The sun hung high in a clear blue sky, casting sharp shadows on the bustling campsite. All equipment had been gathered; maids were filing into their wagons, and the coachmen readied themselves for departure.

Once again, I found myself garbed in these damned rags, with my golden treasures weighing heavily on my arms, constricting my blood flow. I stood by the door of my prisoner's carriage, the air crisp as we waited for the journey to begin.

My cold, fat shackles weighed down my wrists while I absentmindedly fiddled with a thick piece of dark wood I had picked up on our way back from the Merchant Guild's camp.

I analyzed it with an urge I hadn't gotten in a while.

If only I had something sharp...

"Hey Alith," I called to the woman standing beside me on the carriage steps, having accepted my current lisp and predicament of talking weird. I forced myself too much earlier, trying to look less of an idiot in front of my opponents and stuff. It was just Alice now; the worst she could do was make fun of me.

She was occupied, leaning inside as she tossed a bag under a seat. Since our return, she hadn't spoken a word to me. She pretended to be busy and let me sneak into my carriage, change back into my rags, and adorn myself once more with my burdensome treasures.

Earlier, I had spoken with Melissa in a secluded corner.

"Remember. You may not have fully atoned, but that man's life is saved because you made the right decision in the end." I fixed her with a resolute stare, her blonde hair shining dully in the light. Melissa, the middle-aged woman, had complied with the urgent request that Commander Blert and I had made—to let me borrow her identity.

"L-Lying is a sin." The woman's green eyes were swollen. "I deserve to go to prison. W-We all do."

This, perhaps, explained why she was sitting in my prisoner's carriage, bawling her eyes out.

"Right, lying is a sin," I retorted, my tone hardening, "but drinking and endangering the lives of those you were sworn to protect is fine."

Too many lives had been at risk because of this woman.

"Listen, I'm not asking you for a favor. Hiding what happened here is the only salvageable decision you can make here. It's either that, or you get me, the commander, yourself, and everyone else involved a death sentence. Is that what you want?"

"... No." She mumbled.

"Your Kopra saw what you did here," or was it Korpa? "He knows your intentions and he witnessed how this scheme saved lives. I'm sure he's forgiven you already."

She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it, her expression sorrowful. There were traces of tears on both of her cheeks, and despite myself, I felt a pang of sympathy. I can never stand to see people cry.

"Now wear your clothes and go live your life." I kept my expression stern. "Keep your powers disappearing a secret. Play ill or take a vacay or something."

"... Play ill?" She repeated.

"Feign illness or take some time away," I explained. "Oh, and a vacay is holidays," I remembered to add.

"... Alright." She said in a small voice.

"Yes, my lady." Alice's stern reply came from within the carriage. I looked up at her, but all I could see was her back. She was tapping the seats and checking whether the source of light functioned.

"Look ath me ven I tok to yu." I added, annoyed.

Alice paused for a second, and then begrudgingly turned to me.

"What is the matter, my lady?"

I wondered if Penelope Ashdown would have smacked her for her tone... I'd expect no less from an infamous villainess.

Too bad I didn't have it in me to be a villainess right now. My neck, jaw, and feet ached; I didn't need to add my arms to that list.

"Do yu have anything sharp on yu?" I asked, showing her my hand-sized piece of soft black wood. "I want to tly carving this into something."

Alice's calm demeanor faltered for a moment, her expression one of confusion.

"Since when do you indulge in such... frivolous pastimes, my lady?" she asked, quickly adding, "Beg your pardon."

... Maybe I should smack her after all.

"Fwiwolous?" I grinned, though the effort was painful. "And since when did yu have it in you to question me so bwazenly, Alith?"

"...Need I apologize?" Her pink eyes flashed with defiance.

"That won't be nethethary," I shook my head, dropping the unnecessary tension. "Zust... go fetth me a sharp rock or something... Oh, and if you happen to be caught, I will zeny my involvement, zust to be clear."

"You mean to tell me to be careful? I will, my lady," Alice said. She descended the carriage steps and offered her hand to help me inside the carriage.

I took her hand and settled onto the hard wooden seat. Alice swiftly departed, her spotted dress swaying as she walked away, her brown hair so smooth it reflected the sunlight.

A strange feeling nagged at me as I watched her go.

Why do I have such a shit feeling about Alice's pretty pink eyes?

