TRCR 21

“What? All of it? You might need it later, so I’ll keep it safe.”
“It’s fine. I’ve memorized it all. No need to leave loose ends.”
“You memorized all of this in that time…?”
“Yeah. Don’t most people? What’s odd about it?”
“Nothing. I’ll burn them.”
“Good. By the way, where’s Zeppelin now?”
“He left early for a court meeting.”
“Perfect. He’ll be back late afternoon. I need to step out.”
“Your injuries haven’t healed. If you need something, I can—”
Rebecca threw off the covers and stepped onto the floor. She hopped in place, then took quick steps.
Kanna’s eyes widened.
“I wasn’t badly hurt. Just a light sprain.”
“But the doctor said you need to rest for at least two months!”
“This house’s doctors treat a cold like a death sentence. They’re terrified I’ll get worse and fall out of Zeppelin’s favor. I’ve been under their care long enough to fake something like this easily.”
Rebecca opened her wardrobe, frowning.
“All these clothes are so uncomfortable. I want something cozy.”
A commotion outside drew her attention. Grace was berating the gardeners, likely over some detail her perfectionism couldn’t tolerate.
Rebecca watched her, then shifted her gaze to the gardeners, sweating nervously.
Her eyes gleamed as she scanned their plain, inconspicuous clothing.
* * *
“Tch. No craftsmanship these days.”
Grace finished her long scolding and turned away.
She ignored the resentful stares burning into her back. Perfection required such nitpicking.
Then she saw Kanna hurrying out the door, moving so fast her eyes couldn’t keep up.
That way leads to the male servants’ quarters…
A bad feeling stirred, but she let it go.
Kanna, though new, was to her liking. Unlike other maids, she never grumbled and always performed flawlessly.
She’d needed no training from the start.
Not the type to cause trouble.
Dismissing her suspicion, Grace headed to the servants’ back entrance.
A sudden feeling of being watched made her look up.
Rebecca was staring from the second floor.
Their eyes met, and Rebecca quickly looked away.
Though she vanished, Grace gazed at the empty window with a cold stare.
* * *
“This way out.”
Robert removed a few bricks, revealing a hole big enough for a person.
“And here, the items you requested.”
He handed her a heavy paper bag.
Rebecca checked it and nodded.
“Good quality. Thanks.”
Robert eyed her, dressed in men’s commoner clothes with a rough cap pulled low.
“So you weren’t hurt. And that outfit…”
“It’s comfy. I’m jealous you men get to wear stuff like this.”
“Why do you keep speaking casually? It’s uncomfortable.”
“You’re older than me, practically my father’s age. I can’t talk formally to someone like that.”
Robert started to argue, but stopped. Days of talking with Rebecca had revealed new sides to her.
She was livelier and more curious than he’d thought. And stubborn as an ox.
He sighed softly.
“Anyway, come back quickly. The count’s at the capital and won’t return until late, but you never know.”
“Got it. Keep an eye on Kanna.”
“Since you’re supposedly bedridden, no one should suspect. I’ll stay vigilant.”
In Rebecca’s bed, Kanna lay under a blonde wig, a precaution in case someone entered.
Robert scanned the surroundings, then spoke as Rebecca crawled through the hole.
“Be careful coming back. I’ll be here at the agreed time, but things could go wrong. Avoid Grace or the other hounds.”
Rebecca nodded briefly and slipped through.
“Ha.”
Beyond the wall, the air felt fresher outside the estate.
“It looked taller from inside.”
To Rebecca, the estate’s walls were an impenetrable fortress.
But outside, they were just ordinary walls.
At first, walking freely felt strange.
Soon, her cautious steps quickened, then turned to a run.
Her ankle ached, not fully healed.
But with no one to stop her, the sweet freedom kept her moving.
A carefree smile spread across her face.
* * *
“Thanks!”
Rebecca called out cheerfully, leaping from the cart.
The estate was far from her destination.
She could’ve taken a comfortable carriage, but she didn’t want to.
This was rare freedom.
Dressed as a man, she decided to try something she’d always wanted.
Impulsively, she flagged down a merchant’s cart.
As a child, she’d ridden carts like this on backpacking trips with her father.
She spun a tale about searching for her runaway father.
Her lies were surprisingly slick.
With dirt smeared on her face and tattered clothes, the merchant gladly let her ride.
The cart, laden with coffee beans, filled her journey with their rich aroma.
At her destination, she asked the merchant,
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Haha, no need to repay me. Think of it as Dephria’s luck smiling on a handsome lad.”
“Just tell me your name.”
“Stubborn one, eh? I’m Adolf. I run a coffee shop in the town center. Drop by sometime, I’ll treat you to a cup.”
“I’ll repay this kindness! Thank you!”
As the cart rumbled off in a cloud of dust, Rebecca stood before a dilapidated building in an empty field.
Weeds choked the yard, and rusted signs creaked in the wind.
<Yustaf’s Botanical Research Lab>
Below the bold sign were warnings in messy handwriting:
<Do Not Disturb>
<I’m Not Responsible for What Happens If You Do>
<Really, Really Scary Things Will Happen>
Scary warnings, huh.
The sloppy writing hinted at why Yustaf was known as an eccentric in her past life.
Yustaf MacFinn.
The botanist who’d later discover Devil’s Claw’s properties.
He was notorious for being a recluse, caring only for research, with no family or weaknesses.
Even Zeppelin’s efforts to recruit him had failed.
Rebecca pounded on the door.
As expected, no response.
“Mr. MacFinn!”
She kept knocking persistently until, with a string of curses, the rotting door creaked open.
“Didn’t you see the signs? Get lost!”
Ugh, cigarette smoke.
Rebecca wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell. Yustaf, cigarette in mouth, leaned against the doorframe.
His silver hair, tied back to his waist, and his tall, lean but sturdy frame surprised her.
His tired, silver-gray eyes glared at her.
Caught off guard by his striking appearance, she gathered herself and spoke.
“Hello, Mr. MacFinn. I’m here with a proposal.”
His face crumpled.
“A proposal? Another lackey sent by that count whatever? I told them, I’m not playing pawn to nobles’ money games. They sweet-talk now, but they’ll twist my work to suit them. Get out!”
The door slammed shut.
Rebecca hugged the paper bag Robert had given her and whispered,
“Then you don’t need my gift?”
“…”
“Fresh spring potatoes, just dug up. From Montfleur, no less…”
“Come in.”
At “spring potatoes,” Yustaf flung the door open.
Rebecca smiled warmly and stepped into his chaotic lab.
* * *
“You found some fine potatoes. These days, they’re so engineered they’ve lost their true flavor.”
Yustaf blew on a steaming, fluffy potato and ate greedily.
“Ahem, ahem.”
Realizing she was a guest, he awkwardly offered her one.
“Want some…?”
Rebecca glanced at the dusty sofa and table piled with old books, shaking her head.
Yustaf seemed to use this room as a parlor, study, and bedroom.
Beyond, giant plants occupied every corner.
Surrounded by them, Rebecca felt like she was in a jungle.
“So, what’s your proposal?”
Sated, Yustaf asked with a softer expression.
Rebecca scanned the titles of scattered books.
Encyclopedia of All Dyes, Plants Named After Demons, All About Devil’s Claw…