Grey sat on a high stool by the window, a baking cookbook open on her lap.
The cookbook had belonged to her mother in her youth. Tucked between its pages were several handwritten notes detailing minor adjustments to various recipes.
The Grey family’s kitchen was about the same size as an entire floor of the Williams Family’s house.
An entire wall was covered with hanging copper pots and pans. The stove was cast iron with six burners, and next to it stood a brick oven.
The girl was currently wondering what she should bring to school next time.
’I’ve already made lemon scones, butter cookies, and fruit tarts.’
’Repeating a recipe would seem uninspired, but changing it too often would look like I’m trying too hard.’
She flipped to the "Crème Brûlée" page, then quickly turned past it.
Pudding needed to be refrigerated. The carriage ride from her home to school was twenty minutes, and then it would have to sit in her schoolbag all morning.
By the time she took it out at lunch, both its texture and appearance would be greatly diminished.
Flipping further, she found a recipe for walnut pound cake.
’It can be kept at room temperature, has a dense texture, doesn’t crumble easily, and suits a boy’s appetite.’
The oils from the walnuts would seep into the cake during baking, making it even more fragrant the next day than when it was fresh out of the oven.
She made a mark on that page with a pencil.
She flipped a few more pages and came to cinnamon apple rolls.
’These are good too, but the cinnamon flavor is quite strong. A lot of people aren’t used to it.’
Grey tied on her apron, rolled her sleeves up past her elbows, and got to work.
She loved to bake.
She had been learning from the manor’s cook since she was seven or eight. She rarely ate much of what she made, instead bringing the pastries to school to share with everyone at her lunch table.
The cook would laugh and say, "Miss, you’re more dedicated to your baking than I am to mine."
Grey didn’t think that was right. For the cook, baking was a job. For her, it was for fun.
’And if I happen to cater to a certain someone’s tastes... that’s just a coincidence.’
At least, that’s what the young lady told herself.
During lunchtime, the Greenwood dining hall was as noisy as ever.
The gentlemen in the paintings looked particularly stern, as if they too were displeased with today’s menu.
When Richard walked over with his tray, Warren was already settled in their usual spot.
The plate in front of him held the standard fare for the day:
a steak seared until its edges were slightly curled and crispy, a bowl of cream soup, a baked potato cut into four wedges on the right side of the plate, and a butter dish placed next to the soup bowl.
Warren pointed with his fork. "Sit. They got a different cook for the steaks today. It’s a little thicker than yesterday’s."
"You can even tell the difference in thickness?"
"I’ve been eating it for a whole semester. Of course I can."
Richard sat down and pushed his tray to the side.
Grey was already seated to his left, a plate of salad and half a glass of milk in front of her. On her lap rested a square paper box wrapped in gingham cloth.
She opened the box, revealing neatly arranged slices of walnut pound cake.
"I made too much dessert again today."
Grey pushed the box toward the center of the table.
Warren’s eyes lit up, and he immediately reached for a piece.
"Wait," Grey said, blocking his hand with her fork. "Let Richard take one first."
Warren’s hand froze mid-air, a wounded expression on his face. "I’ve been sitting across from you for several semesters."
"You could sit across from me for a hundred semesters, and the order would still be the same."
Mason, sitting nearby, let out a gloating laugh.
Richard took a slice of cake and had a bite.
The balance of sweet and savory was perfect, and the rich aroma of walnuts filled his mouth.
"It’s delicious."
Warren was finally allowed to take a piece, which he stuffed into his mouth and swallowed after just two chews.
"Grey, you’re skilled enough to open your own shop."
"Running a shop is too tiring."
"So what are you planning to do in the future?"
"I haven’t decided yet." Grey clearly had no intention of elaborating on the topic.
Just then, two unfamiliar faces appeared beside their table.
"Excuse me... is Williams here?" the girl with the high ponytail asked.
"I am."
"Oh, great!" She flipped her textbook to a specific page and pointed to a line of Latin.
"We wanted to ask you a question. The subjunctive mood conjugation for this clause... the two of us have been discussing it for ages and still can’t figure it out..."
As she spoke, she leaned naturally against the side of the table.
The short-haired girl was more direct, pulling up an empty chair from nearby and sitting down.
As she sat, she placed a brown paper bag she’d been holding under her arm onto the table.
The bag wasn’t sealed, revealing two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, a small bag of cookies, and two apples tucked inside.
"Oh, this is the lunch we brought."
The short-haired girl smiled and pushed the bag toward Richard. "We can’t finish it all. Help yourselves."
She pushed it with great precision, so that it came to a stop right next to Richard’s tray, not an inch off.
