CHAPTER 12 - CLICKING NEEDLES
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Ah, the beauty of being utterly clueless. It's almost endearing… in a pitiful sort of way.
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The carriage trundled forward, its wheels churning through the muck. Rain streaked the small window, painting blurred strokes across the world outside.
Kuro's gaze, though occasionally drifting to the scenery, remained fixated on a singular nuisance—a fly that had become her unwelcome companion for the journey. It buzzed and skittered against the frosted window, leaving a trail of mucous graffiti in its wake.
A deep rut in the road jostled the carriage, but it barely disturbed Kuro's focus on the disgusting little speck. She turned her tedium into sport, her tail flicking with intent to swat the insect. Precision and patience were her allies in this game. She managed to graze the insect in a few instances but to no triumph. The soft plumage of her tail only served to cushion the blow.
Juliana, her travel companion, watched from a cocoon of woollen blankets. She had grabbed these in haste before their abrupt departure. Her eyes, filled with a curious fascination, tracked each of Kuro's graceful tail swishes. For a moment, as she watched, a subtle spark lit her eyes. Their fraught journey seemed less oppressive as she allowed herself to be captivated by Kuro’s antics.
In the carriage's confined space, Juliana's world had narrowed to these fleeting moments. Kuro's determined efforts provided an unexpected diversion. The concentration on Kuro’s face, the slight furrow in her brow, and the timed precision of each attempt to hit the fly—even if fruitless—did not escape Juliana's notice.
A half-smile broke Juliana’s contemplation as Kuro missed again, her tail producing a soft 'thwack' against the cabin wall. What feline instincts drove her to chase, relentless and undeterred? Juliana could only wonder. It was easy to overlook, amidst the monotony of their travel and the importance of their mission, that there was also a lighter side to her otherwise too-serious maid.
"I hope the rain will clear by tomorrow," Juliana's voice, tinged with a hopeful lilt, cut through the carriage's steady rumble. There was a certain charm to her optimism, Kuro mused, though it danced on the edge of naivety.
A private smirk played on Kuro's lips. 'Doubtful', she thought. It was typical of Juliana's father to dispatch them into peril with only the vaguest of objectives, and Kuro was certain he had anticipated the dull weather as part of their challenge. With each rattle and shake of the carriage, Kuro felt a growing ache for the sanctuary of her mistress' estate. That brief taste of civilisation felt like a distant fantasy now, slipping further away with every tedious hour that ticked by.
In Kuro's mind, the relentless drag of the carriage was a maddening crawl, an affront to the sophistication she knew existed beyond these primitive lands. The notion of squandering precious hours on such archaic travel gnawed at her, a silent rebuke to the inefficient world around her.
She missed the merciless speed of jet engines, and the ruthless punctuality of trains—machines that bent time and distance to human will. Here, she was caged by the sluggish tempo of the old world, her resentment growing with each plodding mile.
As if taking umbrage at Kuro's silent scorn, the carriage ground to an abrupt stop. Outside, a slender thread of smoke rose and twisted, a silent signal of human life, stark against the relentless grey of the sky. It spiralled upwards, ambitious, only to be devoured by the encompassing mist.
Kuro's gaze returned to the maps spread across her lap. Her finger traced the inked roads with a clinical detachment, pausing at the symbol for a trading outpost. Bare, unfortified. The settlement was a perfect target for opportunistic bandits—or more specifically warlords from the south.
"Here?" The word dripped from Kuro's mouth like venom as the carriage door groaned open. Leon's face appeared, etched with the harsh lines of the cold.
"Out you come," Leon said, his voice carrying the weight of necessity as he extended an arm to Juliana. His boots made a wet, heavy sound as they met the mud. Kuro followed, her exit unassisted, marked by the soft thud of her boots on the ground.
Leon's eyes flicked between the two—Juliana, a beacon of unwavering optimism, and Kuro, where even the faintest shadow of fatigue seemed out of place. His brow creased, betraying a rare flicker of concern in his otherwise stoic demeanour.
"Welcome to the southern borderlands," he announced, his arm sweeping toward the haze of smoke and the silhouettes of huts clinging to existence. "That's one of the villages Father mentioned. Not much, but it's the likes of these you'll need to get used to."
