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CHAPTER XXXVIII—SESQUIPEDALIAN
Her lips moved, but Rōkura heard nothing, those twisted, black, hateful—
“Rōkura?!”
Someone grabbed her hand and yanked her away. She pulled back, but the grip was like steel and suddenly the oni was aware of the scene she was making. She allowed Shinjiro to drag her off toward the kitchens.
Sir Withersbee followed. “I should… make sure she’s feeling all right.”
“To be sure,” said Hans, covering as best he could, but he had no wonder why she was acting that way. To have people involved with your murder standing before you must be very peculiar indeed—the poor girl.
“Whatever is wrong with Rōkura?” asked Lord Asher.
“Is that the lovely girl’s name?” asked lady Kazuno.
“Indeed.”
“And I don’t believe I’ve met you before?” asked Lady Victoire. As spoke to the newcomers, Salomé glanced between them and the rest of the Soulless Night with hawkish eyes.
“We have not had the pleasure,” said Kazuno with a fake smile. “Though it’s common for us to enjoy various parties thrown throughout the city, perhaps our haunts are simple different than your own up until now.”
“Hmm,” noised Lady Victoire with a nod. “Perhaps.”
“Well,” said Hans with a mild laugh. “Let us move to a better place to converse—perhaps the gardens?”
“Indeed,” said Asher. “We have a play scheduled.”
“I do believe I hear music even now,” said Lady Kazuno as she glanced about curiously. She wanted to know where that Rōkura had been taken to. It was her who killed Sir Alaric and attacked Kezia and Chinatsu.
Despite their cool demeanors, Kezia had her hand resting on the hilt of her rapier, her eyes and ears alert. She and Chinatsu almost lost their fight just earlier that day, and that pink oni girl had a temper.
She wondered if the girl would attack them even here among all these guests.
In the kitchens, Rōkura gasped for air as she found it difficult to breath. Shinjiro held her by the shoulders. “Just breathe. Take in the air, Rōkura. Slowly, deeply.”
Focusing on his voice, she did as he said as scurrying activity bustled all around them. After a time, she was able to calm herself as Sir Withersbee came with a glass of water.
She took it and drank deeply, then cracked the glass with her hand. Both men looked down and Sir Withersbee snapped his fingers. “Clean this up!”
Scullions came running with towers and brooms.
“Rōkura!” said Shinjiro. “You cut yourself.”
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The smell of her own blood was invigorating and distracting. She barely paid any attention as Shinjiro dragged her to the sink to pour fresh water over her wounds. What was she going to do? She couldn’t kill Kazuno and the rest of her company here at the mansion.
Not now when they had to deal with Lady Victoire.
It had been her attempt to kill Kezia and Chinatsu which had attracted the notice of Ogai in the first place. If she killed them now and failed to do Ogai’s bidding, there was no telling what he would do.
Grinding her teeth, Rōkura hissed with frustration.
“Put your mind from them,” Shinjiro said.
She glanced at him. All of this was for him. She had made a deal with a devil for his life, and even now, as he had said before, he was a hostage to the whims of her god. Rōkura closed her eyes. She wanted to stamp her feet.
She is on the verge of losing her temper. Shinjiro tried to calm her, to get her mind off of the Soulless Night gang there right now at the mansion, but nothing he said seemed to work.
Shinjiro must have cast a worried look to Hans, because when their eyes met, understanding was passed between them, and Shinjiro thought he had nodded just so subtly.
The sound of the edge of the counter with the sink creaked as Rōkura gripped the wood. For a moment Shinjiro thought she might rip the wood off, but then she let go suddenly and turned around.
She nodded. “I am all right, Shinjiro.”
“Are you certain?” Then more conspiratorially he added, “You can do nothing to them right now.”
Oddly, she was beginning to feel rather relaxed. Now that is strange. She nodded. “Yes.” Rōkura took in a deep breath.
Sir Withersbee watched from a mild distance, nodded to himself as he realized the tonic he had given Rōkura took effect. Before long she would be passed out. Perhaps it was for the best, for the time being.
The alchemical additive would put her into a deep but short sleep—allow her to settle down.
“I feel… calm,” she said, touching her forehead.
“You—you do?” asked Shinjiro, surprised.
She looked up into his eyes, slightly dazed. “Uh-huh.”
Then her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell. “Whoa!” He caught her, realizing what must have happened. “What did you—“
“It’s a sleeping tonic to relax her.”
“I cannot believe”—he lifted her in his arms—“you did that.”
“Follow me,” said Sir Withersbee as he took the lead out of the kitchens through a side door. “We will get her into one of the empty bedrooms where she can rest.”
“All right.”
As he followed Sir Withersbee, Shinjiro kept Rōkura’s head nestled on on his shoulder. With her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open, she looked so peaceful without the scowl on her features.
“There’s going to be the hells to pay when she wakes up.”
Sir Withersbee chortled. “She’s welcome to challenge me if she wishes.”
He led her to a white corridor with crown trim inlaid with gold. The room was even more decorous with pink rugs on the polished floors, white furniture with more gold inlay and a four-poster bed with drawn-back curtains.
Shinjiro lay her on the bed gently.
“She should be fine,” said Sir Withersbee.
“What if we need to wake her?” asked Shinjiro.
The mustached servant lifted a tiny little vial out of his pocket. “Smelling salts.”
“You’ve done this before?”
Withersbee lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “As a servant of this house, you would be surprised at what needs sometimes arise.”
“Hmph.”
They left the room, and Sir Withersbee turned to the door and muttered something over the silver and gold knob.
“What are you doing?”
“I am setting a charm on the door. If anyone touches it without the right password, their hand will be burned, and furthermore, I will be notified by a magical tingling in my ring.”
“What if I need to go into the room?”
“Then you look at the door and say the word ‘sesquipedalian.’”
Shinjiro let that hang in the air for a moment before he tried it silently on his lips, then he rolled his eyes without even trying it aloud.
“Ses-quip-e-dal-ian!”
Shinjiro repeated the word quietly. “All right.”
“Now come on, we should get back and—“
“I’m staying here.”
Sir Withersbee looked at him. Then he nodded. “All right. That might be better anyway.” He put his hand into his pocket, then gave Shinjiro the smelling salts. “Just in case.”
The samurai nodded. “Mm.”
While Sir Withersbee disappeared down the lustrous corridor, Shinjiro practiced the word on his lips silently several times, lest he forget and be unable to open the door should he need to.
In any event, if he forgot, he could probably kick the thing down.