Chapter 27: Dinner for Three Siblings

Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dinner for Three Siblings

Truly sharp…

Klein laughed aloud. Drawing upon his rich “experience” from before transmigration, he joined the attack with another line.

“In fact, there is no evidence whatsoever proving those great personages have brains.”

“Good! Very good!”

Benson burst into laughter and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Klein, you have become much more humorous than before.”

After catching his breath, he continued, “I still have to go to the docks this afternoon. I can rest only tomorrow. When that comes, mm… we can go together to the Tingen City Improved Housing Company and see whether they have any cheap but decent row houses for rent. Also, before that, we must visit Mr. Franky.”

“The landlord?” Klein asked in puzzlement.

Could their current landlord own row houses in decent neighborhoods?

Benson glanced at his younger brother and said in amused disbelief, “You have not forgotten that we have a one-year rental contract, have you? Only six months have passed.”

“Hiss…”

Klein drew in a sharp breath.

He truly had forgotten!

Although rent was paid weekly, the tenancy lasted an entire year. Moving now would count as a breach of contract. If they were sued, they would have to pay quite a lot of compensation.

“You still lack enough social experience,” Benson said with feeling, rubbing his retreating hairline. “And that was a clause I fought very hard for back then. Otherwise, Mr. Franky was only willing to sign three months at a time. For the wealthy, landlords rent directly for one year, two years, even three, seeking stability. But for us—for the old us, and for our neighbors—the landlords are always afraid someone will meet with an accident and fail to pay rent, so they prefer short-term contracts.”

“And that way, they can raise prices whenever circumstances allow,” Klein added, combining the original owner’s memory fragments with his own rental experience.

Benson sighed.

“That is the truth and cruelty of society today. All right, you do not need to worry. The matter of the contract is easy to resolve. Frankly speaking, if we delay rent by even one week, Mr. Franky will immediately throw us out and seize anything valuable. After all, his intelligence is inferior to that of a curly-haired baboon, and he cannot distinguish anything too complicated.”

Hearing this, Klein abruptly remembered a certain Sir Humphrey joke. He shook his head seriously.

“No, Benson. You are wrong.”

“Why?” Benson asked, baffled.

“Mr. Franky’s intelligence is still a little higher than that of a curly-haired baboon.”

Klein answered solemnly. Just as Benson’s smile began to show that he understood, Klein added, “When he is in good condition.”

“Haha!”

Benson lost control of his reaction.

After laughing for a while, he pointed at Klein and could not find a suitable way to phrase his response. He could only return to the main topic.

“Of course, as gentlemen, we will not use such a shameless method. Tomorrow we will go directly and communicate with Mr. Franky. Believe me, he is very easy to persuade. Very easy.”

On that point, Klein had no doubt at all. The existence of the gas pipeline was the strongest proof.

The two brothers chatted idly for a while. They put the small amount of pan-fried meat fish left from the previous night into the vegetable stew, and while reheating everything, used the steam to soften the rye bread.

Spreading a little cream onto the bread, Klein and Benson made do with a simple meal. Even so, they ate with considerable satisfaction. After all, the milky fragrance and sweetness lingered in a way one could not forget.

After Benson left, Klein took three soli in notes and some loose copper pennies, then went to the Lettuce and Meat Market. He spent six pence on one pound of beef, seven pence on a large Tussock fish with tender flesh and few bones, and also bought potatoes, peas, white radishes, rhubarb, lettuce, turnips, rosemary, basil, cumin, cooking oil, and other things.

During the entire process, he could still sense someone peering at him, watching him. But there was still no actual contact.

After spending a little time at Slin Bakery, Klein returned home and began using heavy objects, such as stacked books, to train the strength of his arms.

He had originally wanted to practice military-style boxing for exercise. But by now he had even forgotten the movements of broadcast calisthenics, let alone something he had touched only during military training. Left with no choice, he made the exercises as simple as possible.

Klein did not let himself work out until he was exhausted, because that would only leave him tired and increase the danger. He stopped at the right time, then began reading through the original owner’s textbooks and notes, hoping to review knowledge related to the Fourth Epoch.

…

At dusk, Benson and Melissa sat before the desk, looking at the arranged food. They sat upright and proper, like upper-grade primary school children.

All kinds of mingled aromas wove into a rich overture of food. There was the soul-snaring spread of boiled beef; the clear, lasting lure of mashed potatoes; the sweet entanglement of pea soup; the subtle, balanced harmony of stewed rhubarb; and the sweet milky fragrance circling the rye bread.

Benson swallowed. Turning to look at Klein, who was placing a crisp, golden fish onto a plate, he felt the aroma of frying drill from his nose into his throat, from his throat into his esophagus, and from his esophagus straight into his stomach.

Gurgle!

His stomach made an unmistakable sound.

Klein had rolled back the cuffs of his shirt. Holding the plate of fried fish, he placed it at the center of the cleared desk. Then he turned back to the cabinet, took out two large cups of ginger beer, and set them down at Benson’s and his own places.

He smiled at Melissa, then produced a lemon pudding as if by magic.

