The Pigeon Mistress
The beige wallpaper, which instilled a sense of stability in anyone who laid eyes on it, was particularly striking. Silk curtains installed to ward off the cold stood wide open, utterly defying their purpose, while carrier pigeons fluttered to and fro between them. To an outsider, the room might have seemed less like a prison cell and more like a pigeoneer's quarters.
The middle-aged woman, who appeared to be the room's owner amid all the feathers, poured tea with leisurely grace and offered it to the guest before her. She moved with the same unhurried poise to untie a note from a pigeon's leg, read it, jotted something down, and pinned it to the wall. She gazed thoughtfully at the memos plastered across the space—enough to cover a world map—before pulling a fresh note from her desk, scribbling a few lines, and tying it to one of the resting pigeons.
She fastened a small red trinket, slightly smaller than her fingernail, around the pigeon's neck, murmured softly, and released it toward the window.
Flutter-flutter! Watching the pigeon soar powerfully toward its destination, the woman's expression held a faint wistfulness. Was it the contrast between the bird's freedom and her own confinement? Or perhaps a shared plight, knowing that even carrier pigeons only flew predetermined routes?
Ending her silent reverie, she turned to the man behind her.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Vice Warden. Some things just can't be put off."
"No, it's fine. It was my first time seeing carrier pigeons up close—quite the sight."
"Oh my, how kind of you."
She settled into her seat with a smile whose true intent was hard to read, lifting the teacup to her lips with elegant poise. The aroma was potent enough that Suhwa, seated opposite, could catch its scent too.
"So, what brings you here with questions for me? Vice Warden Suhwa Romanoff."
"Did you sleep well last night, Warden?"
"Hey now, even if I'm not as spry as in my youth! Skip the age-old pleasantries—they don't suit me."
Suhwa and Jepeto crossed paths en route to the weekly staff meeting for Utopia's guards. Jepeto's lips curled into a grin at the sight of Suhwa, weary from his recent transfer and the adjustments it brought.
With a teasing glint in his eye, Jepeto spoke up. "Guess the bed I picked out for you didn't hit the mark, even though I put some thought into it."
"No, the bed was excellent—I could tell you'd gone out of your way. But..."
"Then what kept you up?"
"Someone bombarding a newbie like me with questions right after I arrived... It wore me out mentally."
"You little punk... Heh heh heh."
After trading barbs, the pair pushed open the meeting room doors together. Chief Clerk Helena and the other senior guards were already seated.
"Alright, let's kick off the weekly meeting. Any unusual reports from the departments?"
"None."
"Nothing here."
"Same on my end."
As similar responses rolled in, Jepeto clapped with a satisfied yet unmistakably bored expression.
"Perfect. And as for this warden, I'm disappointed in the inmates again this week. How do they waste their lives cooped up in here like this..."
What the hell is he saying?
A prison was meant to safely isolate society's criminals from the world. It was hard to believe such words came from its warden. Yet the other executives, Suhwa aside, showed no surprise—clearly accustomed to it. If anything, their gazes subtly drifted toward him.
"Hoping for something entertaining next week, that wraps this week's meeting."
"Straight to lunch, then."
"I'm in."
"Today's menu: seaweed soup, soy sprouts, kimchi, radish kimchi, with plain yogurt and dried mandragora for dessert."
As if this were routine, everyone rose without lingering and filed out. Suhwa, his face a mask of utter bewilderment, finally spoke.
"Warden Cervantes."
"What's on your mind?"
"Is the atmosphere always like this?"
Their eyes met—one pair saying What's the problem?, the other Are you really clueless, or just pretending? The tangled stares uncoiled as realization dawned on Jepeto, who broke into laughter.
"Ah~ Oh right! Forgot to mention it. Probably a far cry from the meetings you're used to, eh?"
"'A far cry' doesn't even cover it. Worlds apart."
The cafeteria buzzed, packed despite—or because of—the morning staples of seaweed soup and soy sprouts, which no nationality or background could resist. As they joined the line at the back, guards recognized the warden and vice warden, offering casual nods. Jepeto continued offhandedly.
"I grant maximum autonomy here. To guards and inmates alike. Of course, the former can't cause trouble, so I give 'em a light touch, but the latter? Opposite approach."
A ladle heaped with seaweed into his bowl, and an irrepressible smile spread across the warden's face.
