A Suspiciously Perfect Clean
As if to say, if you don't believe me, go see for yourself, Death jerked his chin toward the third floor. At his brimming confidence, Rita tilted her head in puzzlement but made her way up the stairs all the same.
When she returned moments later, she could not believe her own eyes.
"Wh-when did all this happen...?"
Everything was flawless. Only moments ago, the floor and the carpets had been dotted with stains — and not just that. The windows, the stair rails, every last corner had been shrouded in dust.
"You did all of this by yourself?"
A nod.
"That's impossible!"
The cry burst out of her before she could stop it. If talent for cleaning existed, then Death had to be born with it. There was simply no other explanation.
"So what do I do next?"
He had done his job well, and by rights she ought to have praised him for it. And yet something about the whole thing left her feeling oddly unsettled — like finishing her business and walking away without wiping.
What is it? What am I missing?
She had the sense of having overlooked something, but she couldn't put her finger on what. In the end, all Rita had actually done was widen the scope of Death's cleaning duties to suit his particular talent. That was it.
Having settled things with Ian, Bayul entered the dining room with a lighter heart. The familiar aroma of cooking tickled his nose pleasantly.
"I've boiled some chicken."
"Chicken?"
"Yes. It's been getting warmer lately, you know. After what happened last time, too — I prepared it as a restorative. You need to take better care of yourself, my lord."
When Rita lifted the lid off the pot at the center of the table, a cloud of hot steam billowed up. With a pair of tongs she swiftly transferred the plumpest, juiciest leg of chicken straight into Bayul's bowl.
"The broth's turned all milky and rich. Looks delicious!"
"It's at the perfect temperature right now. So tender, too. Here's the salt and pepper."
"Sit down and eat with us, Rita. We should eat together."
"No, thank you, my lord. I'll eat later."
"Oh, come on, not this again. There are only three of us in this whole mansion — why would you eat separately? Isn't that right, Sir Ian?"
"Quite right. Miss Rita, please, sit down."
Ian even rose from his seat and pulled out a chair for her, but Rita hesitated, unwilling to move.
"But the new escort knights don't join us at meals either, so it wouldn't be right for just me to..."
"Rita, they said they actually find it awkward to eat with us. Apparently it's been that way back in Hamilton, too. Don't tell me I'm the one making things awkward for you?"
"No! Of course not!"
"Then sit. The food's getting cold."
"Oh! It can't be allowed to go cold. This dish is at its best when it's hot!"
No matter how many times Bayul urged her, Rita had kept waffling — but the moment he mentioned the food going cold, she jolted upright and scrambled into her chair.
"Oh ho, so this is mealtime, is it?"
Just then, a new uninvited guest stepped into the dining room.
"That smell... chicken."
It was Death. Fresh from finishing his cleaning, he had come to the dining room in hopes of a drink of water — only to find a spread of mouthwatering meat laid out before him. Though his long bangs hid his eyes, everyone could feel it: his gaze was locked onto the chicken in the pot with terrifying intensity.
"Come to think of it, I'd forgotten about Death. Sit here."
"Young master!"
Rita tried to stop him, but it was already too late. Death's movements were so impossibly quick that he had barely taken his seat at one end of the table before a piece of meat was already in his hand. It was faster than a lightning bolt.
"Well then — shall we really dig in?"
Leaving Rita utterly exasperated behind him, Bayul laughed and began his meal.
"Delicious, as always!"
Never mind the tender-yet-chewy texture of the meat — the broth was simply to die for. However tasty the academy cafeteria's food might be, he was reminded once again that nothing could hold a candle to Rita's cooking.
"The broth's wonderfully refreshing."
Ian, too, seemed satisfied, offering the highest praise he knew. Death alone said nothing. He looked like a man who hadn't eaten in days; the meat and every other dish before him vanished at an alarming rate.
The strange thing was that he didn't seem the least bit sloppy or chaotic about it. In fact, his side of the table looked almost exactly as it had at the start — not a single drop of broth on the table mat, not a scrap of meat fallen anywhere.
Your little brother's supposedly clinging to life after losing an arm, and you, his older brother, are stuffing your face like this?
"Excuse me, Mr. Death."
Her astonishment lasted only a moment. Rita adjusted her glasses and addressed him directly, whereupon Death turned to look at her, both cheeks stuffed absolutely full of food.
Ugh, I want to smack him one right across the head!
The urge to do just that flared so suddenly that Rita clenched her teeth to hold it in.
"I understand being hungry. I understand the food is delicious. But eating like that while everyone else is eating together — that's just poor manners. Do you ever spare a thought for anyone but yourself?"
"Rita."
"I don't like being the one to nitpick about how people eat, but this is something we absolutely have to address."
Rita's attitude was so resolute that even Bayul couldn't bring himself to intervene.
"Look at this. No one here has even managed a single proper bite yet — and more than half the meat is already gone. What do you have to say about that?"