“We have beer. You have this.”

“…Thank you.”

Melissa accepted the lemon pudding and spoke very softly.

Seeing this, Benson lifted his cup and smiled.

“Come. To celebrate Klein finding a good job.”

Klein lifted his own cup, clinked it with Benson’s, then clinked it against Melissa’s lemon pudding.

“Praise the Goddess!”

Gulp.

He lifted his head and took a mouthful. The spicy taste burned down his throat, leaving a wonderful aftertaste behind.

Ginger beer was called beer, but in fact contained no alcohol. It used the heat of ginger juice and the tartness of lemon to imitate the taste of beer, making it a beverage suitable for women and children as well. It was simply that Melissa did not especially like the flavor.

“Praise the Goddess!”

Benson drank a mouthful as well. Melissa, meanwhile, took a tiny bite of lemon pudding and chewed it over and over, reluctant to swallow.

“Try some.”

Klein set down his cup, picked up fork and spoon, and indicated the table full of food.

Of everything there, he had the least confidence in the pea soup. After all, on Earth he would never have eaten anything so strange. He could only “recreate” it according to the original owner’s memory fragments.

As the elder brother, Benson was not polite. He scooped a spoonful of mashed potato and put it into his mouth.

The potatoes, stewed to the limit and crushed until soft, blended with a faint touch of lard and just the right amount of salt. Saliva rushed from his mouth, his appetite instantly awakened.

“Not… bad… Not bad,” Benson praised indistinctly. “Much better than the delicious kind I ate at the company last time. That one used cream.”

This can count as one of my specialties…

Klein accepted the compliment calmly.

“All thanks to the cook from Welch’s family.”

Melissa, on the other hand, looked toward the beef soup. Green basil leaves, pale-green lettuce heads, and white chunks of radish soaked in clear broth, hiding the stewed-soft beef. The colors were fresh, and the fragrance was tempting.

She forked a piece of beef and chewed it. The meat was soft yet still retained a hint of texture. A trace of salt, the radish’s faint sweetness, and basil’s pungent fragrance worked together to draw out the beef’s own flavor.

“…”

She seemed to be praising something, but she could not stop eating long enough to speak.

Klein tasted it too. While he found it delicious, he was not without regret. It was still short of his best level. After all, some seasonings were missing, and he had been forced to substitute others. Some oddness was unavoidable.

Of course, even at his best, the food he made was merely acceptable.

All of a sudden, his heart ached for Benson and Melissa, who had never seen much of the world.

After swallowing the beef in his mouth, Klein picked up a piece of fried Tussock fish sprinkled with cumin and rosemary. It was crisp outside and tender within, golden and appetizing, with salty fragrance and oiliness woven together.

Klein nodded slightly, then tried a piece of stewed rhubarb. He felt it was only all right, useful mainly for cutting through the grease of meat.

Finally, summoning courage, he scooped a spoonful of pea soup.

Too sweet. Too sour…

Klein could not help frowning.

Yet when he saw Benson and Melissa’s satisfied expressions after they tasted it, he began to doubt his own sense of taste. He could not resist gulping down some ginger beer to wash his tongue.

The three siblings ate until their bellies were swollen, and for a long while none of them could rise from their chairs.

“Let us praise the Goddess once more!”

Benson lifted the last mouthful of ginger beer, speaking with deep satisfaction.

“Praise the Goddess!”

Klein drained the last of his drink in one swallow.

“Praise the Goddess.”

Melissa put into her mouth the small portion of lemon pudding she had endured until the very end, savoring it again and again.

Seeing this, and borrowing a little of the feeling of drunkenness, Klein smiled and said, “Melissa, that is not good. The food you like most should be eaten at the start, so you can experience it at its most delicious. If you wait until you are full, when your appetite has already fallen, the taste will be discounted.”

“No. It is still just as good,” Melissa answered firmly and stubbornly.

The three siblings talked and laughed, digesting for a while. Then together they cleared the plates, forks, and spoons, and poured the oil used for frying the fish back into storage.

After the bustle, one revised her lessons, one studied accounting on his own, and one continued leafing through textbooks and notes. The evening passed full and contented.

At eleven o’clock, the three Moretti siblings turned off the gas lamp, washed up one after another, and went to bed.

…

Darkness spread before his eyes. His mind felt muddled and dim. Suddenly, Dunn Smith appeared in Klein’s field of vision, wearing a black knee-length windbreaker and a half-top hat.

“Captain!”

Klein became awake at once, and clearly knew that he was inside a dream.

Dunn’s gray eyes showed no ripple, as though he were discussing some trivial matter.

“Someone has slipped into your room. Take up your revolver and force him into the corridor. Leave the rest to us.”

Someone broke into my room? The watcher finally made a move?

Klein was startled, but he did not dare ask questions. He merely nodded.

“All right!”

The scene before him changed at once. Colors appeared in confusion, then burst one by one like bubbles.

His eyes opened. Klein carefully turned his head toward the window and saw a thin, unfamiliar back standing before the desk, searching soundlessly through something.