Don’t Take Life Too Seriously; She Might not be the Monster You Think She is

[From the Mirror]

[8-2-9-101,254]

I have been looking into ways to best carry out Plan B, and after much consideration, the best course is also the least conspicuous. Sistilla has recently been granted the rank of Veteran in the Adventurer's Guild, much to Conroy's displeasure, I would add. As you may know, jobs at this tier are consistently dangerous, and sometimes unexpectedly so. It seems to me that if she were lured into a job that proved to be more perilous than expected, the whole thing would be regarded as an unfortunate accident, with blame given to the Guild for misclassifying the job. However, no foul play would be suspected, and we would be in the clear.

With regard to your request for more information on the yutsuukitsuu, I will admit, finding the transponder in his quarters is suspect, but outside that, he’s given no reason for suspicion. They call him Olavir and Conroy bought him at the Finfair Fair from a merchant named Asal Alaba—feel free to look into him if you wish—as an early birthday gift for his youngest daughter, Amillia; he has taken little, if any, interest in him, himself. The large amount of money paid for his acquisition is unusual, but our employer would know all about that. Ask him directly if it would put your mind at ease..

If you are still worried, know that he is fitted with an anti-scribe collar. And while I've never seen it activate, I've never seen him use the magic they are supposedly capable of, either. Perhaps it is all a ploy, but the value of such a creature would be this ability; they are of no consequence strength-wise, and they stick out like a crow in snow. As for the collar, there is no way to remove it and put it back on, and by all accounts, it was in place before purchase. I believe Conroy keeps the key in his study. The fact that he doesn't keep it on him only further displays his indifference.

Let me know what you think of the plan I have put forward, and if anything is needed from my side.

[End]

Damn... They are after Sistilla now? And they want her dead? Does this have anything to do with Lucial? The first part of this missive had me doubting what I thought I knew. However, the second part proved enlightening. Whoever this spy was, it seemed they had done some of my work for me. He believed the key to this collar was in Conroy's study. I now had a solid target. I just needed to get into Conroy's study, and the key would be mine! …Assuming I could find it, and that it wasn't secured. Well, one step at a time.

My initial offer to help Igot with his reports had paid dividends. The request for assistance had expanded slowly at first, but then exploded to the point where fielding all the requests became impossible, much to Amillia's dismay—it got to where if a servant even looked at me, she would chew them out. I didn't mind this possessiveness too much, as it allowed me to be selective in the requests I accepted. Amillia still demanded to go out with Sistilla and Lucial, so I always had time for the choice requests, though she did push harder for me to accompany; Lucial obstinately wouldn't budge on the issue, however.

The challenge was avoiding conscription into undesirable chores during my limited leisure time; I needed to avoid suspicion of ulterior motives, and selective acceptance of tasks might give away the game. However, I had a trick to covertly select only relevant chores. Well, not so much a trick as much as learning who was responsible for what, when they were responsible for it, and where they would be when they did it. After that, I would steer clear of staff with undesirable chores and loiter around those who could get me into places that would otherwise prove difficult.

Even without this justification, however, their security was nearly nonexistent, or maybe airtight security was a 21st-century concept. They left most of the rooms unlocked at least part of the time, with few exceptions—bedrooms and such; Conroy's study was one such room. With the promise of the key, I would have risked sneaking in, but with it locked, I would need official sanction to enter.

And hence my trial began. Only two people had access to this study. Conroy, of course, and... Mimka. I had no justification to ask Conroy to grant access, but Mimka was the one who serviced the room. No reason she couldn't delegate the tasks to me… in theory.

In reality, we were talking about Mimka here. MIMKA! Asking a wampa to do me a solid sounded more appealing. For the last 4 months, I had looked around every corner, scanned every corridor, peered through every keyhole, whatever it took to avoid the marauding menace. But now I had no other option but to avail my services to the matriarch of manhandling.

Upon realizing my dilemma, I spent the next three days psyching myself up and planning contingencies: stay out of arm's reach—I was pretty sure I could move faster than her; clear vector of escape, no obstructions; preferably, Amillia would be accessible. In a worst-case scenario, she could run her off. Of course, this greatly limited my time frame. With these precautions and great trepidation, I resolved to make the approach.

"Hey, Mimka..." I issued my apprehensive greeting. She turned her head away from polishing a suit of armor, looking up, then down, and appearing just a little amazed to catch sight of me.

"Oh, Olavir. Well, this is quite surprising," she said with that foreign accent.

"W-Why would you say that?" I responded, perhaps a note or two higher than usual.

"Only because I'm quite sure you are terrified of me." She went back to polishing the ornate suit of armor, not at all perturbed by the admission.

