Chapter XLI—A Chat Among Servants

Shinjiro watched as the Soulless Night gang left the mansion grounds in their carriages. As they trundled into darkness, he sighed with relief.

“I’m going down to speak with them,” Rōkura had said.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

He had looked to her for an answer then, and Rōkura told him that she wasn’t a child—and even if something happened, he was too weak to save her anyway.

“You will simply die, forcing me to deal with that during a fight,” she said. “Do you want to get me killed?”

“Iie.”

“I’m only going to speak to them,” she had said. “Nothing will happen. I swear it.”

He has sighed, but could not argue with her. Shinjiro nodded.

Now he was here, still on the second level, sighing with relief as his heart beat faster in his chest. Where was Rōkura right now, though?

It didn’t matter. The Soulless Night party was gone. That left only Lady Victoire to deal with as soon as she left.

Another two carriages trundled out of the mansion grounds along the paved path and disappeared in the darkness.

They are heading home now.

Shinjiro had an urge to manage things, to go down, to find out which carriage was Lady Victoire’s, and which way she would be going as she headed away from Lord Asher’s mansion.

Suddenly a pervasive tiredness came over him. He had been weak ever since his ordeal, and even after Ogai had saved him, he was incredibly strained. He should have taken a space of time to rest and sleep earlier in the day.

Then perhaps right now he would have the energy to stand.

As it was now, he slumped up against the darkened wall behind him and pushed his palms onto the wallpaper. With a deep breath, he lifted his head and forced himself to find the energy to stand.

I need… I need a bed.

He slumped down over the blue runner and fell unconscious—rest and sleep finally forced upon him due to his own stubbornness.

Meanwhile Sir Adrian Withersbee headed outside where the coach drivers stood about. Some of them were eating. It seemed some of the scullions had come out to give them a few scraps.

Adrian lighted a pipe and puffed on it several times, maintaining an air of easy rest.

“A busy night?” asked a coach driver.

“Indeed,” Adrian said. “I’ve been running about like a chicken with my head cut off. I should have hired far more staff.” He chortled over his pipe stem. “At least things are starting to quiet down now.”

The other coachmen talked and quiet tones, and men with swords and cloaks stood about. They were clearly the various guards of the guests. The whole circular drive was littered with coaches and men standing about as the fountains at the center, marble statues of naked women playing, trickled faintly.

“Say,” said Adrian. “Aren’t you Lady Victoire’s driver?” he asked. He was guessing by the gold gilt on the carriage.

The man nodded. “I certainly am.”

Adrian made a non-committal sound, fished a flask out of his jacket and undid the lid. He took a swig, then handed it to the coachman who took a drink and gasped with satisfaction.

“That’s good,” he said.

“I only carry the best,” said Adrian. “A benefit of working for Lord Boone.”

The coach driver chuckled. “Been here long?”

“Decades,” said Adrian. “This is the second generation of Boone that I serve.”

The coach driver nodded. “I’ve only been in the Lady Dammartin’s employ for six months now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“She doesn’t allow mistakes.”

“Ah,” said Adrian with a nod, his understanding on this matter complete. Some lords and ladies were easier going, allowed those who worked for them to make the occasional error, overlooking those very human mistakes, and some… well some did not. “This house is in need of a good driver.”

“Is that so, Master…?”

“Sir Adrian Withersbee.” He extended his hand.

“My apologies. I did not know you were a knight.”

“An old honor,” said Adrian. “It’s nothing.”

“My name is Yorn Hallik, Sir.” He felt embarrassed now, and decided not to say anything regarding future possible employment. If this Sir Withersbee truly needed a driver, he would bring up the matter again.

Adrian nodded. “Make a call should you find yourself in need of employment. I’m the only one who works for Lord Boone, but lately I find myself in need of assistance.” He laughed through his mustache. “I’m not getting any younger.”

While it was true, he wasn’t certain he truly wanted to hire this man, but then… it wouldn’t hurt. Still, hiring the driver of a woman we’re about to murder seems peculiar to me.

Yorn jumped at those words. He had no need for work now, his employment was not a certain thing from day to day, not with the way Lady Victoire went through the help. “Thank you—I might just take you up on that some time, Sir Withersbee.”

“Please, just call me Adrian.” Best to get on a personal level with the man. With a promise of potential work, and being on a first name basis, that was sure to loosen his tongue.

“Oh—all right. So… just you, Adrian?”

He sighed tiredly. “One day Lord Boone told me to fire everyone. It’s been just me and him for the past five years. His lordship enjoys the peace and quiet of an empty house, but recently he told me I can hire a few more helpers.”

“Ah.”

“Is it a long drive back to Lady Victoire’s? Her manner is all the way on the other side of Shihon, is it not?”

Yorn nodded. “Indeed. I won’t be getting much sleep tonight.”

Adrian laughed through his mustache. “Believe you me, friend—if you start feeling tired, you climb into your coach and you get some sleep. It might be some time before Lady Dammartin is in need of her coach.”

Yorn chortled, as both men knew what that meant. “Which road did you take on the way up?”

“Hanakuo up at the cross.”

“Ah,” said Adrian. “If you take Ōuno and then cut up”—he cut a path with his hand to demonstrate—“to Shezu you can bypass the Serpent.” The serpent was an unofficial title for the main road that stretched alongside the winding Shokari River which was often quite congested. “Mmm—you might save forty minutes of your trip that way.”

Yorn was surprised. “Well thank you, Sir Withers—I mean, Adrian.”

He smiled. “It’s no problem, man. Now,” he said, tapping his pip against the back of a small statue, “I should get back to it. Have a good night.”

“You too,” said Yorn.

As Adrian walked back into the light of mansion, he smiled through his mustache. Perfect. “Hans,” he called softly. He glanced about, moving between visitors to find the small man. He needed to tell Bellefeuille where he and Rōkura could lie in wait for their ambush.

With a sigh, he hoped they didn’t leave things messy. A man like Yorn Hallik doesn’t deserve to die on the road tonight. Hells—neither does the Lady Victoire, but what can’t be helped can’t be helped.