Chapter 38: Solution
"What is this supposed to be?"
The shriek cut through the dining room at a pitch that could shatter glass, followed by the sharp crack of cutlery against hard surface. Every head in the restaurant turned.
The woman responsible was beautiful past the point where "beautiful" quite covered it — a beauty that rivaled the Kingdom's most celebrated, the princess known as the Golden, and if anything was made more striking by the fury currently animating it. What made it stranger was that even in the middle of this display, her every movement remained unconsciously elegant, as though grace was so deeply bred into her that anger couldn't reach it.
Everything about her said high nobility. Old money, very old. She reached up with one impatient hand and tossed back a wave of perfectly curled hair, then turned the full force of her displeasure on the table in front of her.
The table was nearly covered. Soft white bread had just come from the oven, still steaming in its basket. The main plate held a thick cut of red meat, lightly seared, the juices still running, flanked by sweet corn and a generous mound of butter-heavy mashed potato. The salad alongside it was crisp and fresh, dressed in something with a clean citrus edge.
The Gilded Gleam was the finest inn the fortress city of E-Rantel had to offer. Every ingredient in its kitchen was kept at peak freshness through [Preservation] magic, and the chefs behind each plate were the best money could retain.
The woman's expression made clear that none of this made the slightest impression on her.
"It tastes like nothing!"
The delivery was so wholly inappropriate to the circumstances that for a moment the entire dining room achieved a unified stunned silence.
One person, however, did not react. The elderly butler standing at the woman's shoulder maintained his posture and his expression with identical, immovable composure — and continued to do so even when she turned on him with a sharp look.
"I cannot stay another moment in this awful town. Have us ready to leave at once."
"But, miss, it is already evening —"
"Quiet! I said we are leaving and we are leaving, do you understand me?"
Faced with a display that was difficult to describe as anything other than a child's tantrum, the butler finally inclined his head. "As you wish, miss. I will begin preparations immediately."
"Hmph! Then get on with it instead of standing there. Move, Sebas!"
The woman dropped her fork. It hit the table with a clatter. She stood, pushed back her chair — nearly knocking it over — and swept out of the main dining room at a pace that communicated a great deal of bottled indignation looking for somewhere to go.
The storm passed. In the calmer air that followed, a voice of measured, unhurried authority spoke.
"My sincere apologies for the disturbance."
The butler righted the chair the woman had almost toppled, then turned and offered the room a slow, dignified bow. Confronted with the absolute perfection of that apology, more than a few of the remaining guests found themselves looking at the old man with something closer to sympathy than irritation.
"— Innkeeper."
"Yes, sir."
The man standing nearby stepped forward quietly.
"A poor substitute for an apology, I know, but please allow me to settle the bill for every guest in this room tonight."
A small ripple of relief moved through the dining room at that. Dinner at E-Rantel's finest establishment was not a modest expense. If the gentleman was willing to absorb it on everyone's behalf, the incident could perhaps be forgiven.
The innkeeper, for his part, showed no surprise and made no particular fuss — only bowed back with smooth professionalism. The ease of that response strongly implied that since these two guests had arrived at the Gilded Gleam, the scene just witnessed had played out more than once.
Sebas let his gaze move to a corner of the room, where a poorly dressed man was eating with considerable urgency. The man caught the look and was on his feet immediately, hurrying over.
Set against the other guests, the man's appearance was jarringly out of place. There was nothing about him that suggested refinement or standing — no bearing, no ease, none of the effortless quality that filled this room. His clothes were no worse than those of the people around him, but they wore him rather than the other way around, like a clown in borrowed finery. The effect was almost comical.
"Lord Sebas."
"Yes? What is it, Mr. Zack?"
The other guests winced slightly at the name — or rather at the groveling register behind it, a tone so crawling and ingratiated that it almost itched. Sebas's expression did not change.
"It's hardly my place to suggest anything, but if we're talking about setting out tonight, it might be worth reconsidering."
"Are you saying you find it difficult to handle a carriage on night roads?"
"That's part of it, and... there are a few things I need to see to as well."
Zack scratched his head. His hair looked clean enough, but the scratching had the quality of a man who intended to dislodge something.
"The miss, however, is unlikely to hear any of it. No — knowing her temperament, nothing we say will change what she just decided." Sebas delivered this assessment with the certainty of iron. "Therefore, leaving is the only option."
"But..."
Zack's eyes moved around the room, hunting for a pretext. None seemed forthcoming. His face creased with the effort.
"We won't be setting off this instant, naturally — there will be time required to load the miss's luggage onto the carriage. Please use that time to get yourself ready as well."
Sebas noted a sly gleam surface in the man's eyes even as he was apparently still searching for excuses. He gave no sign of having seen it. It suited certain purposes for things to proceed exactly as they were.
"And what time are we looking at, exactly?"
"Two hours from now. Three at the outside. Any later than that and the road will be entirely swallowed by dark — that's as late as we can push it, I think."
That unpleasant calculating look surfaced in Zack's eyes again. Sebas made the same effort not to notice. Zack licked his lips several times. "Heh. Well — in that case, it might just work."
"Excellent. Would you see to it now?"
Watching Zack's back as the man departed, Sebas made a small movement with one hand, as though brushing something off himself. In all candor, he could not bring himself to like this kind of person. His creator had held that those who did not save the weak had no right to call themselves strong — a principle Sebas had always shared, even when he found himself questioning some of his companions' views on other matters. Meeting someone like Zack, however, he was beginning to feel that Nazarick's general perspective on humanity might not be entirely without basis.
"Dear me. Humans really ought to be a better species than this."
He knocked at the door several times, said excuse me, and stepped inside with a bow.
"Forgive me for the scene out there, Sebas-sama."
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