"Terrified...? Me...? No..." My arms fidgeted and eventually settled into a cross-armed posture. Her brief glance back expressed my failure to convince her. I can't say why, but I felt compelled to defend myself. Perhaps it was my argumentative nature. "Well, I mean... You did violate every boundary known to god and man..."

"I was just..."

"And you did so against my adamant protests." I continued ignoring her input.

"You needed..."

"Knowing full well that I was perfectly capable of tending to myself."

"You were..."

"Yet away you scrub! Giving no heed to my cry for clemency!" I thrust a finger into the air.

"How else..."

"Is it any wonder I would have my reservations about confronting my abuser!?" I threw my chest out, like a captain ready to lead a cavalry charge.

"Abuser!" Now she looked offended.

"That's right." I looked her right in the eyes, fear replaced by indignation. "You know what you did."

"..." Silence. She stared for a long time. Oh-huh, I might have gotten carried away. Despite the righteousness of my condemnations, in my anger, I had forgotten I needed this woman's assistance. Did I just blow my one chance to get into the study?

She broke eye contact and sighed. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way." Returning to cleaning the armor, she continued, "though honestly, I'm surprised you would object so strongly to the royal treatment."

"Royal treatment??"

"Of course, though many nobles engage in the practice these days as well."

"They engage in the practice of being violently scrubbed?" My face fractured.

"I wasn’t violent! If I was rough with you, it was because you wouldn't settle down!" she asserted, casting a baleful eye.

"And just who would allow such indignity?" I asked incredulously. Where I come from, the only people who don't wash themselves are small children and invalids, with no small amount of shame, I might add.

"Oh, I don't know." A smugness came to her round face. "Just Lord Conroy and Lady Valarina."

"Eh..."

"Sistilla, too, when she was younger."

"...When she was younger?"

"Yes, until she joined that Adventurers’ Guild. She said she didn't want better treatment than the common folk." Then whispered, "though she still lives in a manor..."

"..." My mouth hung open. I couldn't envision the haughty Conroy getting scrubbed down by servants. "What about Amillia?"

"She tries to copy her sister." She cast a sly eye. "Though if left to her own devices, she would just soak in the tub and declare herself clean." From what I had seen, she didn’t much care for washing, so it made sense.

"Going forward, I would appreciate it if you let me wash myself." She let her head fall to the side, staring wide through one eye..

"You say that like I enjoy washing people." Well, now that she said it, I imagine it was the same as any other kind of work, mildly unpleasant. "I am more than happy to let you wash yourself. Grateful even!" She finished polishing the armor. It did look impressive with the mirror shine, though that shine denied that it had or would ever see actual use. "I didn't rise to head maid servant to be washing critters," Mimka said, mumbling as she assessed her work.

"Critters?" My turn to be offended again.

"Sure." Apparently, she saw no issue with this word, and it seemed best to just let it drop.

Well, that was the hard part, or so I thought. I had successfully established friendly relations with my former adversary and could offer my assistance by employing the usual method, which I frequently did. Had to build up that rapport. However, though she readily offloaded much of her work, getting into that study proved challenging.

The first few times I had offered to perform a task involving the study, she turned me down, saying Conroy’s most cherished space couldn't risk anything less than perfection. I could forgive her for expecting less than perfection; subpar is the norm for 80% of society. However, I needed access to that room, and it didn't take long for her to grow suspicious.

"You seem very eager to get into that room," she said through squinted eyes. "What are you up to?"

"I want to see what it looks like inside." Not technically a lie. On a side note, I still tried to maintain the yutsuukitsuu commandment of not lying and would continue to do so if possible. However, when in Rome. "I've worked in most of that chateau, but I still haven't been inside Conroy's study."

"If that is all you want, I'll let you take a peek next time."

"Yeah, in my culture, we don't really consider having been in a place until you have done a hard day's work there." Utter bullshit, but she didn't know that.

"Is that so?" Mimka's face pulled in towards her nose. "I have to admit, I find that very strange."

"Well, if you couldn’t tell by our appearance, we are a strange people." This much was true enough.

"In that case, you are out of luck." And that did, in fact, seem to be the case.

I spent the next week looking for an opening. Every chance I got, I would offer to assist, but she wouldn't budge on the study. Not wanting to come off as desperate, I made sure I only crossed her path naturally, or at least seemingly so. I had already established my desire to enter the room, so my repeated request didn't generate any suspicions, only annoyance.

However, I had a lucky break. Conroy had a strange request to rearrange his books by topic, which I learned after seeing Mimka distraught, a rare occurrence. It turned out that Mimka detested books, and the idea of having to read at least the first page to determine the subject, and then order them by topic, and then alphabetically by author had her in tears. Conroy had given her a list of subjects to use, but if any book didn't fit nicely into these categories, the list might need to be adjusted. In light of this, this job would require multiple days, and she cussed up and down the halls at the prospect.

