I'll Do Anything for Warmth
Evening had come, and we had only just finished the meal when Hieronymus came to call.
He opened the door and stepped inside with his face arranged into blankness, but the tension beneath it was plain to see. Whatever had him so tightly wound, he would tell me soon enough. I passed the dishes to Joanna and walked over to stand before him.
"Hello, Hieronymus."
I wanted to ask after him. Not yet. I would hold a little longer.
I simply greeted him, plain and ordinary, the way I always did. Repetition of that sort gives people a sense of steadiness. If I met him at the door with a sudden little snicker and something like Oh, you're here?, Hieronymus would hit me over the head on the spot with that magical implement he keeps—or whatever the thing is. So I received him with the greeting I give every time, and I left it at that.
You have to talk a great deal before the gap in understanding between two people begins to close. Say little, and that gap is difficult to mend. It also cuts down on the number of times I put my foot in my mouth.
Why go to the trouble of building a character at all? Because I've already come out, and I want to stay a long while. Fall back to the bottom and I might vanish, so shouldn't I take in as much warmth as I can while I'm able? The reason I make the character weak is that a strong one shows its underside too easily. I lack the power and the intelligence to prop up a trait like strength, so I have no choice. If I had at least known how to use something like a death beam, I would have been the sort of trash who fires first the moment someone grates on her nerves and asks questions afterward. A shame.
Living things learn through fear and reward. Had I an ability like that, I would have trained them with a blessing for a reward and death for a fear. For the record, fear alone will not do. Leave either side out and they warp. And even when you are thorough, an exceptional specimen springs up now and then. Tisha, for instance. The environment had him shut in on every side, and yet—whether because his mind is sharp—he realized it for himself and arrived at the conclusion that this cult was wrong. That alone would have been dangerous, but he also learned how to hide before they could kill him.
So, keeping in some corner of my mind that there are always exceptions, I finished the greeting and simply looked at Hieronymus without another word. Alone, at an hour this late. What in the world was the matter?
"Good evening, Lady Rebecca. I was told a short while ago that this room does not please you, and so I came."
Andrew must have carried the word. Was that why he had come running?
Hm?
Behind me, Joanna was clearing the table, and without so much as glancing at Hieronymus's face she frowned. Because I disliked the room? Because a stranger had come in? Or for some other reason entirely? If she had a habit of murmuring her thoughts under her breath I might have known, but Joanna has no such habit. So I had no idea what she was thinking. One half of my mind went on taking Joanna apart while the other attended to Hieronymus.
As it happened, he had another question for me.
"What is it about this room that displeases you?"
What about it displeased me? He was asking for my opinion. I would give him credit, at least, for not changing the thing first and thinking afterward. But he ought not to have asked it that way here. I don't lie. I haven't the confidence to deceive someone all the way to the end. I build a weak character because I really am that sort of person, so there is no gap between the two. Best to speak only the truth.
There were several things I disliked, but one of them could be said in a single short line. I knew a room. A place meant for Rebecca Rolfe.
"It isn't the room Rebecca Rolfe lived in."
Yes. The room this body's owner had lived in. As I've said, the girl called Rebecca Rolfe came from a considerable fortune. She was a typical young lady, with plenty of servants. And there was someone who burned down the house she lived in. The man standing right in front of me. Even if he never set the fire with his own hands, he must at least have given the order.
"You know the room the owner of that body lived in?"
"It's in her memories."
For the record, that sentence carried information dangerous to me: that I knew Rebecca Rolfe's memories. He could take it to mean I could read the memories of whatever body I happened to be wearing, but with only a little imagination he might conclude I could read the memories of everyone I had eaten. If Hieronymus was a genius, he might gather up mistakes I hadn't even noticed making and realize I was watching all of them through the eyes of those I had blessed.
I didn't mind being found out someday. I simply didn't want it to happen soon. I would have liked a few more weaknesses to surface first. Even so, when a moment comes to stab, you use it. I watched him, curious what sort of answer he would give.
Quick on the uptake, as expected, he produced one at once.
"I will have such a room prepared for you."
Oh dear. That suggested he might have gone there himself when this body was taken. He hadn't asked what kind of room it was. Of course, he might have sent a subordinate to find out.
Hm? No. One thing. There was something I had to say.
Hehe.
Yes. This was an accusation. Rebecca Rolfe's accusation. The reproach of a person already dead. Can you answer, Hieronymus?
There was no answer. He simply chose silence.
