Six Tables
"I see."
Even after spending the last three days almost entirely on the train, they still had farther to go. It was the moment Bayul truly grasped the sheer distance between the northern and southern reaches of the empire — a distance he had only ever heard about.
Carrington, his destination, was the largest city in the empire's south. A coastal metropolis embracing Dalat Port, the empire's greatest trade harbor, it was a place brimming with energy and vitality, where one could meet people from every nation in the world.
And that very diversity had driven advances in language, art, cuisine, religion, and countless other fields — which in turn gave rise to a culture all its own, playing a major role in raising Carrington into the metropolis it was today, second only to the imperial capital itself.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
As children, he and Bail used to spread a map across the floor and imagine traveling together. And every time, Bayul's first choice had been Carrington (he'd wanted to ride a ship from the harbor), while Bail always picked the capital, Panem.
They would bicker now and then about who got to visit their chosen city first, but in the end, it always came down to Bail yielding, and Carrington it was.
Now, however, having become one instead of two, Carrington was no longer a dream to Bayul.
"Departing soon! All passengers, please board promptly!"
A crew member hurried past the window, waving a flag as the train prepared to set off again. One by one, the people resting on the platform began climbing aboard.
The car where Bayul and Ian rode was the finest on the entire train — a first-class suite furnished with wide, plush seats and even a wooden table. It cost roughly ten times the price of a standard ticket.
Perhaps that was why the only passengers were Bayul and Ian. It had been the same yesterday, and the day before. Not a single soul had boarded at any station.
Creeeak.
And yet, the door to their private suite slid open. With the crisp click of heels against the floor, someone walked in toward the back.
Who—?
At the sight of their first fellow passenger in three days, Bayul's head lifted of its own accord.
Fifteen, sixteen, perhaps?
She was a girl around his own age. Petite face crowned with a wealth of auburn hair, and quite strikingly pretty. Her eyes were a deep violet — and for some reason, both of them brimmed with tears.
Seemingly unaware of Bayul's presence, the girl settled into a seat nearby. The two of them now faced each other diagonally across the aisle.
"Hhic!"
Suddenly, the girl burst into tears. Her face looked ready to spill over at any moment, so Bayul wasn't particularly startled. He was merely curious as to why.
Bang! Bang!
Just then, someone rapped sharply on the window beside her seat. Flamboyant auburn hair, violet eyes. He didn't need to ask. The two of them looked exactly alike.
"What!"
The girl shrieked and glared out the window. He had no idea what her anger was about, but he had a fair guess as to who it was aimed at.
"Lana, I'm sorry. Mother is so, so sorry—"
"Save it! I'm sick to death of hearing that!"
"Lana, your mother—"
"I'm never coming back here. I don't need that man, and I don't need you either. Don't you dare dream of seeing me again! Don't come looking for me, don't contact me — got it?"
Thwack!
The blind came rattling down. Shouts still rang out from outside the window, but the girl coldly turned her head away.
"…!"
Then her eyes met Bayul's. Only then noticing that yet another passenger had boarded, she froze, startled.
But it was only for an instant. Her gaze slowly climbed upward. Tears still welled at the corners of her eyes, yet there was nothing but ice in their depths.
Who do you think you are, staring at me? Want to die?
When a murderous chill like a sheet of frost shot from that delicate-seeming girl, Bayul froze solid on the spot.
"I-I'm sorr—!"
He came to his senses too late and tried to apologize, but even that was denied him. The girl had already turned her head away as coldly as she had toward her own mother. The train lurched and set off once more, and from then on, Bayul could no longer see her face.
Eight hours later, he stepped off the train. The moment the cold air touched his skin, a shiver ran through him. Fitting for a port city, the air carried the scent of the sea, and somewhere in the distance came the cry of gulls.
So I've finally arrived.
He knew there was no avoiding it, and yet Bayul had prayed this moment would never come. The past two years he had spent alone, without a single friend. And now he would have to spend four — a full four years — at the Academy.
Skipping ahead a grade might shorten that time, but the chances of that were slim. On the contrary, being held back could stretch it even longer. He'd heard that Carrington Academy, with its rigorous standards, produced a considerable number of failed students every year.
Born and raised in a great noble house, Bayul nonetheless had no particular talents. Stricken from early childhood by a wretched illness, he'd never even had the chance to learn anything properly. His frail constitution had left reading books alone on the sofa as his one small pleasure.
Can someone like me really survive here?
Everything he had agonized over, worried over countless times, squirmed awake in his mind again. If only he could run — he wanted to run.
"I'll be right back. Don't wander off — wait here."
Dazed, Bayul followed Ian out of the station. When the knight left to check on the luggage they'd loaded in the freight car, Bayul found himself alone for the very first time since leaving home.
His heart pounded; his vision swam. Outside the station, as befitted the south's greatest city, crowds thronged everywhere. Tall, grand buildings lined the streets in rows, and the roads were hopelessly tangled with rickshaws, carriages, and bicycles.
Thump.
A burly man brushed past Bayul's shoulder.
Whack.
This time it was a woman — a young one, sprinting by, her bag smacking his arm. Everyone wore the unmistakable look of people in a hurry to be somewhere. Certain he'd keep getting knocked about if he stayed put, Bayul stepped aside toward the edge of the road.
"Come and get 'em! One sheet for one kuna, two for one kuna fifty selling, three for a mere two kunas!"
