The fish stalls were piled high with fresh catch from the sea. Silver scales shimmered like diamond dust under the sunlight, sea crabs blew white bubbles in wooden tubs, and an octopus was slapped onto a cutting board the moment it was pulled from the water. Its writhing tentacles made Margarita shrink back slightly.
Whoa, tentacles...
She pulled the brim of her hat lower, her gaze scanning the gaps between the stalls and the crowd.
Lovell had come alive the moment they stepped into the fish market. She pulled Margarita from stall to stall, occasionally poking a live fish in a tub or taking a deep breath at a grilled seafood stand. At the moment, she was haggling with a vendor over some scallops, her swaying red ponytail making her exceptionally visible in the crowd.
Margarita was by her side when a shadow suddenly caught the corner of her eye.
To the right of the crowd, behind a grilled squid stall, stood a man in grey wearing an old felt hat pulled low. He had stood there behind the stall for a long time without moving, his gaze consistently fixed on Lovell over the vendor’s shoulder.
Pale pink light particles flickered near Lovell’s ear.
Lovell was still smiling and bargaining. Having apparently reached the price she wanted, she decisively bought a bag.
“Let’s lead him away from the main street first,” she said as she took Margarita’s hand. The two of them looked like any other pair of travel companions found in Arlan. “Then you can decide what to do with him.”
The two of them squeezed through the crowd and turned into a small alley off the fish market. At this hour, everyone was preoccupied with the market. The alley was narrow and deep, cluttered with empty crates used for transporting fish. Deep inside, there were a few scattered fishing gear shops and dry goods warehouses.
Lovell quickened her pace, and Margarita matched her with a light jog. As expected, the man in grey behind them followed, his footsteps becoming noticeably more urgent.
Halfway down the alley, as they passed a corner, Margarita sped up for two steps and slipped into a gap between two buildings. The space was narrow, barely enough for one person to stand. A few empty wooden crates were stacked there, just enough to hide most of her body. Lovell continued forward and stopped in front of a closed shop door, pretending to look at the sign.
That’s some pretty bad acting, Lovell.
Margarita hid behind the crates, drawing her silver pistol with her right hand, her thumb resting lightly on the trigger mechanism.
The sound of footsteps approached from the corner, getting closer and closer.
The moment the grey figure passed the gap, she raised the pistol and aimed at the back of the head under the old felt hat.
“Bang!”
The sound of the shot rang out in the alleyway. The man in grey lunged forward abruptly, his face slamming into the shop door in front of Lovell, and his body slowly slid down the doorframe.
Lovell noticed a twitch of movement as he was halfway down and finished him off with a swift hand-chop to the neck. The man didn’t even groan before collapsing completely onto the ground.
Margarita climbed out from behind the wooden crates, tucked the pistol back into her waistband, walked over to the man in grey, and stared at him for a moment.
Then, she suddenly raised her leg and delivered a kick.
It was a hard kick to his shoulder. The man shifted slightly but didn't wake up.
“I’ll teach you to follow us,” she muttered, giving him another kick for good measure.
“Is this the kind of thing you always use to shoot yourself?” Lovell asked, watching her with folded arms.
“I’m a Consultant,” Margarita turned back with a professional smile. “This is just part of the job.”
Lovell couldn’t help but laugh.
Margarita knelt and checked the back of the man’s head; the impact site was red and swollen. Lovell’s hand-chop had been precise; this man would be unconscious for at least three or four hours. She then flipped him over to check his face and searched his waist and sleeves, finding a few silver coins and a slip of paper that had “Red-Hair” written on it.
There wasn't a trace of the olive branch. Even the fake Grey they’d met the other day had a ring.
“Nothing to do with the Sacrosanct Circle,” Margarita said, standing up and patting the dust off her hands. “Likely just a thug some noble lord paid to keep an eye on you.”
“Then what do we do with him?”
“Just let him lie here. We’ll mention it to the President when we get back and let her handle it. It doesn't matter even if he runs off; it’ll just let those noble lords know you have people with you.”
The two of them headed back toward the fish market entrance side by side. The crowd was still bustling, with shouting and the sound of chopping fish blending together; no one had paid any mind to the noise in the alley.
Margarita retrieved the bag of scallops they had left with the vendor and walked with Lovell for a while longer.
The sea breeze blew in from the harbor, carrying a salty tang that made Margarita’s side-braid sway. She glanced sideways at Lovell. The red-haired girl’s lips were pressed tight, her usual playful grin nowhere to be seen. Her face held an expression Margarita rarely saw on her: fear.
Margarita knew what she was afraid of. At the end of this street, past that corner, was the “empty lot” from Margarita’s memories.
And now, that was where the Diestwald warehouse stood.
The butterfly effect? Probably.
In any case, something was hidden in that warehouse—something the Diestwald family needed to dispose of within a year.
Lovell stood beside her, silent. Her red hair caught the sea breeze as her amber eyes stared at the warehouse's closed iron gates, her hands gripping the bag of scallops tightly.
Margarita didn’t approach. She knew they couldn't. There might be other lookouts on this street; standing here with Lovell was already risky enough. But she didn’t pull Lovell away immediately either. She stood by Lovell’s side, shoulder to shoulder, their shadows overlapping in the afternoon sun.
Silence filled the space between them.
“...Is my master inside?”
“I don’t know,” Margarita said honestly. “But this is the most likely place.”
Lovell didn’t ask anything else. She stood for a while, then turned her head to look at Margarita’s profile. Margarita was staring at the warehouse windows with a heavy gaze. The permanent, faint smile on her lips was gone, and her usual gentle facade had vanished. She simply looked at the iron gates in silence.
“Little Mari.”
“What is it?”
“Every time you look at something like that, I feel like you’re so far away from me,” Lovell said. “As if you’re looking at a world I can never see.”
“Right now, I hope you’ll be okay too, Margarita.” Lovell’s voice was very soft, so soft it was nearly carried away by the wind. “You’re important too.”
Margarita blinked, seeing her own reflection in Lovell’s amber eyes.
I guess this is what you call an intuition-based character.
She reached out and took Lovell’s hand. Lovell’s hand was cold, her fingertips still damp from the water on the bag.
“I know.” She leaned a little closer to Lovell. “Shall we go back and grill those scallops?”
“Don’t change the subject...” Lovell’s voice was muffled. “Every time, you say you know, you know, but you always put yourself in the most dangerous spot.”
“...This time, I really do know.” Margarita patted Lovell’s red head, like smoothing the fur of a ruffled cat. “Someone cares about me. I know.”
Lovell looked at her and nodded, her familiar smile returning to her face.
“Then you have to grill the scallops for me tonight.”
“Why me?”
“You almost made me cry just now. You have to take responsibility.”
...
Rate on N.U.