"Is something troubling you, Mimka?" I said. She turned, eyes lighting up.

"Pachinka! What great—I mean, how are you?" she stammered.

"I'm fine, but you look out of sorts." I peered forward.

"Oh, it's just that Conroy wants to rearrange his study, and it’s looking to be a daunting task..." She said, with a sly eye.

"Really? That's unfortunate." Obviously, she didn't want to do it and was waiting for me to offer to rid her of the task. However, you have to play it cool when negotiating.

"Aren't you always asking after jobs in Conroy's study?" A slight breach of negotiating protocol...

"Well, yes, but I know you like to ensure a standard of..."

"Standards be damned!" She cut me off with a swing of her stout arm. "I'm not cut out for such bookish work and would probably botch it royally." Blunt as ever.

"What makes you think I would do any better?"

"Don't play coy with me. Everyone knows how much you loiter around the library all day reading books, and Igot often praises the detail of your reports." He did? Seemed standard to me… "I’ve no doubt you would do a fine job, better than me at least."

"Well, maybe..." I had to admit, she caught me flat-footed with this sudden reversal of policy, and I had to fight back an instinct to argue.

"Good! Here is the key." She thrust an ornate skeleton key into my hands. "Lock up when you're finished and return the key." And before I could offer any protest, she damn near leaped away like a startled gazelle. Well, it looked like I had gained entry into the study.

The room looked very much like you might imagine a nobleman's study: a heavy wooden desk requiring several strong men, or one graceful hougen, to move, flanked on either side by high bookshelves, the highest of which would require a ladder to reach—no wonder Mimka offloaded this task with alacrity. Behind the desk, a large window offered ample lighting to work by as well as a great view of the gardens.

Plenty of odds and ends stood sentinel, daring anyone to disturb them, but only one thing interested me. The only question was, where was it? Well, considering the number of books that needed sorting, I’d have ample time to search. As much as Mimka decried this job, she greatly underplayed the amount of time that it would require. Utilizing what Amillia-free time I had, I would put an optimistic estimate of completion at around a week, and remember a week here is 11 days.

No complaints from me. If I had to spend a week sorting through this dusty collection of leather-bound tomes, I just had that much more time to find the key. Honestly, though, I couldn’t imagine it would take long to find it. And when I did find it, I wouldn’t hang around to finish the job. I wondered how badly Mimka would get chewed out when that happened. Kind of felt bad. Maybe I would try to obfuscate my means of escape.

I pulled a book off the shelf and paged through it. Best to look engaged in the task so as to not appear like I was snooping around. As I read a few lines, I rummaged through drawers and moved aside various knick-knacks and objects that might conceal a key—not that I knew what that would look like. Of course, if Conroy had gone through the trouble of hiding it—which he very well may have—then any of a million places could have hidden it, in a hollowed-out book, for instance. Well, if it was hidden in a book, I would come across it before this job was done, no special effort required.

I placed the book at one end of a middle shelf—probably close to where it should be. It was a historical text about the days before the Old Caster Empire, which Conroy had noted as a potential category. Inevitably, I would have to shuffle them around several times, as I didn't think Conroy would appreciate stacks of books just lying around while I worked, so this seemed like an acceptable option. I noted the category on a plain piece of paper I had helped myself to from his desk and wedged it in along with the book.

That's one... I furrowed my brow as a sudden sense of deja vu struck me. Huh... Well, I'm sure it's just some twisted synaptic pathway.

As I mused over this mental anomaly, my attention drew to a space where shelves should have been. Surprisingly, I hadn't noticed it before, as it literally displaced several rows of books in the midsection of the bookcase, creating a panel flanked on both sides and from above with books. Looking to the opposite shelf, there was no such panel. A suspicious asymmetry.

A round, protruding glass section, perhaps a human hand-span across, caught my eye. It reminded me of those sleek thermostats with the color displays. It conflicted with the all-wood aesthetic of the rest of the study but only marginally so. Maybe... A thought occurred to me, and I searched across the rich wooden panel and… there it was, a gap between the panel and the bookcase. Closer inspection revealed it to be carved from a single tree, with the wood grain matching up perfectly. I would like to say I had uncovered Conroy’s well-concealed safe, but the strange dial screamed "secret stuff found here!" And on the other side, I had no doubt I would find the key.

As I racked my brain on how I might gain entry into this safe, something jarred me from my reverie, lifting me off the ground by the coat collar.

"Hey! What the?! Put me down!" I struggled to turn and get a look at who had accosted me. However, whoever it was, they kept me from doing just that.

"Well, I had not expected to find a yutsuukitsuu in Conroy's study. How strange." I did not recognize the voice, but it had the timbre of a man.

"Who are you?" I said, still struggling, looking quite ridiculous in my formal wear. "I'm just trying to organize Lord Conroy's books."