"Aside from twice-daily roll calls, no interference—do what you want, wherever. You can even skip roll call if you give advance notice."
"Just to confirm: this place is a prison, right?"
"The empire's top-tier slammer for its worst offenders. You bet it is."
Jepeto artfully sliced sausages over rice and piled on extra kimchi.
"Shoving strict rules down hardened criminals' throats? Just breeds rebellion. And the wild ones stay wild no matter how much leash you give 'em."
"This is making my head spin more by the minute, but I'll keep listening."
Jepeto grabbed milk too and sat, deftly crumbling his kimchi sheets with practiced hands.
"Reports come in anytime something needs saying, regardless of the hour... So weekly meetings are just for stuff everyone needs to know. Keeps 'em short."
"At first it reeled me, but now? You seem like the most flexible officer I've met among the military types."
Jepeto shoveled in seaweed like it was face fuel, crunching radish kimchi with undisguised bliss. For a non-hereditary duke and warden, his simple pleasures softened Suhwa's expression too.
"Why not scrap the meetings altogether, then?"
"We tried that a few times after suggestions came up—turns out folks missed seeing each other. So we kept 'em."
"And who was the main voice behind that 'missing faces makes it boring' bit...?"
"Me."
Oof... Slight deduction on flexibility.
Jepeto's tray—twice Suhwa's size—emptied at a staggering pace. Seaweed soup, radish kimchi, soy sprouts: not for nothing was it dubbed the rice thief combo.
"Figured my duties would've come up in today's meeting, but no dice."
"Duties? What duties?"
"I'm on the empire's payroll now—gotta have assigned tasks. Speaking of, no handover notes from the previous vice warden?"
Jepeto had already scraped his tray clean and cracked open his milk. Suhwa gave up chasing the warden's inhuman speed, savoring his meal leisurely instead.
"Nah, nothing like that."
"Pardon?"
"No handover, no predecessor. You're my first vice warden."
Suhwa, now eyeing his sausages warily under Jepeto's gaze, slid his tray over. A fork arced in like it had been waiting, vanishing sausages like melting snow.
"Utopia never had fixed positions. They pop up as needed, vanish when they're not—or when 'circumstances' arise."
"So what made a vice warden necessary now?"
"That's for you to figure out. Where's the fun if I spoon-feed it?"
Thanks to Jepeto devouring the excess sausages, Suhwa cracked his milk with good cheer.
"So not just divvying up tasks—figuring out what my job even is starts the job."
"Bingo. This ain't some academy wiping noble brats' asses. Want something? Grab it yourself."
Sensing that absurdity eventually bred acceptance, Suhwa shrugged it off and basked in his satisfying breakfast fullness.
"Ah~~ Since I'm such a nice guy, here's some advice."
Jepeto produced a floss pick from who-knows-where and got to work.
"When I first got here, I started by chatting with every inmate."
"Chatting?"
"Sizing each other up. Ask 'What brought you here tumbling in?' and their stories pour out. These folks are starved for conversation."
They headed to the exit together, Jepeto flawlessly flossing one-handed behind a cupped palm.
"Not sure who to start with? She wouldn't be a bad first stop."
"You mentioned her yesterday too—who the hell is she?"
Flutter-flutter!
"Some woman you just can't pin down."
A pigeon beat its wings powerfully overhead as Jepeto and Suhwa left the cafeteria. What started as one soon swelled into a flock.
Come to think of it...
That morning after dreaming of his past for the first time in ages, a pigeon had perched on Suhwa's windowsill.
"Related to that flock up there?"
"Their owner. Less 'raises' them, more 'uses' them masterfully."
Coo coo! As if overhearing the assessment of themselves, the pigeons' round eyes fixed on Suhwa's crown. Feeling an inexplicable prickling, he ruffled his hair—and the feathered blobs scattered with a flutter!
"You gonna tell me who she is?"
"No fun if I spoil it. Besides, she'd chew me out for blabbing."
Jepeto's face hardened like a man refusing to open a chest too heavy with treasure.
"Ah. But this much I can say."
He flicked the used floss pick toward the snowy ground. Midway down, a surprisingly colorful lump dangled from it. As Suhwa stared, transfixed by the filthy yet fleeting sight, sweet counsel winged his way.
"She likes sweets. Whether she eats it or the pigeons do... who knows."
Coo coo-coo! Satisfied or not, the last pigeon soared off vigorously.