"So you can cook," Gordon added.
Yesterday, that hand had been carving fancy patterns into a Cultist. Today, it could chop carrots.
Of course, to her, both were soft and crisp.
Vera watched the pot as fragments of memory flashed through her mind.
Perfect scores at the Hunter School. A proud girl walking at the head of the group. Ideals that refused to yield.
"...I've eaten too much these past two years," Vera said. "Little by little, I learned the secret to making food taste good. Also, go wash your hands."
"Yes, chef."
Gordon obediently went to wash his hands, filled with a feeling he couldn't quite describe. This was something entirely new.
By the time he finished washing, the stew still needed to simmer a little longer.
Gordon took the opportunity to settle his accounts at the dining table.
Harold had left behind quite a lot.
The first category was things he could sell for money-the anomalous materials. Those were already sold. Cause for celebration.
The second category needed to be stored carefully: the map of Lundenim's underground waterways, the letter of guarantee signed "Olivia," the rubbing of the Tidal Birth-Rite, and Harold's notes. Some pointed toward secrets, others toward trouble.
The third category had no known use yet, such as that mysterious multicolored scale. Its hues changed with the angle, shifting from peacock blue to pearl pink...and all sorts of colors he couldn't name. He would leave that alone for now.
Gordon calculated his income and expenses on a sheet of paper.
Before the Harold incident, the cash balance at 9 Knights Road had been:
33 gold pounds, 8 silver pounds, and 97 copper cents.
After the incident, Gordon had sold the failed Source Substance to Gray, along with that whole pile of anomalous materials. Total income:
29 gold pounds, 9 silver pounds, and 80 copper cents.
Meanwhile, he had needed to buy concoctions, medical and chemical supplies, everyday necessities, and food. Total expenditure:
3 gold pounds, 11 silver pounds, and 29 copper cents.
Pen in hand, Gordon solemnly worked out the arithmetic.
Praise be to me.
After risking life and limb, Gordon now had 59 gold pounds, 7 silver pounds, and 48 copper cents, plus a companion who ate a lot, was excellent in a fight, and could even cook.
By the time he finished counting his money, Vera had brought the stew to the table.
Thick gravy coated the chunks of meat and vegetables, filling the air with an enticing aroma.
Gordon dipped his rye bread into it, letting it soak up the gravy, then scooped up a spoonful of stew with his right hand.
A bite from the left, a spoonful from the right.
As he savored it, Gordon's eyes widened.
"This is incredible. We should buy the place downstairs and turn it into a family restaurant. I'm not joking. This city can live without Hopkins's dental clinic, but it can't live without your cooking," Gordon said.
Vera blinked, and a faint trace of happiness rose in her heart. It came quickly and hid just as quickly.
"Just eat," Vera said, putting on a stern face.
Gordon had meant to offer a few more compliments, but he noticed the tips of Vera's ears had turned red.
So, like a mature man, he lowered his head and tucked in.
A real man had plenty of ways to show he cared, such as scraping the pot clean.
On Monday, Gordon went to school.
He bought today's and yesterday's newspapers from a little paperboy whose nose was red with cold, checking to see whether he had made the local news.
"Late-night explosion at old pumping station. Poor maintenance suspected; fortunately, no casualties."
There was no mention of Harold, grotesque monsters, Cultists, or mermaids. Apparently, the public opinion machine had protected the public very well.
The article was so twisted that, after reading it, Gordon felt as though the pumping station had suffered a midnight breakdown and blown itself up.
"Bizarre corpse discovered on Aston Street; excessive fluid found in victim's lungs."
That item caught Gordon's attention.
According to the description, the victim's lungs contained large amounts of water, consistent with drowning, yet the victim had been sleeping peacefully at home.
The circumstances of the death remained riddled with questions, and the Lundenim Police Station was conducting further investigations. In other words, they hadn't found a thing.
A mysterious murder, Gordon thought.
Had the Cultists developed another way to kill?
Aston Street wasn't far from the university. Hopefully, the next victim wouldn't be any closer to campus.
He returned to the Department of Biomedical Sciences' lecture theater.
Gordon immediately spotted Charlotte.
Her blond hair was tied back, and she wore a pale green cloak over her black school uniform, with pristine white tights. Her legs were crossed, and one foot had no shoe.
She had also deliberately left a seat empty beside her, as though it had always belonged to someone.
"Good morning." Gordon went over and sat down.
His shoulder almost touched her sleeve, and he caught a faint, sweet fragrance.
She didn't move away. Instead, she looked Gordon over carefully.
An idiot's face, a stubbornly upright neck, and two intact hands.
Only after confirming that he was unhurt did Charlotte puff up her cheeks and adopt an accusing expression.
"You're still alive! Peter told me you went off on some grand adventure," Charlotte said. "Next time, you might die."
"Next time is next time," Gordon said.
"What about Harold Wade?" Charlotte asked.
"He's Harold jam now," Gordon said.
Charlotte closed her eyes and reflected for a moment.
Whatever evil things he had done, the word "jam" was enough to set her mind at ease.
"...Anyway," she said, "that means it's over, right?"
"It's only just begun," Gordon said. "He had someone vouch for him. Olivia Brendel. Any leads?"
"Ah, Mrs. Brendel." Charlotte thought back. "She's a noble, generous lady. She runs a mansion in the northern part of the city."
"Why would a noble lady put her reputation on the line for a fish?"
"Perhaps she was threatened," Charlotte said. "Cultists are capable of anything."
"You could look into it. Otherwise, next time she might write asking you to take in a talking sponge." Gordon regretted it as soon as he said it. "...Never mind. Better not investigate."
"What do you mean, never mind?"
"I'm afraid you'll investigate yourself straight into the water. Have you read the paper? The bad guys can drown people on dry land now," Gordon said.
"Are you worried about me, Mr. Vick?" Charlotte asked.
"Of course. I have to protect that little golden head with its beautiful eyes," Gordon said.
"...What a shame," Charlotte said. "I thought you'd learned how to behave like a decent person~"
She shifted farther away from Gordon.
On her other side sat her best friend, Cecilia Fitzroy.
A very lively girl in a pretty hat.
She had noticed long ago that something was off between those two.
It had been nearly half a year.
She had watched them progress all the way from "Is there something between them?" to "Will you two ever give it a rest?"
And so, Cecilia had only one thought at that moment:
Stop flirting in front of me!
"I have a cold. Everyone, please keep your distance." With that, Cecilia shoved Charlotte toward Gordon without the slightest pang of guilt.
"Hey, hey..." Charlotte nearly fell into Gordon's arms. She hurriedly grabbed the seat, struggled to regain her balance, then sat upright and glanced at Gordon.
"..." Gordon's expression remained perfectly calm.
"...The Rescue Festival break is coming up. Do you have any plans?" Charlotte finally asked.
Starting the day after tomorrow, the university would be on break for two weeks.
"Sleep for fourteen days." Gordon meant it.
He had been frantically attending classes, training, researching one thing after another, and running all over the place lately. His body was already worn out. All he wanted now was to sleep until he woke naturally.
Charlotte chuckled.
"I'll send invitations for a few different events to 9 Knights Road," she said. "Of course, you don't have to come."
Gordon's first thought was, Can I bring Vera? But he had a feeling that if he said it now, Charlotte would pit her hands against his neck, and his neck wouldn't stand a chance.
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