Warren’s chewing slowed as his gaze swept back and forth between the two girls and the paper bag.
Mason had already buried his face in his soup bowl, his shoulders shaking.
Grey continued eating her salad, prodding at the lettuce leaves with her fork, showing no particular reaction.
Richard glanced at the subjunctive mood question, wrote two lines of conjugation in the blank space of the textbook with a pencil, and explained it in thirty seconds.
The high-ponytail girl looked a little awkward.
She had prepared for at least a five-minute "consultation," but he’d solved the problem in an instant, rendering all her follow-up conversation topics useless.
"Ah... thank you. So that’s how it is."
She flipped through her textbook, trying to find a second question.
Another thirty seconds passed.
The short-haired girl at her side was frantically giving her friend signals, probably meaning, ’Ask another one, ask another one!’
The high-ponytail girl closed her textbook.
"Thank you, Williams. You explained it very clearly."
"You’re welcome."
The two girls exchanged a glance, and the short-haired one pushed the paper bag forward again.
"We really can’t finish the sandwiches. You should take them."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I have enough to eat here," Richard said, gesturing to Warren’s steak and Grey’s cake in front of him.
The short-haired girl’s gaze lingered for a second on the steak and the walnut cake, then shifted to Grey, who was sitting to Richard’s left, quietly eating her salad.
Grey looked up, her blue eyes meeting the other girl’s with a calm gaze.
The short-haired girl pulled the paper bag back.
"Well, we’ll be going then. We’ll come ask again next time we have a question."
"Alright."
Mason finally lifted his head from behind his soup bowl. "Richard, has your ’Latin tutoring’ business been booming lately?"
"They really did come to ask a question."
"A question you answered in thirty seconds, yet they brought two sandwiches."
Warren wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
"I finally understand what my dad meant when he said, ’Invest early.’"
"What do you mean?" Hugh asked, leaning over from the side.
"It means I started treating him to meals a long time ago. These people are just showing up now. It’s too late."
Grey took another piece of cake from the box and placed it in the middle of the table.
"Last piece. Who wants it?"
Mason and Hugh reached for it at the same time.
Grey looked at them. "Rock-paper-scissors."
Mason threw paper, Hugh threw rock.
He contentedly stuffed the last piece of cake into his mouth.
After lunch, Richard went to the school library.
Greenwood Middle School’s library wasn’t large, but its collection was quite extensive.
The special bookshelves on the third floor held Mr. Hutton’s secret teaching materials, while the first and second floors contained the regular collection for the general student body.
He walked back and forth several times between the "Religion & Mythology" and "History" sections on the second floor.
In the end, he only found three books.
One was a general knowledge book about the funerary traditions of the Black Earth River Basin.
The cover showed the profile of a Mummy wrapped in linen. It was published by a popular science press in the Imperial Capital, written in plain language with plenty of illustrations.
Another was a selection from the Hermes Collection, compiled by some professor. The cover was worn and frayed from being handled so much.
The content of this book was much more serious than the first, but the translator had clearly taken artistic liberties with the most obscure passages of the original text. It was quite readable, but its academic value was so-so.
The third book made him not know whether to laugh or cry.
It was a children’s version of myths from the Black Earth River Basin.
The cover depicted a cartoon Pharaoh and a grinning, dog-headed Anubis, the colors garishly bright.
This was the third book in the library related to the Black Earth River Basin. There were no others.
As he crouched in front of the bookshelf and opened the children’s book, a younger student nearby shot him a strange look.
Richard, his expression unchanged, tucked the book under his arm, walked to a corner of the reading room, and sat down.
Over the next hour, he extracted key information from the three books.
From the first book, the general knowledge reader on funerary traditions:
The Black Earth River civilization believed the soul was not a single entity, but was composed of multiple independent parts.
The most central of these concepts were:
Ka—the life force, bestowed at birth and requiring offerings to be sustained after death;
Ba—the personality or spirit, often depicted as a human-headed bird;
Akh—the complete, resurrected soul, the final form created by the union of the Ka and Ba.
But beyond these well-known components of the soul, there was another part often glossed over in popular books.
Sheut—the Shadow.
The people of the Black Earth River Basin believed that the shadow was an independent component of the soul.
It was not an appendage of the body, nor was it a physical phenomenon produced by light.
The shadow had its own existence, its own meaning.
When a person died, their shadow did not disappear.
It would remain in the Netherworld and continue to exist.
In some funerary texts, the shadow was even considered the "vessel" for the deceased’s actions in the Netherworld.
When the physical body decayed, the Ba flew away, and the Ka remained in the tomb awaiting offerings, it was the shadow that walked through the darkness of the Netherworld.

Comments

Loading...