"...My thinking (my thoughts)?"
"Yes. You do have a conscience, I assume?"
"Hmm."
At Rita's question, Death fell deep into contemplation — all while continuing to chew away diligently, of course.
"Is that all you have to say?"
"What do you mean?"
"If there isn't enough, just bring more. Is there any left?"
At that shameless answer, Rita was struck speechless for a moment. She didn't know how he'd known, but it was true — she had a second pot simmering away separately in the kitchen.
"Well then, Rita — if it's not enough, let's do just that. You said it's no good cold, right? Sir Ian, please, go ahead and eat."
Hoping to smooth over the awkward atmosphere, Bayul hastily steered the conversation elsewhere.
"Oh, right — I'm going out later, by the way."
"Going out?"
Just as he'd expected, Rita's attention shifted instantly.
"Mm. I made plans to go to the night market with my friends. Apparently a big ship docked at the port yesterday. Rita, have you ever been to a night market?"
"No! Never!"
"Really? I heard they hold them in Hamilton from time to time. How come you never went?"
"Things just... worked out that way. Young master — could I come with you? Please?"
"...You want to come too?"
"Yes! I promise I won't be any trouble at all! I'll just follow along quietly beside you! Please?"
That was a development he hadn't anticipated. Bayul found himself glancing helplessly at Ian.
What do I do?
Well... that's your problem to sort out, my lord.
Though they had agreed on the night market trip, Ian was still none too pleased about it. Perhaps that was why he now buried himself in his meal as if it were none of his concern.
"Rita, Sir Ian says night markets can be dangerous."
"Wh-what? Then shouldn't the young master not go either?"
"That's why I'm going with Sir Ian. And two of the other escort knights as well."
"Oh, that would work, then. So I can come along, right?"
"Well, the thing is, my friends will be..."
"I truly won't get in the way. Please take me with you. Please? Going to a night market has been my dream, you know."
"...All right. Let's do that."
That made one more thing he'd have to ask his friends' forgiveness for, but there was no helping it. With Rita wanting it this badly, he had no way to refuse her — and this was nearly the first time she had ever begged him for anything in her life.
We'll just have to be extra careful.
"Yay! Thank you, young master!"
"I want to go too."
Behind Rita's whoop of joy, a deep bass voice rumbled. It was Death, who had until now devoted himself single-mindedly to eating.
"I've never been either."
"Hey — Mr. Death. You keep butting in, and that's not okay. The young master's friends are going to be there. I already know everyone, and as the one in charge of the mansion's affairs, I'll be the one handling anything we need..."
"Don't you need a porter?"
"...A porter?"
A nod.
"Well, we are bound to buy something..."
"They say night markets are full of all kinds of fascinating things. It'll surely be packed with people. If heavy bags pile up in a crowd like that, wouldn't that be a bother? Believe it or not, I happen to be very strong."
The more she listened, the more sense it made. One more person added to the party hardly changed anything. It was Bayul who stepped in on behalf of the still-agonizing Rita.
"That's true — having a porter along would be convenient. Sir Ian said he had things to buy as well, so let's take Death with us."
"I have no objections either way."
"Rita? Are you all right with it?"
"...Yes, I suppose..."
It felt somehow like she'd been swindled yet again, but there was no denying that having a porter around would be handy in all sorts of ways. That said — if he was ever caught trying to weasel his way out of work, she would deal him a merciless comeuppance.
So you'd best watch yourself.
Casting a sidelong glance at Death, Rita let a sly smile curl across her lips.
"Oh, and Rita — where's Black? He's been missing since earlier. Didn't you say you were giving him a bath?"
"Oh! Right! I meant to tell you and it slipped my mind! Young master — I think we gave Black the wrong name!"
"Gave him the wrong name?"
To the baffled Bayul, Rita calmly recounted what had happened at the water tap. When she revealed that the hound's fur had originally been white, not only Bayul but Ian as well were left staring in disbelief.
"So? Where's Black right now?"
He wanted to see it with his own two eyes, but until the hour of the night market arrived, Black stubbornly refused to make an appearance.
The place where Bayul was to meet his friends was the most crowded spot in all of Carrington — Comerciu Plaza, known to one and all simply as the Meeting Square.
Framed by the sea, the square was already awash with crowds from early evening. Checking his watch, Bayul saw that a good twenty minutes remained until the appointed hour.
"Shall we look around a bit while we wait?"
It being the weekend, small shops had sprung up all across the square. Ever since they'd set foot in it, Rita had been practically vibrating with the urge to browse — so it was Bayul who made the offer.
"Is that really all right?"
"We're meeting under the clock tower, and no one seems to be there yet. A quick look around won't hurt."
"Ooh! Then let's start over there!"
The spot Rita was pointing to was packed with an unusually dense crowd — so thick that she couldn't even tell what the stall was selling.
"All right, let's go have a look."