---

 

Alice hated it. She absolutely despised the fact that she had no clue what her mistress was thinking.

How on earth is she able to save a dying man?! That woman never touched a book since the days Alice would literally force her to read!

And now? Now she could think for herself, make decisions for herself, and worst of all, she no longer kept Alice informed of her every thought she had and every move she wanted to make.

Alice felt estranged from her own reality. She racked her brain for explanations, turning over every possible theory to account for the unexplainable, unprecedented changes in her mistress. But only one reason, absurd as it was, made any sense at all.

"That woman is not Penelope Ashdown," Alice muttered as she sifted through a handful of rocks on the ground near the edge of the forest. "Carving? She might as well apologize to me next!" Alice scoffed, glancing up at the sky.

"Miss Alice," a slimy voice called out, interrupting her thoughts. Her expression turned blank as she faced the source of the voice.

Toothless Fars.

"Would you mind giving me a moment of your time?" The knight asked, hiding a drooping, wilting bunch of flowers behind his back.

Alice wanted to roll her eyes, but refrained. It was better not to engage.

"I have no time to converse, Mister. My place is by my lady's side," she said respectfully, discreetly slipping the sharp rock she had found into her pocket and attempting to pass by him.

But, as always, Fars couldn't take a hint.

He grabbed her arm and thrust the bouquet toward her, causing her to recoil.

"Just ten minutes," he insisted, smile wobbling.

Perhaps it would be worth it to poison him instead... Alice briefly considered, giving him a blank look while a certain miniature jar, half-filled, sat in her pocket.

~

Afternoon had come, and the camp was set once more. Truman headed for the knights' bonfire, to which he hadn't been invited, but he decided to attend anyway.

Truman wasn't exactly trying to curry favor; that wasn't how he thought of it, at least. He was trying to extort money out of anyone he could. And if a little groveling was what it took, then so be it.

He was yawning, trudging his feet across the ground, when his vision began blurring.

When was the last time I slept more than an hour...? He wondered, but the memory eluded him.

His limbs grew heavier with every step, his mouth agape in another endless yawn, when he caught a whiff of a familiar scent.

It was the same scent he had noticed when he got lost after he took Thomas's night shift in exchange for three silver coins.

Speaking of Thomas, Truman wondered if he might be persuaded to let him take his shift tonight, too...

"Whatewer happened to human wights..." A feminine voice interrupted his thoughts, coming from just a few paces to his left.

Penelope Ashdown. That was the source of the lavender scent.

Oh, right. I should confront her about her lies. Truman debated. She wasn't a clergywoman; she was just a kind lady...

Truman altered his course, heading for the prisoner's 'dining area', which was barely fifteen meters from the knights' bonfire. Commander Blert had made this arrangement to ensure stricter security.

Blert had expressed his disappointment in Truman's behavior after Penelope's last escape attempt, making him swear never to reveal that she had impersonated Melissa at the Merchant Guild's tent in exchange for forgiveness.

He also ripped a large chunk off his wage for the journey. That was the only part that mattered and angered Truman.

"I miss... shoes..." Penelope sat on a large boulder, leaning over to massage her feet. Truman could only see her back as he wobbly closed the distance.

There was an empty soup bowl set to her side on the wet, grassy ground, and for once, her hair didn't look like a messs of locks, but had gone back to its flowy golden nature after she was allowed to clean and brush it this morning.

"You," Truman began as he drew near.

Penelope jumped, startled by his voice. She turned to him with a sharp glare.

Truman intended to apologize for scaring her, but as he opened his mouth, only a long sigh escaped, and the tall man collapsed to the ground, face-first.

Penelope jumped again at the sudden thud, her glare softening into surprised worry.

She quickly assessed the situation—should she call for help, or flee before the knights arrived and blamed her for his sudden collapse? 

Penelope didn’t have time to ponder further. Her blue gaze, surprisingly calm given the circumstances, was fixed on Truman when a long, deep snore escaped his lips.

Penelope got off the boulder and stepped closer to his body, the grass crunching under her feet.

He’s breathing, she observed, noting the steady rise and fall of his back.

Kneeling beside him, Penelope gently used her index finger to push Truman's face off the ground and to the side so he could breathe more easily. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, and for the first time, she noticed the pronounced dark circles under his eyes.

"He’s asleep," she mumbled, rising to return to her rock. She glanced back at Truman, who now slept as soundly as a baby.

