Chapter Text
There was a buzzing sound in my ears; that was the old man’s rusty voice.
…What does he have to say this time? I’d have loved nothing more than to turn a deaf ear to whatever useless trivia was about to leave his mouth, but that was hard to do when I was walking right beside him. For some reason, I was unlucky enough to end up at the rear of the group with him, alongside Miss Snow.
“—Have you ever seen painted portraits of people with no faces? Oh, you haven’t? Well, do you know why the faces were left blank? No, you don’t know either? Let me tell you.”
No, thank you. I didn't need to know this, but Miss Snow apparently didn't share my opinion, star-eying Immortal. She had been entranced by the old man’s stories, it seemed.
Unlike her, I’d have rather listened to the very serious and important matter Trollo, Marinus, and the Lady of the house were busy discussing; it concerned the strange wolf attacks in the city, for which we'd been hired to handle. While a certain someone was spouting nonsense, they were reviewing every attack up to now, as well as the layout of the city.
Unfortunately, this old man was distracting me from listening—and also visibly distracting Miss Snow. Dear Lord, when exactly is he planning to keep quiet and do his job…?
“To gain money, the starving oil painters would paint the dresses and the poses, but would not paint the faces. They were left blank. So, when nobles came to ask for a portrait, all they had to do was paint the faces, allowing them to finish a painting fast, and get their money just as fast.”
It seemed like Immortal had decided to forcefully impart his art knowledge to us, regardless of my thoughts on the matter.
To be fair, he was knowledgeable, but it wasn't the time nor the place for this. Even so, he’d been rambling on every single piece of art we’d come across as we walked through the mansion, making our way toward our quarters for the night.
The said artworks were mostly the same old portraits of the previous head of the house, and yet, he still found something to say, either on the artist’s skills, the material used, or how well it’d been preserved, when he didn't bring up trivia no one had asked for.
Maybe we should abandon him and—
“That’s amazing!” Miss Snow exclaimed. “What if the noble had a different body size, then?”
Oh, for the love of God! Please, Miss Snow, don’t encourage him!
“The standards of what the trend deemed as beautiful would apply. Sometimes, it would be bejeweled gowns with puffy dresses; other times, it would be white cats symbolizing wealth.”
“Ohhhh!” Miss Snow was avidly listening to him, not paying any heed whatsoever to the people leading us through the mansion. The old man had grabbed all of her attention. “So how do you know this?”
“I was there.”
Again with that explanation. Whenever he was asked how he knew such things, he responded with a ‘I experienced it first hand’ kind of answer. Was he immortal? Well, maybe.
Nevertheless, his rambling was getting out of hand.
“If you have nothing of interest to say,” I couldn't take it anymore and finally spoke up, “then keep your mouth shut.”
“Sorry, we appreciate fine things in life.”
“And I appreciate finding the culprits, so there is no more death in town.”
To do that, we needed information and clues, all things the people Trollo was discussing with could give us. It’s hard to believe a child was more down-to-earth and practical than an old man like Immortal.
“La di da, how noble of you.”
“One of us has to be, and it’s not you.”
“There are only two rooms available, and only four beds,” the Lady of the house, Elizaveta, cut us off, gesturing to two doors. “I’ll let you decide among yourselves who will room with whom.”
“I don’t mind with whom I room as long as it’s not the old man.”
I made my position clear from the get-go. No way in hell was I sharing a room with this stinky old man, or I feared my nights were going to be plagued with nightmares.
Strangely enough, Immortal shared the same thought. At least, we got along on one thing.
***
I woke to Miss Snow planting a kiss on Trollo’s cheek. She seemed to be in a good mood.
Putting on my coat and my boots, I went to wash my face, doing my morning toilette, before getting out of the bedroom. The others were quick to arrive, too, and even the old man was on time. I thought he’d sleep in. Guess not.
Immortal was still dressed up in rags, his whitish, disheveled hair falling in disorder on his back. This man had no proper sense of conduct; the least he could do would be to make himself presentable in front of the Lord of this city. Well, it wasn't like he seemed to care. He didn't seem to care about most of what was going on, if anything.
As we’d planned the previous day, we started by inspecting the fortified walls. There weren't many options for the wolves to enter the city, and our first thought, after inspecting the maps and the layout, was that there was a hole somewhere in the walls.
“—What if an enemy family has brought them in then?”
“In what? A carriage?”
Why do I even bother to respond? It was a ludicrous idea.
“Why not?”
“…Have you tried to put a bunch of wolves in a carriage?” Just picturing the scene made me want to scoff. “I’d like to see what happens.”
Meanwhile, Trollo, Miss Snow, and Marinus were discussing with Vincent, the huntsman's assistant, about the ongoing renovation of the wall. I listened with one ear, but from what I gathered, it would almost be impossible for wolves to enter this way, as the renovation was conducted on the footbridge above, almost fifteen meters high. Wolves couldn't jump that high, and Trollo inspected every nook and cranny in search of cracks and such. There were none.
“Did that three hundred years ago.” Of course, Immortal had to double down. “You just drop a juicy piece of meat into a cage, and then let them run rampant.”
Charming. I was about to tell him to knock it off with the nonsense when Trollo proposed that we go to the cemetery next, where the first victims of the wolves had been found. So we did so.
The cemetery was located on the outskirts of the city, not too far away, but definitely outside the wall, near the woods.
When we arrived, we were faced with the scene of men roasting meat.
Before we could even wrap our heads around what was going on, we heard Miss Snow’s stomach rumble as she rushed over with a ‘oh! Food!’, but she didn't get far as Vincent stopped us in our tracks. Allegedly, these men were bandits.
Not like it deterred Miss Snow, as they looked like ‘such lovely people’.
“They are in a cemetery, cooking meat, and you think they are gentlemanly?” the old man grumbled, visibly thinking the guys were shady.
Honestly? So did I. But I'd never agree with him aloud, and instead threw a jab.
“They’re more polite than you, at least.”
“Bluebeard, I’m so curious as to why you think your opinions matter when my toenail is older than you.”
Hard to believe, considering he acts like a brat.
“I wonder why you think yours matter when you belong to a grave.”
“I was there when graves were nothing but dug piles filled with corpses with no ceremony. Death has very little meaning to me.”
I cocked an eyebrow but dropped the matter. What was the point of bickering with an old, senile thing, anyway? At any rate, it seemed like I wouldn't win this one, so I might as well just let him win this round.
To begin with, there were more important matters at hand. Miss Snow had engaged with Jozef and his men, and Trollo had also pitched in, now negotiating with the ‘bandits’ to get more information about the wolves.
Something had been weighing on my mind, however.
Glancing askance at the old man, I narrowed my eyes. Right. My luck had run out, and I’d been stuck listening to his rambling ever since we departed from Rome for France. Observing others was one of my talents, and the more I observed, the more I learned, the easier it was to pick up on people’s gifts.
Should I…? Why not.
Some information popped up in my head, and when Jozef offered us some meat, I smiled and politely declined. That was what had been bothering me. Eating stolen meat could lead to being prosecuted for the same crime as the thief in some areas. Whether that applied here, I wasn't sure, but I’d rather not find out.
“…Just don’t eat the meat.”
Miss Snow looked at the old man with her innocent eyes, visibly not understanding why she shouldn’t eat the offered meat. I decided to add a bit of context.
“It’s best not to eat strangers’ food.”
She ate it, regardless. Well, I’d warned her.
After that, it wasn't my problem anymore.