Kuro's eyebrow arched, a silent testament to her thoughts, and her tail betrayed a flicker of irritation. The comfort of the mansion, the predictable luxury—it had all been uprooted. Not by some urgent necessity, but by Albert's design, casting them out to this rugged frontier on a whim. A tiresome task unworthy of his time—time he preferred to spend insulated from such primitive discomforts.
Sending his daughter and her maid to a village just clawing back from barbarian ravages? The motive was transparent to Kuro, almost insultingly so. Juliana, however, seemed blissfully unaware of her father's intentions.
Leon continued, his gaze shifting between Juliana and Kuro. "Listen, Juliana, your top priority is collecting information—what you gather now could make a difference down the road. I'm sure the village over there has all sorts of hunters, trappers, and traders. They'll know the land better than any map."
Juliana's hands clasped together, hope sparking in her eyes. "Will they help us?"
"Not directly," Leon said, shaking his head. "They're pragmatists—fixated on commerce and survival. In terms of field intelligence, though, they're gold mines. But when it comes to terrain, social dynamics, and cross-border activities, the locals are the ones to talk to."
Kuro inclined her head, her ears perking up. "What's the currency, nya? Standard-issue gild?"
Leon's eyes flicked to Kuro, then back to Juliana. "Out here, it's mostly a barter economy. Though I'd wager Imperial coinage isn't out of the question. Some may even trade in enemy silver; they're flexible like that."
Juliana inhaled sharply, a twinge of apprehension in her gaze. "So are they trustworthy?"
"Trust is an ambitious word," Leon posited, a hint of scepticism in his tone. "Let’s say your objectives are not dissimilar. They loathe raiders; you're the cavalry. Just keep the details to yourself."
Kuro's ears twitched. If one were to rank the Wickten kids on subtlety, Juliana would be at the bottom of the list. Albert had set her up to fail.
"Let's secure your lodging," Leon said, motioning them back towards the carriage. "Once you're settled, I'll return to the estate."
As the trio rode into the village, they became the focus of numerous glances—the unexpected visitors to their lonely corner of the world. The village itself was a dishevelled amalgam of timber shacks, patched together with what few supplies were available. Rugged men and women hurried about their daily tasks, their clothing bearing the stains of labour and the weariness of survival.
The forest that fringed the settlement bore the marks of recent intrusions—shattered branches, trampled vegetation, and occasional scorch marks marring tree trunks. It was a landscape desecrated, mirroring the settlement's state. A palpable sense of hardship hung in the air as if the very land itself bore witness to the struggles of its inhabitants.
Through the carriage's misted window, Kuro's eyes locked with those of a villager.
Desperation, in its various shades, had a scent that Kuro had learned to recognise. It was not a pleasant aroma by any means, yet to her, it was the sweet perfume of opportunity.
As the carriage rumbled on toward their uncertain lodgings, Kuro couldn't help but smile inwardly. In this forgotten village, among these downtrodden souls, her plans might finally find fertile ground to flourish.
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Leon's farewell unfolded with a slow, clinging sentimentality that was painfully drawn out—much to Kuro's disdain. She watched their performance as Juliana and her brother shared a prolonged hug.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
When Leon finally untangled himself, his eyes betrayed a vulnerability that Kuro found both contemptible and fascinating. His imploring eyes, so out of character for the young man Kuro had observed for the past week, confirmed her suspicions.
Leon thought he was seeing his dear sister for the last time.
What a splendid performance, Kuro reflected with a tinge of admiration. The balance was just exquisite—Leon’s dread of his father dominated, eclipsing any genuine love for his sister. Albert von Wickten had done a commendable job; he had instilled the right amount of fear, ensuring that familial ties would never overshadow obedience and duty. A masterful manipulation that had sculpted a perfect puppet.
Though, Kuro knew she could do a much better job with Juliana.
As the clattering wheels of Leon's departing carriage receded into the distance, they could finally move on from that tiresome emotional spectacle and proceed with matters of actual importance.
Kuro stretched languidly, her tail tracing an arc in the air—a final punctuation to Leon's departure. She wouldn't particularly miss his presence. Throughout their stay at the Wickten estate, he had maintained a distance from the maid, displaying neither animosity nor favour. The boy was an unimportant footnote in current circumstances.