"Pay..." Truman mumbled. "... Full... asshole."

"... Weirtho." She said, snorting at her inability to speak properly, still.

She made a point to remind herself that she was the real weirdo here.

Payment... Penelope's mind whirred with an idea.

“Thwuman?” she called softly, receiving no response. “Do you want to be rich?” she asked, louder this time.

“… Hm.” Truman flinched slightly at the word rich.

Sitting on her rock, she thought it all over. She recalled Truman’s night shift, which had followed a full day’s work—she noted that she had seen him laboring before she attempted her escape. His attitude toward the other knights, his evident exhaustion...

A wicked grin spread across Penelope’s face as she stared into the darkening woods around her.

'I think I found one.' She thought, a flare of delight making her blue eyes sparkle under the moonlight. 'A candidate to be my partner in crime.'

I was humming a tune, watching the knights on their horses gallop beside my prison carriage. My cute little stone golem-shaped black wooden sculpture was wedged between the metal bars of the window. I had named him Pip.

For the first time since I arrived here, I had a good feeling about this day.

Last night, I finally found him: a suitable partner in crime.

I had a list of requirements for a partner, and he needed four essential attributes:

- Money-hungry.

- Slow on the uptake.

- Trustworthy.

- Physically apt (at least more so than my spaghetti body right now).

And Truman checked most of these.

My gaze fixated on Truman, whose large build made him stand out from his peers, even as he rode the shortest horse in the bunch.

“Alithe,” I called to the maid sitting across from me. We were alone in the carriage, as usual. I hadn’t realized she was trying to sleep, given her droopy eyes.

"Yes?"

"How well awe you acquainted wid Thruman?"

I wondered if a potion existed that could spare me from the hellish pain I felt every time I opened my mouth to talk. I couldn’t brew an anesthetic for myself just yet; I didn’t have the freedom to roam and gather the necessary ingredients either.

"Well enough," Alice replied.

"I newer sheen you tok to him do (though)?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you dissatisfied with my usefulness, my lady?"

"Does he pick up ode jobs?" I put a hand on my jaw, grimacing at the pain.

"... Yes." Alice glanced at my motion with a glint of unease in her eyes. "I’ve heard he collects herbs and sells them to the medic. He also takes on shifts from his colleagues in exchange for money. He, well, to illustrate, he has a habit of asking people if they have any labour he can help them accomplish, to the point where he gained the nickname of 'Questrman.'"

He plays dumb, but I have a feeling he's sharper than he lets on.

"I have a question," Alice spoke up from the seat facing my own, breaking me out of my fantasies of freedom.

Alice had been quiet since morning, as usual, and this was the first time she spoke to me in a while. As soon as the words left her lips, she seemed to cringe at herself, glare at space, and then look back at me.

Her hair appeared a shade darker within the carriage, as did her eyes.

"What is it?" I asked, a little too welcoming of her question.

"There," she pointed to my neck. I looked down, remembering the injury I had quickly bandaged using the fabric I meant to steal for my jaw. "What happened, in your opinion?"

"Nearly got beheaded by the coward," I said. "I mean, the cowander."

Alice didn't seem surprised by my revelation, more by my brutal honesty...

"... I will talk to the commander about the physician's negligence." She kept a careful at the clumsily bandaged injury. "He was specifically assigned to keep you healthy. Your father paid an extra fee for his presence at our side."

Marquis Ashdown? That's unexpected.

"Okay," I leaned back in my seat. "Goot luk."

I turned back toward the horizon, where the world seemed to stretch out endlessly, a greenery-covered hill, both beautiful and treacherous in its vastness. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the landscape, dulling the dust kicked up by the horses’ hooves and the creaking wheels of our carriage.

Though the metal bars of the window obstructed my view, I had grown accustomed to their presence by now.

I was slowly falling into a slumber, something to be expected given how I got three hours of nightmares last night and barely one of real sleep.

A sudden thought jolted me awake. "By the way..." I murmured, my eyelids heavy with the weight of exhaustion. "Healing pot-potion... Can I buy one?"

Alice, ever vigilant, responded immediately. "I shall try to—" but her words faltered as her eyes drooped close. "Get it..."

Before I could finish that thought, my head slipped and fell against the window, and for the first time in the past two weeks, I fell asleep.