A shame. Had he answered in any fashion at all, I would have subtracted from his humanity, but he still had it. I say so because revenge is the most human choice there is. That is why dramas of revenge burn the brightest, and why everyone fears the coming of a world in which revenge is what is right. Ah—this is not the obvious thing everyone says, about the highly placed being afraid revenge might fall upon them.
When you are the one doling out rations to creatures sunk in despair, you come to understand something. Revenge is agony. It hurts, it exhausts, and still the memories of better days clinging fast to you seize hold and burn. Can't I forget this? Can't I ignore it? The world is simply that way, and revenge is a wicked thing—if I close my eyes and tell myself so, am I not allowed to flee this pain? Should a world arrive in which revenge is righteous, the things one may shut one's eyes to, weep over, and let pass grow enormously large, whether you manage to produce a result or fail and come apart.
Not everyone can become superhuman. It is impossible for everyone to be made of iron. Everyone has the freedom to become a resigned idler. The right to be a slave, I mean. A comfortable life, with no need to despair deeply, lived in fear of nothing but the pain of each ordinary day. Those who want that push revenge aside and call it evil. So even when an age comes in which the many hold power and live by it, the notion does not disappear. It hardens.
Once you have abandoned your humanity, you are bound to envy the humanity of others. And so another person's revenge is beautiful, while you want nothing to do with revenge yourself, because you lack the driving force it would take to carry it out.
And yet, standing right in front of you, there is a person who will do anything at all in order to have his revenge. I don't know what his past holds, but surely there was something important, and he lost it. Before that man stands someone who lost everything because of him. The mind may know I am not Rebecca Rolfe, but sight is a difficult thing to ignore, isn't it? Reproach him like this and it will drive itself into his head whether he wants it there or not. Because he has humanity; because he, too, is a person taking revenge—there are various ways to put it—but I think these words will lodge in Hieronymus.
This was the revenge Rebecca Rolfe could manage, such as it was. Far too thin to call revenge. Still, my presence had grown as a bonus, so if he could manage it—a supply of warmth, a supply of materials to bless, anything at all. He was leaving me idle far too long, honestly.
Instead of an answer, he chose silence. I could have matched it and let an endlessly unpleasant stretch of time go by, but if I did, I suspected Joanna's stomach would be eaten through with an ulcer.
Hm. Shall I try saying it another way, then?
"Just do as you please, Hieronymus."
Don't look to me for cues. Do what you want to do. Giving me warmth was fine. Having me bestow blessings was fine. As he liked.
Except—
Yes. A person who cannot eat dies. Without warmth, I am cold. Stopping is the one thing I will not forgive. When that happens, I will do whatever it takes to leave this place and find another host. If Andrew is your enemy, I might even go over to Andrew. Of course, I didn't say that far.
I stopped speaking and watched Hieronymus lift his head.
"What do you mean?"
No—by this point, hadn't he understood all of it? He was asking what I meant? Don't tell me the entire conversation until now had been nothing but my own delusion?
Honestly. Yes, this is what happens when there hasn't been enough talk. It couldn't be helped. I lowered my intelligence a little further.
"I need warmth. The more your wish comes true, the more warmth you'll give me, won't you?"
Hehe. The warmth harvested by those who have received my blessing, when they kill others, is a separate matter. Aside from that, he would have to give me Sacrifices capable of giving me warmth.
"So do what you want to do. Or shall I ask Joanna as well? About a better room."
At that, Joanna whipped her head from side to side. She disliked the idea that much? Hieronymus set his eyes on her once, then looked back at me, and nodded.
"Understood. I will do as I please. And if you have any complaints, Lady Rebecca, please be sure to inform me of them through Joanna."
"Yes. I understand."
So hearing of me through Andrew had put him in a foul mood. A beast doesn't understand a leash. If he meant to do something, I wouldn't stop him. I wouldn't help him, either. And Hieronymus went out without ever turning his back on me.
Had I stabbed too deep with words? Even so, Hieronymus was the one at fault. He had no thought of supplying warmth, and no thought of bringing materials for me to bless.
Anyway, if the room could be changed...
"Joanna."
"Yes, Lady Rebecca."
"If you can, please ask for a room with a window."
"That really is a good idea, Lady Rebecca!"
Stay too long in a sealed space and the air goes stale, doesn't it? I could set myself aside, but this was no good environment for Joanna to remain in for long. The kitchen and everything else were much too far. By now they ought to have understood that, blessings aside, I had no special power, and that I had no intention of moving in any large way. If possible, I would have liked to go to a village in a district I had not yet seen.
And I thought that if I were outside, incidents would be more likely to happen.
Hehe.