"Is that so?" He didn't seem to believe me. "Well, we will just go to Conroy and get this all cleared up then," he said, as he carted me away, still holding me by my coat, one-handed. I wasn't very heavy, but still.

"I found him prowling around your study," the strong-armed man said without preamble, as soon as Conroy became aware of his presence. He drew his head back upon seeing us as he lounged on an ornate sofa, upholstered in bright crimson, music playing from somewhere that wasn't readily apparent.

"Brogan. You're returned," he said, arching his eyebrows, taking no note of me.

"Yes, but back to the matter at hand," Brogan said, businesslike. He thrusted me forward with an extended arm. "I found this crawling around in your private study." Did he just refer to me as “this?”

"Olavir?" He just noticed me and put a hand to his beard. "In my study, you say?"

"You know him then?" I couldn't tell if he found this surprising or not.

"Of course I know him," Conroy replied, almost offended. "Do you think I would have someone I don't know wandering around my estate?" He sat up, straightening the fabric of his waistcoat as a soprano began a timid entry, "You can put him down."

He did so, unclenching his grip and letting me fall the foot or so. I likewise straightened my coat and turned to see my accuser. A man with a gaunt face, but that is about all I could tell you about his physical appearance, as he covered himself head to toe in a style that I could only describe as a western meets colonial with just a hint of cyberpunk. Thick leather boots that didn't show the slightest sign of wear, sturdy black leather trousers, and a black shirt with mail that seemed to pull in light like a singularity. The leather duster seemed ordinary enough, or as ordinary as a duster can be outside of a dusty saloon, and the same went for the black tricorn. But what really sold him as a model of congeniality—other than his personality—were the round goggle-like spectacles that framed his face with lenses that ranged in color from a pale yellow to cyborg red, depending on the lighting... I think.

Brogan gave an off-kilter frown. "I see. Does he have leave to enter your study?"

"Well, no." He rubbed at his upper lip. "But I have been hearing rumors that he has been very industrious lately." He looked me over, sparing any condemnation, for now at least. "What were you doing in there, Olavir?"

"Well, Mimka informed me that you wished to organize your books." Conroy nodded. "She was..." I pause a moment. How much did I want to throw Mimka under the bus, now that we had buried the hatchet? "She didn't feel she was best suited to the task and thought I could do a better job."

"You would do a better job?" Brogan said with a derisive chortle.

"Why not? I do consider myself a burgeoning intellectual," I returned, securing a scoff in the process.

"And your interest in the safe?" He crossed his arms, speaking to me as if he had caught a child with chocolate smeared across his face. The phantom orchestra pulled into a crescendo.

I shrugged. "I was just curious. Didn't seem like any harm in just looking." I met his eyes, or goggles. Damn, those really were unsettling. "Though that seems like a misjudgment on my part."

"Huh, well, my judgment is pretty good, and I recognize nefarious intent when I see it." I had the feeling he wanted to stare me down, get right up in my face, but the height difference would mean he would have to bend down or take a knee; either way would look undignified. Instead, he opted to glower down at me. Regardless, I had to turn away; looking into those goggles was like trying to stare down a Terminator unit.

"I appreciate your due diligence, Brogan," Conroy cut in. "But I'm hardly worried about Olavir getting up to anything nefarious. I bought him for my daughter, Amillia, from a Spartoan merchant at the Finfare Fair."

"Is that where he came from?" He still had a sour look on his face. At least I had gone from an it to a he.

"Yes, so it's not like he infiltrated his way into Reastera. Furthermore, by all accounts, he is rather intelligent, and Mimka is... loathed for tedious tasks, so it is completely plausible that she would pass it off." He stood there like a detective unwinding the mystery. "If you are in doubt, Mimka could give us confirmation one way or the other."

Brogan shot another quick glance my way and relented. "Still, entry to your study should be strictly limited. There are important documents in there, among other things, that are not meant for just anyone's eyes."

"I find your paranoia nagging, Brogan," he said, dragging his hand down his face, the tenor belting out the last line of the musical number. "But I suppose that is why I hired you. Regardless, I always lock up anything important, and I hardly think Olavir would have any interest in the documentation of estate matters."

"I don't know about that..." He would give no ground. "Still, I must insist that you restrict access. Laxness can only be exploited."

Conroy let out a long sigh. "Very well. I suppose I should defer to my head of security." Brogan smiled for the first time. "Anyway, now that you have returned, how did..." They went on to discuss whatever business had called Brogan away. I excused myself, securing a suspicious glance on my way out the door, applause now issuing forth from that same source that I still could not locate. Escaping just got a lot harder with this new household addition, and he already had me on his radar.

Needless to say, I never got to finish sorting the books, and Mimka was quite bitter about it.