"So, my Lady, what do you suggest? Shall we seek refuge from this incessant rain? It's beginning to compromise the integrity of my fur, nya," Kuro half-joked, shaking her coat ever so slightly to emphasise her point.
"Ah, yes! Leon kindly arranged our accommodations… We mustn't let his efforts be in vain," Juliana replied, her voice a melody of relief as she cast a grateful glance towards Kuro.
They stood before an inn, or rather, a house barely distinguishable as one. It was a home that had been modified to accommodate the occasional guest. It wore its dual purpose quietly, with only the faintest creak of its swinging sign to whisper of its welcome to weary travellers.
"Another inn," Kuro mused inwardly, a pattern in their adventures becoming increasingly apparent.
Kuro entertained the idea of establishing a modern hotel chain in this primitive world. She imagined the convenience and consistent comfort it could offer in their travels—much better than any inn. A fleeting memory of legal codes from the Wickten library surfaced: the stipulation that only humans could own property. She pondered the possibility of establishing such a venture under Juliana's name. An idea to explore later, perhaps.
With a gentle but firm push, Kuro eased the door open, the hinges issuing a weathered groan, and gestured for Juliana to enter. They were greeted by the warm glow of a solitary lamp, its light dancing across the room to battle the shadows. The scent of the damp, earthen walls mingled with the inviting aroma of a stew simmering somewhere out of sight.
Their hostess, an elderly woman with strands of silver in her hair, paused in her knitting to survey them with eyes that weighed curiosity against caution.
"A room?" she inquired, her eyes scrutinizing their soaked appearances—a young lady in drenched finery and her felines maid.
"Yes, we have a reservation. For Juliana?" Juliana's voice wavered, a tremor betraying her attempt at maintaining an air of dignity.
"Room one, top of the stairs," the innkeeper said briskly, pushing a well-worn key across the table toward her. "Your brother took care of a full month. Breakfast is included but don't linger; we serve early birds here."
Juliana reached out, but Kuro was quicker, her question sharp as a cat's claw. "And the nightly rate, if one might inquire, nya?" Her eyes flickered to the coin pouch, half-exposed, on the table.
The innkeeper regarded her with a raised brow. "Aren't you a curious one? It's five gild for a night," she answered.
Kuro’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly at the sight, then softened. "Your satisfies pleases me, nya~," a subtle trill of satisfaction in her voice.
Kuro's eyes briefly lingered on the coin bag when the innkeeper mentioned the room's payment. The purse seemed too heavy, too full to contain merely the sum of a month's accommodation at the rate of five gilds a night. Thirty nights would not require such a bulging sack. The excess, then, hinted at something more—perhaps an additional incentive provided by Leon, or a reserve for unforeseen expenses. It could also imply a retainer for the innkeeper's silence… or her spying.
"Th-Thank you," Juliana managed, her fingers finally curling around the key, a tentative smile breaking through her apprehension.
They turned and ascended the creaking stairs, Juliana's relief palpable in each step. Kuro's ears, however, remained alert. The rhythmic click of knitting needles had ceased. A quick, stealthy glance back confirmed her suspicions—the innkeeper's gaze was still fixed on them, sharp as a hawk's. Kuro made no mention of this to Juliana.
Reaching the top of the stairs, they were met with a corridor that wore its history like a patchwork quilt of neglect—the wallpaper was peeling like old skin, and a musty scent hung in the air, rich with the silent stories of those who had passed through.
At the end of the hallway, Juliana fumbled with the key, her hands uncertain as they sought to navigate the unfamiliar lock. After a small struggle, the door relented with a groan, swinging open to admit them into a room that was the very definition of modesty.
Inside, the chamber offered the basics of refuge—two beds that promised a semblance of comfort and a chair beside a window that held back the dreary view. The curtains fluttered slightly as the rain's whispers crept through the cracks, rustling with the storm outside.
"It's not much, but it's dry and warm," Juliana said, echoing the silent thoughts of her maid.
Kuro regarded her with a look that melded amusement with an unspoken challenge. "My lady, did Leon mention anything about this village in the past, nya?" Her inquiry was casual, seemingly trivial.
