're here, pay your respects. This is Bayul, son of Duke Randert."
Bayul hastily turned around. He had never seen the man before, but the name was familiar. Ace—eldest son of House Leonett, and the elder brother of the boy Aidan got along with like water and fire.
"I'm Ace. A pleasure to meet you."
Bayul felt strangely tense. Extending his hand with a perfunctory greeting, Ace's first impression was quite different from what Bayul had imagined.
He looked so entirely unlike Aidan that one might doubt they were brothers at all.
Where Aidan was small and slight, his elder brother Ace was, first of all, very tall. His skin was bronzed nearly brown, and his short-cropped hair was a reddish shade of brown. Bayul could feel the black eyes within those narrow lids scanning him sharply.
He'd heard the young man was eighteen this year, yet his whole bearing—his presence, his gaze—was so precocious that nothing about him suggested his age.
"Hello. I'm Bayul, a friend of Aidan's."
Taking Ace's hand, Bayul offered a greeting to match the formality.
Callused.
For whatever reason, the palm that met his was hardened with thick calluses.
"I've heard quite a lot about you from my brother. They say you're fluent in the language of Ga?"
"...Aidan said that?"
That a boy who spoke half a dozen languages with ease would brag about that, of all things, made Bayul momentarily embarrassed on his friend's behalf.
As his older brother, surely Ace's command of tongues was no lesser. Besides, Bayul's Ga-language skills were hardly anything to boast of. (A conclusion that existed, of course, only in Bayul's own mind.)
"He's a hopeless case, so I suppose he's just envious."
"...I'm sorry, what?"
Did I hear that right?
A hopeless case?
Aidan is the top student in the entire Knight Department, you know?
"Ace, what kind of brother calls his sibling hopeless? Not that it isn't true, but you ought to show a little face for him in front of his friend."
"Yes, Grandfather. My apologies."
"So what brings you here anyway? Haven't unloaded the cargo yet?"
"No, sir. Aidan's been dawdling, so it's still unfinished."
"The boy started first thing in the morning—why is he only now lazing about? So, can those items be shipped out on schedule?"
"I'm working on it even as we speak, so it'll be done shortly. You know how stubborn he is."
"Well, I imagine Bayul will find the waiting a bit dull."
"...Is Aidan working right now, by any chance?"
Listening to the grandfather and grandson trade words, Bayul couldn't help but ask.
"Should take an hour or two, no more."
"Whether you wait here or go help him, that's your business entirely."
It seemed to be the unwritten law of this household that one's work continued whether or not a guest had arrived. Surely a single day's rest could have been granted—but neither grandfather nor grandson showed the slightest intention of allowing it.
Aidan...
Only now did Bayul begin to understand, just a little, why the boy had begged for rescue.