Midnight Cuckoo (5)
As I stepped out the door, a blinding radiance made it impossible to keep my eyes open. Something metallic was reflecting the sunlight, scrambling my vision. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I barely discerned its true nature. The source of the glare was a suit of knight's armor. The gleaming plate, polished to a ceremonial sheen, was no ordinary buff job. Not even a dwarf could achieve that luster without chemical aids.
Clad head to toe in that ostentatious armor, with a white-feathered helmet tucked under his arm, the knight looked up at me. A mere slight tilt of his head sent ripples of sparkle across the metal, like sunlight on a midday lake. It was only when our eyes met that I realized he wasn't just any knight—he was the newly appointed guard captain. The blond captain, his hair neatly slicked back with oil, was strikingly handsome. Probably around my age. Arrogance born of noble blood filled his face, and his smile oozed effortless confidence.
Behind him stood nearly twenty guards, lined up in formation. The captain alone would have been odd enough, but dragging this many subordinates along? I couldn't even guess the purpose. I'd never had direct dealings with the guard. At most, yesterday's pickpocketing report on Della's behalf... No way he'd come personally for that.
"You the owner?"
"Yeah."
"Captain Lambert de la Tremouille of the city guard company. Pleased to meet you."
He flashed a smile, revealing neat white teeth. I thought I'd misheard—he was straight-up using informal speech. The fourth son of some marquis house, treating every citizen in the direct territory like dirt under his boot.
"Worn down a bit, but a fine inn. Real ones are always old like that. Proof of history and legitimacy, eh?"
"Been open less than half a year."
I matched his informal tone, but he hadn't clocked it yet.
"Ah, got it. Then you'll build that legacy going forward."
"Thanks for the well-wishes."
Only then did he catch on that I was doing it on purpose. His face twisted oddly. The guards behind him glanced at each other, whispering low.
"Silence, men."
He reined them in, fixing me with his signature haughty stare.
"The reason I've graced your establishment is a regrettable report filed with the guard yesterday."
"The pickpocketing? That big a deal?"
His lips twitched at the repeated informality.
"Crimes in my city, under my watch for public safety. His Majesty entrusted me with Rosens' peace and prosperity. Overlook even the pettiest offense, and it's defiance—treason against the crown."
For a dispossessed noble brat who bolted to the military, he had surprising loyalty to the king. Maybe I was prejudiced. Or maybe he was just puffing himself up with empty words. Either way, none of my business.
"So, what're you here for?"
Another informal jab—he clamped his mouth shut, staring me down. But he wasn't on my level. Not even high demons or demonkin could hold out.
Captain Lambert broke first, sweat beading as he dropped his gaze. "...To interview the victim."
I switched to polite on cue. "The victim? She's inside, but..."
Way overkill for a pickpocket chat. Then it hit me—Hildeva's drunken story. This Lambert guy knelt before Della. Kissed her hand before that. Explained the theatrics and personal visit.
'Crossroads Troll' Inn, report under waitress Della's name. He bolted here for a shot at her. Fair enough. Della was a knockout. Even I'd been stunned seeing her in that Bue inn after a decade worldwide. If I hadn't known her dad pimped her out, I might not have turned her down.
"She's inside? Then I'll speak with her myself."
"Uh... she is, but you're not bringing the whole crew, right?"
"Naturally. Can't burden the citizenry. I'll go solo."
Hmm. Subordinates roasting in armor out here? Didn't give a damn about them. Dragged 'em for show, real motive: Della time. Classic officer move—can't look good solo, so pack the backdrop.
"Come on in."
I held the door, stepped inside first. Called Idwild and Pelle to serve cool drinks to the soldiers outside. Once they headed to the basement, Lambert strode in alone.
"Oh ho, an ogre skull?"
He peered up at the troll trophy, playing expert.
"Troll."
"Impossible. From personal combat experience, that's ogre."
"Uh, sure..."
