Gypsies and Minstrels (1)
“That’s a watch I haven’t seen before.”
Anne said it as she looked at the pocket watch Lawrence had placed on the counter.
“A friend gave it to me.”
“A gift? Wow. Must be a friend with a serious amount of money.”
As if she couldn’t quite believe it, she shook her head from side to side.
And, well, it wasn’t hard to see why she reacted that way.
The pocket watch Lurizisa had left behind was engraved with the same roaring lion crest as the handkerchief.
Even someone who knew nothing about craftsmanship could tell at a glance that it was extravagantly expensive.
It was the sort of watch a nobleman might carry.
“Some people won’t even buy a friend a cup of sheep’s milk, and here you are getting gifts like that.”
At the word friend, Lawrence gave a snort of laughter.
He wasn’t sure when exactly they’d become friends.
Anne had been the one to close the distance between them, one-sidedly and without apology.
Still, he couldn’t deny they’d grown close in their own way.
They were about the same age, after all, and they saw each other often enough.
Before long, just from talking, he’d naturally learned that she was the innkeeper’s daughter.
“Whoever that friend is, you should probably cut ties with them.”
“Yeah. If I could, I would’ve done it long ago.”
She was still sulking about the sheep’s milk.
Lawrence ignored the sharp little glance she threw him.
He knew exactly why she was annoyed.
He had pestered her relentlessly, asking which shop sold the tastiest sheep’s milk and where it was, all so he could buy some for Lurizisa.
Every time, Anne had gleefully told him every scrap of nonsense she could invent and every scrap of truth she knew.
And yet, no matter how much time passed, he never bought her any sheep’s milk, so of course she’d feel slighted.
But Lawrence had no intention of buying any.
One silver wasn’t the name of some dog in the street.
It was not the sort of drink he’d casually hand to a serving girl who sometimes kept him company. That was a very different matter from a one-copper tip.
Carefully, he picked up the pocket watch from the counter.
The chain attached to it fit his waist with surprising precision.
“You’re awfully devoted to it.”
“It was a gift. Of course I should take good care of it.”
“I wonder if that’s really all there is to it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing at all, sir.”
Anne answered in a slightly petulant voice and walked away.
Lawrence didn’t rise to follow her.
There was still time before the wagon for Rival Plains was due to depart.
Until then, he intended to enjoy his milk in peace.
In truth, he was so worn out from studying that he needed a change of pace.
That was why he’d come down to the first floor in the first place.
At this rate, won’t it take me another month before I can read Water?
It wasn’t because he was lazy.
Unlike the first three volumes, the remaining two were on an entirely different level.
They were packed with writing so difficult it practically squeezed the breath out of him.
If only Lurizisa were here—he could ask her about this and that.
But with her gone, he had no choice but to handle everything on his own.
As if easing the pressure in his chest, Lawrence lifted the milk to his lips.
He had finished half of the warm drink when he noticed a group of lovely gypsy women entering by themselves.
They wore light shawls draped over thin layers of cloth, and faint smiles played at their lips.
The gypsies were staying in the best room the innkeeper had mentioned.
Fifty copper a night.
As if to justify the price, the room on the first floor came with a number of little benefits.
For reference, the minstrel Cedric was staying in one of those fifty-copper rooms as well.
And Lawrence had never once seen that bastard come out early in the morning.
To be exact, a different woman emerged from Cedric’s room every single time.
Of the women Lawrence had seen, he could count them on both hands—and still have no fingers left over.
Their tastes varied wildly.
Fat or thin.
Young or old.
Bluntly put, it seemed like if they were women, Cedric liked them all.
Lawrence had seen plenty of mercenaries who liked women, but even if you lined all of them up together, they’d still be a speck of dust compared to Cedric.
The gypsies who’d come in alone ordered food.
Several of them glanced at Lawrence and snickered.
His mood soured for no good reason.
He was seriously considering going back to his room when a black-haired gypsy approached his side.
“Is this seat free?”
“It is free, but… do you really have to sit here?”
She was one of the gypsies who had been laughing at him a moment ago.
At Lawrence’s sharp reply, she let a slight smile play at her lips.
“My, how rude. Must you hear that answer from a woman’s mouth before you’ll be satisfied?”
“……”
A shrill laugh came from behind her.
He didn’t need to turn around to know who had laughed.
Lawrence studied her slowly.
Her mouth was hidden beneath a veil, so it was hard to see her clearly.
