Ch.9 The Reckless Rose

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Rose kept her promise, as did Roland.

The next evening, as he passed by the dining room, he casually pocketed a few knives and forks, a jar of pepper, and fished out several cufflinks and two bow ties he had never worn from the wardrobe.

After everyone in the house had disappeared again, he went out to the backyard.

First, he tossed a small stone over the wall.

There was no response; he waited a few minutes.

Then he threw another stone.

Back and forth.

He stood by the wall for a long time until a stone landed at his feet.

It had been thrown from outside the wall.

“…Rose?”

The voice that answered him was hers, though a little flustered: “You blind fool! This isn’t the backyard at all!”

Roland was momentarily stunned.

“This is the side gate, the side gate! The backyard is further west around the corner. Do you know how long my people have been waiting!”

That could only mean you truly keep your word.

Roland wrapped the items in his coat, formed them into a bundle, and threw it hard.

The coat scattered open in midair.

Clinking sounds rang out beyond the wall.

“I can climb in, you idiot! I almost got stabbed in the face with a knife—!!”

The frustrated young woman stomped her foot.

“Blind as a bat, and just as dumb…” she muttered for a while. Roland suddenly sensed movement above his head and quickly stepped back a few paces—

Someone landed silently, footsteps so soft only he could hear the faint crunch on the grass.

Like a cat.

She had climbed in.

“I see, this wall can only stop a cripple,” Rose said triumphantly, bent over, hiding warily behind Roland, glancing left and right. After a while, seeing no one, she stretched and sat down in his chair.

“Not even a blind man can be stopped.”

Roland: …

“Where did the servants go?”

“They go to a place to pray at this time every day,” Roland said.

“Pray? To whom?” Rose crossed her legs, idly twisting the teardrop-shaped sapphire on her finger — much smaller than the pin Roland had given her, but undeniably sharp.

“To the Father of All Things.”

“…Who?”

Rose seemed not to have heard clearly and asked again in a strange tone.

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“The Father of All Things…?”

Roland wasn’t sure either; Seth had told him that.

“No believer prays to the Father of All Things at night,” the female thief said. She wasn’t wearing her usual “work clothes” today; the soft soles of her shoes made little noise on the grass. “You’re not secretly following some illegal cult, are you?”

She was warning him.

“Yes,” Roland replied nonchalantly. “Maybe.”

Rose didn’t hide it either, her tone flippant: “Such a pretty face, what a shame if it gets burned. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Roland, I’ve seen people burned alive — what are they called… enforcers? Anyway, they don’t care who you are.”

She circled around Roland twice and stuffed things into his hands.

A sharp gemstone, a letter on parchment, a small vial of liquid.

“The envelope contains a cat’s whisker. You don’t know how hard I had to work to catch her,” Rose flicked her newly curled hair but suddenly remembered he was blind and looked a bit disappointed. “…Anyway, we’re even now, pretty face. I did everything you asked. If you get caught, don’t rat me out.”

Roland was quite curious where she had gotten the lamp oil.

“Lamp oil from the lamp that made a woman cry all night?”

Rose teased, “Every girl who makes a dazzling debut at the Notikin Lamp has to go through that. I hid in the wardrobe and watched her cry all night. After the men left, I even bought her two loaves of bread — damn it, she makes money so easily, I don’t get the fuss.”

Roland clenched the glass vial and frowned. “Notikin Lamp…”

Rose grinned wickedly and leaned toward Roland, hands behind her back, eyes of pale green fixed sharply on him: “I think you’d fit right in at the Notikin Lamp. The prettiest there aren’t even half as good-looking as you.”

Roland blinked and suddenly took a big step forward — if Rose hadn’t dodged quickly, their faces would have collided.

She stumbled and fell back onto the grass.

“You’re so rude!”

A smile appeared on Roland’s face as he stretched out his hand in a certain direction. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I did just miss the Notikin Lamp.”

Snap.

His hand was opened.

“You think I don’t know…” Rose curled her lips and, rising, secretly stepped on the tip of Roland’s shoe with her sole. “You weren’t this aggressive back at the poorhouse, pretty face.”

“Your information is more up-to-date than I thought.”

“Of course.”

Rose dusted off her legs; it didn’t sound like a skirt but some thick, tight pants. “I have to know who I’m dealing with, right?”

She started to look proud again.

“You’re really lucky, Collins.”

Yes.

Roland thought so too.

Luck had brought him that letter, saving him from being taken to the Notikin Lamp; luck had brought him a woman named Nina with a head full of strange stories; luck also…

Had led him, by chance, to find that bone saw in the living room drawer.

The living room, not the kitchen.

It was still smeared with soft bits of flesh.

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The smell was the same as on them.

Roland dared to guess it was human blood.

He had smelled it many times before — on women who died giving birth, the scent lingered all night.

Then it would turn foul.

No wonder the number of servants was dwindling.

“I wish I could buy such a big house.”

Rose didn’t know what Roland was thinking. She folded her hands behind her back and paced around the walls of the estate, showing no intention to leave.

Roland smiled faintly. “Then you’d have to steal everything from that jewelry shop.”

“Too slow, too risky,” Rose frowned and shook her head hard. “Better to just break into a rich man’s house like yours and take whatever you want.”

Roland considered for a moment.

Stepping aside, he raised his hand.

“Then please, go ahead.”

Under the ivy-covered wall, moonlight bathed the boy’s face, lending it a hazy, eerie beauty.

Rose opened her mouth but said nothing.

“If your house gets robbed, it’s the servants’ and the butler’s fault,” Roland tilted his head. “What can you expect from a blind man?”

“…I’ll take everything from your house.”

Roland nodded without objection and turned to lead her inside. “This is our second deal, Rose.”

But the excited woman couldn’t hear him at all. Her footsteps were loud and clear, and she muttered to herself: “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. Smash the lock with a hammer, or crash in with a carriage… grab whatever I see…”

“Miss Rose.”

“I know, I know!” she snapped impatiently. “Forget the lamp oil, I can bring a girl to cry in front of you myself.”

“No, I only need a hundred sticks—”

“I refuse this deal!!”

The woman behind him was annoyed, bristling like a cat, shouting, “Do you know how many scratches it takes to pull out one cat’s whisker?!”

“Seven.”

“What?”

“Because it’s seven times worse.”

Rose couldn’t understand and muttered a curse at him.

Only then did Roland suddenly realize he had been ‘contaminated’ by Miss Nina—

Now, he and this world were subtly out of sync.