Fought an ogre? He'd be down an arm or leg. I guided him to a table, fetched Della from the kitchen. She scurried out.
"You called?"
"Guest here about yesterday's pickpocketing."
"Aha! Mademoiselle!"
He cut me off, shoved my shoulder aside, dropped to one knee before her.
"Cheers to the goddess who arranged our second meeting. I raced here upon hearing of your misfortune."
"Ah... yes...?"
Della scratched her cheek, flustered. He seized her hand, kissed the back.
"Misfortune...?"
"Your pickpocketing yesterday. That's why he's here."
Sweet Della shrank like she'd done wrong.
"No need to come personally..."
"Nonsense! Then who? I, Lambert de la Tremouille, stake my house's honor to nab that scoundrel."
"Nab... yes..."
"Behead him, gibbet at the crossroads—law's terror for all to see."
"Gibbet...?!"
Della blanched at his extremism. Swipe some coins, lose your head and get strung up? I'd freak too.
"Indeed. Restore the lady's tarnished—"
He froze mid-rant, eyes on the basement stairs. Idwild and Pelle ascending with trays of full glasses. Lambert's gaze locked on Idi's tray-topped breasts. Bewilderment hit. He tracked to her swaying hips, blinked like an idiot. Then spotted Pelle's horns trailing.
"You wretch!"
Roaring, sword drawn, he shielded Della.
"Demons daring my turf in broad daylight?!"
Idi fumbled to a halt; Pelle met the blade-tip with icy glare.
"You filthy vermin! Weren't you ash under Lurtjog's bolt?!"
"Um, no, she's—"
Della tapped his pauldron to explain. He bellowed.
"Behind me! I'll decapitate this demoness here!"
"She's our employee."
I stepped up; he scorched me with fury.
"Owner blind to those infernal horns?!"
"I see 'em fine. Registered special at city hall."
"Absurd! Demons are anathema—seize her!"
Pelle turned away bored before he finished.
"Halt!"
Too late—she was out, Idwild trailing dazed. I blocked his charge.
Thick-skulled moron. Trays in hand, still no clue? Tempting, but city guard captain—not worth the curse.
"Stick to the pickpocketing. Busy soon."
"Pelle's... not bad..."
Della's quiver worked better. He swallowed rage, sheathed.
"My apologies... Can't abide the sinister. Forgive my rudeness, lady."
Still crazies like him. Showboating for Della, but she doesn't bite. Predictably, she edged back fearful. Kiss hand, rave, draw sword, calm, apologize—who wouldn't scare?
"I swear to you, lady: days hence, that brigand flogged in your yard."
My yard?!
"Do that at your parade ground—"
"From this day, the guard bends all to restore your honor!"
He cut me off, declared. Gave Della soulful look, marched out.
Door opened—empty trays, Idwild and Pelle back. He faltered, scanned Idi's curves quick. Peeked Della's reaction, bolted.
"Men! Unaware demons served you?!"
His bellow echoed from outside.
"What was that guy...?"
"No idea..."
Della shook head at Idi's question. Pelle strode in, insult forgotten.
Guards clanked off the yard. I sighed.
Zamas, head priest, now captain... This city's visitors, all freaks... -_-
That night, even rowdy drinkers retired upstairs. Alone at the bar—or not—Celereja fussed her hair right ahead.
Early summer, warm night; she wore thin sleeveless shirt. Gathering long locks to tie, arms up—smooth armpits flashed, braless breasts strained the clingy fabric.
"Saintess. Quit distracting."
"Me? Didn't snatch your pen or anything~"
"Not that—you right there, can't stop looking."
She smirked sly, arched to flaunt pits.
"Hmm... for you to look~"
"Hold on. Ledger first, no matter how urgent. Tonight, definitely—"
BOOM outside. Celereja whipped round, frozen; room doors flew open, guests poured out.
"What the hell?!"
I vaulted the bar, bolted out.