Still, the face visible beyond it deserved the word pretty.
Her clothes were thin enough to reveal every curve of her body.
Long braids had been brought forward over one shoulder.
The black hair that spilled down between her breasts carried a wanton grace, like a snake gliding across skin.
It wasn’t as though Lawrence disliked beautiful women.
If someone asked whether he liked them or not, the answer would obviously be yes.
But beyond liking them, beautiful women were dangerous.
Especially the kind whose intentions could not be read.
He didn’t want to keep such a woman close.
“What would you like to order?”
“I’ll have what the lady over there is having.”
“It’s milk. Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m in the mood for milk today.”
Anne, who had come to take the order, shot Lawrence a glare and went back.
It couldn’t be helped.
This time, he really was wronged.
“You seem rather close with the serving girl.”
Her voice was soft and lilting.
Like a gypsy who made her living through song and dance, it was a charming voice.
“If you have something to say, then say it.”
Lawrence cut her off coldly.
She was a woman whose motives he couldn’t read.
When someone approached deliberately, there was always some hidden purpose.
She was nothing like Anne, whose thoughts were written plainly all over her face.
He had no intention of falling for such a flimsy trick.
Even with a beauty sitting in front of him, his mind remained calm.
Perhaps it was because Cedric had recently provided him with an excellent cautionary example.
He was not the sort of fellow who lost his head over women.
“For all your cute looks, you’re awfully impatient. You know, women like men who can take their time.”
A scent he couldn’t place tickled his nose.
Maybe she had sprayed perfume before coming out of the room, because the smell was a little strong.
The pocket watch against his hip pressed against his side, as though nudging him forward.
“If you have nothing to say, I’ll be taking my leave.”
“What brings a pilgrim of the Order to a border city?”
Lawrence looked at the gypsy.
As if enjoying the boy’s gaze, she crossed her legs.
Between the folds of her skirt, pale bare skin flashed into view.
Without meaning to, his face warmed.
Every gesture she made was like a flower trying to lure in a butterfly.
“You knew I was a pilgrim?”
“Let me ask you instead. Are there any gypsies who can’t recognize the emblem of the Order? We gypsies can go wherever our feet take us. Royal capitals, battlefields, holy sites… and even into a man’s heart.”
She clasped her slender fingers together and gave him a sidelong smile.
“Have you ever been to a holy site?”
“Yes, of course. A holy site… a holy site?”
Perhaps sensing that the conversation had gone off track, her easy smile faltered.
The gypsy quickly regained control of her expression, but Lawrence didn’t miss the change.
“You said it just now, didn’t you? That you’d been anywhere your feet could carry you. Royal capitals, battlefields, holy sites. Unless I heard wrong, that means you’ve been to one of the Order’s holy sites.”
“……”
An unpleasant silence fell between them.
Biting lightly at her lower lip, she slowly opened her mouth.
“I haven’t been recently, so I’m not sure.”
She seemed to want to change the subject.
But Lawrence had no desire to let it go.
“If it hasn’t been recently, then you’re saying you’ve been before.”
“……”
Silence meant yes.
“Then have you perhaps heard of any holy sites or pilgrimage routes around Rombamel?”
He might find a clue in an unexpected place.
What returned to his hopeful question was the clatter of dishes.
“Your order.”
It was Anne.
The plate she set down held the same dish Lawrence had ordered.
She stamped back to the counter with a rough, huffy step.
In that brief moment, the gypsy had recovered her composure.
“I can give you an answer. But simply telling you would be no fun.”
Lawrence clicked his tongue inwardly.
“I can pay.”
The gypsy burst out laughing.
“We have plenty of money already. I’ve had a comfortable few weeks lately, since I’ve been doing joint performances with Cedric.”
“Then what do you want in exchange for the information?”
She beckoned him closer.
After a moment’s hesitation, the boy leaned in until his face was near hers.
He was going to catch hell for this later.
Anne’s eyes had narrowed like a cat’s.
“Can you use miracles, by any chance, pilgrim?”
At the question, Lawrence shook his head.
“Miracles are things clerics handle. They’re not something an ordinary pilgrim like me can use.”
For an instant, disappointment flickered in her eyes.
“Doesn’t seem that way to me.”
“At least in the Order I know, that’s how it is.”
“Then I’ll rephrase the question.”
“Before I hear that question, I think I deserve one answer of my own.”
It was a fair demand.
