TMIAP Chapter 32

"You're going to Dr. Mekal's townhouse, aren't you? If you turn down that alley, there's a five-way intersection..."

Monica thought she must have been overly suspicious of Hans.

Hans walked maintaining a proper distance of perhaps two handspans from Monica, explaining the route in detail. So thoroughly that she felt almost guilty for not actually going to Mekal's.

"Thank you."

"Not at all! Ah, I should have brought a gas lamp for you in this darkness!"

Hans scratched his head regretfully. But one couldn't simply waste expensive gas lamps so carelessly. Monica smiled and declined Hans's offer.

"It's fine. I can manage that much alone."

"Though it might make you more conspicuous."

"Pardon?"

The gardener's ear tips flushed red.

"No, that new dress... it's very pretty. So! I don't mean anything by it!"

Monica involuntarily looked down at what she was wearing.

One of the dresses Luis had bought her. Purple and very modest, a practical dress suitable for work.

Naturally, Hans noticed Monica's reaction and stepped back another pace. Monica realized this good-hearted young gardener was conscious of her having declined his previous invitation, and felt slightly sorry.

But what could she do? Monica was an orphan with nowhere to go.

Girls without home or family were fated to maintain sufficient wariness. So if Hans resented her for it, it couldn't be helped.

But Hans waved his hands, making clear he bore her no resentment whatsoever.

"After seeing nothing but fierce girls like Maria all day, seeing someone like you, Miss—I don't know how to give proper compliments."

Hans walked apart from Monica, rambling about the hardships of working at the Mollette household for several years and about the housemaid girls who showed no openings whatsoever. And also about Miss Liella, who acted superior and wouldn't let anyone near.

Monica felt somewhat odd. Why should the young lady he served need to let a gardener near?

However, Monica had no desire to quarrel needlessly with a man on a dark road. So she nodded vaguely and made noncommittal responses to Hans's talk.

Upon reaching the five-way intersection he had mentioned, Hans stopped his steps decisively.

"Safe travels."

"Ah, yes."

Monica, who had been inwardly anxious he might follow further, finally smiled sheepishly.

"Thank you."

The gardener hunched his shoulders once, then turned quickly away.

Even so, he looked back two or three times to check her direction. On account of this, Monica had to hesitate and wave her hand at length.

"Phew."

A sigh escaped naturally.

Only after Hans had completely disappeared beyond the alley did Monica quicken her pace. The route to the street filled with townhouses—though Mekal's house and the Solivén family townhouse were relatively distant from each other, so she turned onto a different path from the one Hans had indicated.

Taking care not to lose her way as she had before, Monica chose only the well-lit streets.

Fortunately, though the street where the Solivén family townhouse stood wasn't quite the wealthy district packed with mansions, it was inhabited by people of considerable means, and quite a few houses had their lights burning here and there.

Before long, Monica arrived at her destination.

The house was quite impressive. Though it was too dark to see clearly, even at a glance it appeared quite large and substantial. Perhaps four times the size of Mekal's house.

Monica took a deep breath and rapped the large lion's-head door knocker affixed to the dark green door. The sound rang out loud—thunk, thunk—startling her.

"Who is it?"

"Um..."

The person who opened the door and leaned out was not a face Monica recognized.

A brown-haired young man with an obviously exhausted face held a candlestick and surveyed her. Monica asked reflexively.

"I've come looking for Lord Solivén—is this not the right place?"

"Ah."

At that, the young man raised his eyebrows.

"Excuse me, but might I ask who you are..."

"I'm called Monica."

"Aha?"

The young man made a sound that might or might not have been an exclamation, then bowed his head lightly.

Monica soon learned he was Andrei Regis—that is, Enrique's new secretary. Andrei smiled brightly while politely guiding her to the townhouse's reception room.

"Due to my commander's current circumstances, this townhouse has no servants. It may prove inconvenient in various ways, but..."

"No need to explain, Andrei."

Before Andrei could finish speaking, a familiar voice cut him off. Monica, who had been about to sit, hesitated and stood again.

Enrique Solivén stood in the doorway.

"What brings you here? I thought it would take several days."

The man also looked weary. His thick golden eyebrows were drawn sharply together, which alone conveyed as much.

His half-unbuttoned shirt was wrinkled, suggesting he had been lying down in it. Monica drew a small medicine bottle from her handbag.

"Yes, it will take several days. But just in case."

"What is it?"

"Sleeping medicine."

The man laughed sharply. Monica's eyes widened, then her brow furrowed. The sleeping medicine had been a means to buy time, but it had also represented a kindness of sorts on her part.

She had been troubled by his claim that he couldn't sleep for days without the 'green medicine.'

But upon hearing Monica's words, Enrique snorted.