He spun around, startled by the booming voice, and found a stall covered in prints. They were sketches of scenes all over Carrington — and one of them caught Bayul's eye and wouldn't let go.
A grand castle rising sheer above a towering cliff. A vista where sunset and forest mingled in serene, quiet beauty.
His final destination — Carrington Academy.
"Does that one catch your eye?"
Having noticed Bayul's gaze, the stall owner lifted the print out. It was far larger than the ones displayed up front — and at five kunas, the most expensive by far.
"No, that's all right."
It wasn't that he lacked the money; it was simply that he had no need for it. Wasn't this a place he'd be waking up to every morning from now on? Bayul shook his head and took a step back.
"Oh, come now — you were staring at it hard enough to bore a hole through it. Have a proper look, why don't you? Looks can be deceiving, but every piece here was painted by a famous artist!"
Then why would a famous artist's work be selling at a stall for one kuna?
The question sprang unbidden to his lips, but something told him the man would take offense if he said it aloud, so Bayul simply smiled. The merchant's sales pitch carried on for a while after that, but thankfully, Ian returned before Bayul's purse suffered any harm.
"I've sent the luggage straight to the Academy. Let's have a quick meal here first, then head up."
Barely ten minutes had passed since they'd stepped off the train. Bayul understood the man's reasoning well enough, but he had no desire to be shut up somewhere again. Shaking his head, he pointed ahead.
"I'd like to walk a bit. Let's see the city first."
"You must be tired. Are you certain?"
"Yes — for now, anyway."
Perhaps Bayul's answer sounded dubious, for Ian's eyes narrowed. Bayul promptly straightened his back. Tired though he was in every possible way, it wasn't enough to smother his curiosity about a brand-new city.
"Understood. Then let's have a look around. I'll show you the way."
Ian's offer to guide him was no empty courtesy. As they walked together, he poured out more conversation than he'd managed in the entire three days of the train ride combined.
More than that, he singled out the city's landmarks one by one, led Bayul straight to each, and even gave detailed explanations of what they were and what went on there.
By that point, Bayul couldn't help but be suspicious.
"Sir Ian, where are you from, originally?"
"Carrington, my lord."
His hunch had been right. His father hadn't chosen this man as his escort knight by coincidence — he'd deliberately assigned someone born and raised here.
I assumed he was simply trying to drive me out, but was I wrong? Maybe he does worry about me, a little…
At that small hope, Bayul's heart leapt for an instant. How wonderful it would be to see his father smiling again. The old memory, fading more and more with time, ached sweetly through Bayul's mind.
"I'd say we've seen just about everything. Shall we get something to eat now?"
Having finally moved his body, Bayul was most definitely hungry. He nodded, and Ian at once turned into a side alley.
There was no hesitation in his step. Three or four corners later, they arrived at a restaurant called Six Tables. True to its name, it was a small, shabby place with only six tables — but Ian explained it had held its ground in the same spot for over twenty years and was famous for its food.
Sure enough, despite the early hour for dinner, only one table remained unoccupied. Ian said they were extraordinarily lucky to get seated without waiting in line, but having yet to taste anything, Bayul couldn't quite feel it.
"Welcome! This is Six Tables — home of fantastic food, and live music that's even more fantastic than the food!"
A red-haired waiter greeted the two of them. Serving was in full swing, so all Bayul caught was his back, but his voice was remarkably melodic.
Stranger still was his flamboyant outfit. The riotous colors and patterns went without saying — those garish trousers and billowing sleeves looked terribly impractical for actual work.
"The goulash here is excellent."
"Then that's what I'll have."
Goulash was a stew of beef simmered with onions, peppers, and more — a longtime favorite of Bayul's. Paired with bread, it was hearty and filling, a perfect single meal.
"Ready to order?"
The waiter in question came slinking over, hem swishing. Having already chosen their food, Bayul and Ian turned with a nod — and both of them, as if on cue, went wide-eyed. The young man was startlingly handsome.
Beautiful seemed a word made precisely for moments like this. Skin like white jade, a fine, commanding nose, brows drawn as if by a brush, full, luscious red lips. Most striking of all were his eyes — a translucent, luminous crimson.
So this must be what a face shaped by God's own hands looks like. The boy possessed beauty so extraordinary it was hard to believe he was merely a waiter in a shabby old restaurant.
If there was a flaw, it was the faint upward tilt of his gaze — yet it was precisely that which made him seem human, which only doubled the wonder of it.
And his outfit doesn't look awkward on him at all.
He felt completely different from the back. On anyone else, such an outfit would have read as excessive or downright comical, but on this boy it fit perfectly — as natural as if it had been tailored for him alone.
His whole bearing was so elegant and antique that for a moment Bayul almost mistook the shabby restaurant for some luxurious fine-dining hall.
"You were saying goulash, I believe? Shall I bring two bowls?"
When neither Bayul nor Ian answered, the waiter asked again with a beaming smile. It was a smile so captivating that anyone — man or woman — would fall head over heels at a glance.
"…Yes, please."
The first to recover was Ian. He answered shortly and returned to his usual blank expression.
"Anything else for you? Our seafood is exceptionally fresh today. Grilled, stir-fried, fried — we'll prepare it however you like."
The waiter looked down at Bayul with kind eyes. Up close, the boy's eyes were an even deeper shade than they'd seemed before — and they gleamed with a luster almost unsettling to behold.