He had given one thing, so he should receive one in return.
It was simple enough even a child could count it.
“Are you really going to treat a frail young woman like this, pilgrim of the Order?”
She let out a breath of disbelief, as though she couldn’t believe how outrageous he was being.
“This isn’t land touched by the Order. That means I don’t need to worry about the Order’s eyes.”
Lawrence had no intention of backing down.
At his stubborn stare, the gypsy flushed faintly and turned her head away.
“I’m not sure whether it’s a holy site, exactly. But I do remember hearing rumors of a place similar to one.”
A rumor was enough.
If there was a place worth doubting, then he could investigate the rest himself.
“Where did you hear that rumor?”
“One for one, remember? This time it’s my turn.”
The gypsy put what she had just learned to use immediately.
“Fine.”
There was no need to rush.
She was right here, and the performance would be held in the evening.
And if it came to it, there was no need to hunt orcs today.
After all, the request had originally been a way to earn money for a magic book.
Thanks to Lurizisa’s gift of Water, his finances were in comfortable shape.
For now, he was only hunting orcs to build real combat experience.
“What’s your name?”
“Hm?”
“Your name. I’m Elvira.”
What was this woman plotting now?
“…Lawrence.”
“Lawrence. Pilgrim Lawrence. That’s a nice name.”
He could see the soft smile beneath her veil.
“I heard the rumor in the Gutter. If you ask me whether it’s trustworthy, I’d honestly say you’re better off not believing it too much.”
“The Gutter?”
At Lawrence’s question, Elvira nodded.
“The slum district formed in Rombamel’s back alleys.”
“Ah. The back alleys, then. You call them the Gutter?”
“Well… in the royal capital, Corintos, they call the old town the Gutter. It sounds nicer than it is. The place has long since become nothing more than a forgotten street, and it’s no different from the back alleys here. Funny, isn’t it? A thousand-year capital, they call it. As if. Slums are usually called the Gutter.”
The Gutter.
Lawrence thought back to the time he’d first stepped into those back alleys.
Yes, the landscape there had suited the name perfectly.
“I know you’re a pilgrim looking for a holy site. But be careful not to have your throat cut before you can blink. Even if you pay, I’m not sure you’ll get proper information.”
“A clue is enough. From here on, it’s up to me.”
It was true that the information was suspicious, but the fact that such a rumor existed meant there was, in essence, a place with some significance.
Even if he didn’t know the exact location yet, he might be able to narrow it down little by little and eventually reach the holy site.
His heart beat faster with anticipation.
Since it lay beyond the Order’s reach, there was a good chance it was the Lost Sanctuary.
At the same time, he understood why the notice he’d posted on the board had been useless.
If the information was known only to the people of the Gutter, there was no way a normal client would come looking for him through ordinary channels.
Back alleys had their own rules.
For someone from the darkness to step into the light, it took real resolve.
He knew that well.
Lawrence had once lived in a place like that himself.
Besides, the back alleys that had formed in Rombamel were incomparable in scale to the ones he had known.
The stronger the sunlight, the longer the shadows it cast.
It would be better to enter only after making full preparations.
“So you’re planning to go into the Gutter yourself.”
“It’s a clue I found by sheer luck.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t do that. You’d be short of ten lives. And going there dressed like that is suicide.”
She added, in a low voice, that he’d probably die without a trace.
Lawrence was about to say he wasn’t that weak, but then he changed his mind.
“Then do you have any better idea?”
“You know Cedric, right?”
“If you mean Cedric, the man who sings disgustingly badly, then yes.”
“Heeheehee. Yes, that one. If you have time, go find Cedric. If you say I sent you, he’ll listen.”
At Lawrence’s answer, Elvira laughed.
“Does Cedric know the Gutter well?”
“No, Cedric doesn’t know it at all.”
It was too early to be disappointed.
She wasn’t done yet.
“But the women who come looking for Cedric are different. Women groveling in the lowest place, women standing at the highest. By his own words, he’s a knight who embraces every lady. Depending on what I hear, he might lend you a hand.”
Lawrence understood what she meant.
Even if Cedric himself didn’t know the Gutter, some of the women who came to him might be from there.
Either way, he’d need to speak with Cedric.
But there was one thing he couldn’t keep himself from saying.
“What a magnificent knight he is. A knight who changes women every night he goes to bed.”
Elvira didn’t even bother trying to hold back her laughter this time.