Juliana shook her head with a frown. "Not that he ever mentioned. Why do you ask?"
"Just a cat's curiosity," Kuro responded, her voice smooth as velvet. Yet, her mind was far from still, spinning with the threads of suspicion. There was a familiarity with this place that he had not disclosed. Leon came prepared with gild—and only gild—as if he had known all along they'd be accepted by that old innkeeper.
Kuro began pacing the room, every step filled with equal parts purpose and paranoia, and with her senses extended to the fullest.
Her understanding of magic was rudimentary at best; she was aware of its existence and some of its potential manifestations but lacked the expertise to identify or sense magical energies with any reliability. Nonetheless, she couldn't shake the notion that they might be observed, and this spurred her to search through the room, allowing herself to be guided by instinct.
Her fingers trailed along the walls, the pads of her fingertips feeling for the unnatural chill of hidden spells. She scrutinised every inch, from the faded wallpaper to the creaky floorboards. Kuro's sharp eyes scanned for the slightest anomaly—scratches that could be more than mere wear, patterns in the weave of the fabrics that might conceal enchantments.
Yet, her search yielded nothing but the quiet confirmation of the mundane. No cold whispers of magic, no humming vibrations of concealed artefacts. The room was disappointingly ordinary.
A flicker of irritation twitched her ear, a subtle betrayal of her annoyance. She masked it quickly, her face a calm sea of control. It was not the absence of magic that bothered her—it was her inability to detect it with certainty. The thought that there could be a glaring sign, invisible to her eyes, was a splinter in her mind. In a world where magic was another layer of reality, her ignorance was a blind spot she could ill afford.
Juliana's voice broke the silence, "What are you doing?"
Kuro glanced over her shoulder, her poise unshaken. "Just acquainting myself with our new surroundings, my lady," she replied, her voice a melody of feigned nonchalance. The barest twitch of her tail was the only sign of her underlying alertness.
The room's quiet seemed to amplify as Kuro paused, her gaze resting on Juliana. She took in the other's oblivious sweep of the space, the tension Kuro felt like an electric charge in the air—seemingly invisible to her companion. It was a stillness filled with assessment, with Kuro silently weighing the implications of Juliana's apparent ignorance.
Amidst the subtle play of shadow and light from the flickering lamp, Kuro devised her next move.
"Actually, my Lady…" Kuro turned, a practised look of slight irritation on her features. "Do you by chance sense anything… strange about this room, nya? Something about it is making me quite restless, and I can't quite pinpoint what it is," she ventured, the half-truth slipping out with ease.
She watched Juliana intently, her inquiry a veiled probe for information, waiting to see if her companion would reveal a deeper awareness of her surroundings.
Juliana's expression shifted to one of concern. "Strange?" she echoed, stepping cautiously to the centre of the room. Her gaze drifted over the simple furnishings once again, this time searching for the unseen unease that Kuro had hinted at. "No, it seems quite ordinary."
Juliana's reply was no surprise to Kuro, yet she caught the shadow of a frown that momentarily creased her brow—a sign of unease that would have escaped anyone less perceptive.
"I've heard demihumans have sharp instincts," Juliana said, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Is there something I should be wary of, Kuro?"
Kuro's lips curled into a comforting smile, her response laced with an assurance meant to be overheard. "Worry serves little purpose, my lady. But a measure of caution? That is a prudent companion on any journey." She paused, her gaze locking with Juliana's in silent communication before she continued, "If my Lady finds nothing amiss, then we might indeed afford a moment's peace."
With the grace of her feline kin, Kuro stretched with a yawn, signalling a release of tension. She claimed the bed closest the door, giving Juliana the choice spot. As she settled, her tail gave a contemplative flick.
Juliana seemed to take comfort in Kuro's display, her slight nod carrying unasked questions. Kuro watched her, a quiet satisfaction blooming within. Despite Juliana's apparent innocence, she was not entirely naive to their situation.
The inn settled into an evening stillness, punctuated only by the renewed rhythm of knitting needles below. The innkeeper's resumed activity was not lost on Kuro. It was a signal as clear as any verbal warning—there were ears straining to hear through the floorboards.
'Very well,' Kuro thought with a predator’s patience, 'Shall I pay that old lady a visit tonight?'