"Do you imagine I haven't tried sleeping medicine?"

"But still..."

"Andrei."

The secretary, who had stepped back about one pace, shrugged, went out, and returned.

In the secretary's hands was a box, and when he opened it, medicine bottles of every conceivable variety came into view.

Monica was rendered speechless. Enrique gestured with his chin.

"If you suffer from insomnia personally, feel free to take a few bottles."

"None of these work?"

"Would I collect them as a hobby?"

Enrique sat opposite Monica and drew out a cigar, placing it between his lips. A different brand from what Garcia had smoked. Andrei quickly produced a tinderbox, lit the cigar with practiced efficiency, and stepped back again.

The man drew the smoke deeply between his lips and exhaled. In the dimly lit reception room, the shadows beneath Enrique's eyes appeared pallid.

The cigar trembled between the man's long, thick-knuckled fingers. Looking closely, Monica soon noticed the young man's fingers were shaking faintly. Tap—ash fell.

Regardless, the man extended his other hand. Meaning he wanted to see the sleeping medicine.

Monica hesitated, then held out the bottle. As Enrique's hand snatched it lightly, their fingers brushed. Though only for the briefest moment, Monica could tell the man's fingers were dreadfully cold.

"I've already tried this one."

Enrique examined the label, spoke with a mocking tone, and held the bottle out again. Monica took the bottle back and tucked it away.

The glass bottle that had been warm with body heat while she held it had grown cold in that brief interval—startlingly so.

"Don't do useless things."

"I was... for your sake."

Though Monica stammered, Enrique bit the cigar's end and laughed sharply. The scar near his right eye was revealed again.

"Miss Monica Orphen. However much you do for me, would you do as much as someone paid to care?"

It was immediately clear who the person paid to care was. Enrique's gaze was directed toward Andrei.

Andrei bowed lightly at this unexpected praise, then took the box and left again. Enrique spoke as if sighing.

"If you wish to help me, make the 'green medicine.'"

"...I told you it will take a little time..."

Monica answered in a voice grown small. Then somehow, she bristled at Enrique Solivén's attitude—behaving so arrogantly before her as if it were perfectly natural.

'Wait, but why should I feel so intimidated?'

Of course, between her and Enrique Solivén existed the class difference of nobility and commoner. Decades ago, Monica would have found it difficult even to dare sit in his presence.

But that was decades ago!

Enrique continued.

"So instead of coming all the way here at this late hour for no purpose, use that time to reconsider and recall the 'green medicine' formula."

Truly, he behaved as if it were the most natural and supreme law of the world that Monica should work solely for him. So arrogant and unrestrained that Monica nearly bowed her head then and there, answering, 'Yes, I understand!'

And naturally enough, Monica grew sullen.

'I came for his sake and his attitude is that?'

Of course, the sleeping medicine might be something he hadn't wanted. Hadn't she herself just been less than enthusiastic when Hans offered to show her the way?

But even so, one doesn't say, 'Hey, get lost. I don't need your escort.' That's because Monica is a well-mannered person.

Moreover, whether one finds it agreeable or disagreeable, isn't maintaining courtesy toward one another a virtue?

'And he's asking me for help, no less! If you want help, show some courtesy! You quadruple-personality!'

Monica rose indignantly. As she shot to her feet, her green eyes met the suspicious gaze of Enrique, who had been searching through his coat with the cigar still between his lips.

"What is it?"

"I have something to say!"

"Is that so? Say it after I've finished."

Monica glared. I'm going to be angry! I'm about to get angry! But the man, to whom having others listen to him had been natural from birth, calmly withdrew a checkbook from inside his coat, signed it, tore it out, and held it forward. Monica's eyes grew round as saucers.

"What's this?"

"I'd quite forgotten. Please accept it."

The check she accepted in bewilderment was issued by the Grey Bone Bank, which operated across ten kingdoms. The amount the man had signed was the considerable sum of five thousand shing, and Monica asked again in a trembling voice.

"Why are you giving me this?"

Enrique removed his cigar, blew the smoke away from Monica's direction, and answered.

"Where's the law that says one sets people to work without a single coin? It would be awkward to call it payment for sleeping medicine—use it to buy materials once you recall the formula."

"..."

"Now I've finished speaking. What did you wish to say?"

Monica summoned strength to her eyes again. I'm going to be angry! I was about to get angry!

"...I'll work diligently!"

Enrique squinted one eye and looked at her suspiciously. But Monica hastily clutched the five-thousand-shing check in her hand.

What could she do? Monica was an orphan with nowhere to go. Girls without home or family are fated to grab money quickly when it appears.

At any rate, it was far too courteous a sum to justify anger over rudeness.

Courtesy be damned. Monica smiled fiercely to hide her embarrassment.