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“... and I can't imagine how Mr Ingsheares manages to get his work done so swiftly. He's a fine craftsman that obviously takes pride in his work. Oh... don't tell me...”
Van Zieks glowered. “Your gaze holds such meaning, Mr Naruhodo. Speak plainly lest I misinterpret you.”
Ryunosuke scratched his neck. “Well, you are a lord and one of his longest-standing customers. Did you leverage your position to hasten the process?”
“Hogwash. That I would bully the valued artisan who supplies all of my wardrobe - don't be absurd. Have you considered that if I were ill-mannered to the point of abuse, I should not rush Mr Ingsheares on your behalf?”
Well, that stung.
“... you could have just said 'no'.”
“Hmph. We've arrived,” van Zieks rumbled as the hansom slowed to a stop. He supported Ryunosuke's arm as they disembarked, ensuring Ryunosuke did not step in the large mud puddle that had accumulated in the gutter during yesterday's rain.
Located off of the Strand, Mr Pinke Ingsheares's exclusive tailor shop was an unremarkable red brick building, only detectable by dint of a neat row of flower boxes affixed to the facade. In them grew a profusion of little star-shaped flowers with serrated petals, most of them in shades of pink that put Ryunosuke in mind of Iris's herb garden.
During his initial measuring appointment, Ryunosuke had learned they were a kind of carnation, and that the endlessly prosaic English called them, fittingly, “pinks”. He had joked about this to Susato. Instead of jumping in on the fun, Susato lectured him that he, as a learned Japanese man, should know what kind of flowers they were on sight – those blandly named English pinks were related to Japanese nadeshiko, the ancient floral symbol of a graceful, refined Japanese woman. He had argued that most nadeshiko were far frillier in appearance than their English relatives, so it was understandable he did not recognize them. This was not well-received. Similarly, his (genuine!) opinion that Susato resembled an English rose far more than a nadeshiko landed as neatly as a pie to the face.
Ryunosuke realized he'd been glaring at the flower boxes as he remembered the sting of that past afternoon's Susato Takedown. It wasn't the pinks' fault that he'd formed a negative association in his mind, so with a mumbled apology for his rudeness, he bent down to greet them. Their fragrance was so gentle he could only detect it when he pressed his nose into a loose clutch of them, their petals so insubstantial he could barely feel the brush of them against his skin.
When he straightened, van Zieks was looking down at him thoughtfully, his brow shadowed by the brim of his hat. As used to van Zieks's face as he had become, Ryunosuke still quailed under the weight of that blue stare.
“What? Did I get something on my face?”
“You seem rather taken with these flowers. Shall I have the gardener plant some?”
Ryunosuke felt his heart skip a beat. Had he not seen the reddened tips of van Zieks's ears, he might have been fooled into thinking the question was posed out of cursory interest.
Atop the gift of new clothes, he could grow flowers of his own at the London house... little gestures like that proved just how deeply van Zieks had planted Ryunosuke in his heart. By all accounts he should have felt embarrassed. And he did, a little. But the greater part of him was pleased beyond measure, and van Zieks preferred to see him happy, as much as he loved to make Ryunosuke squirm in shame in court.
“If, if you'd like them,” he managed to say at a reasonable volume, a Herculean undertaking when he wanted to crow gleefully at the top of his lungs. “That might be nice, actually. Are you fond of pinks?”
Van Zieks cast an appraising gaze over the flower boxes. He was so still and tall and forbidding he looked like nothing so much as an undertaker selecting greenery for a funeral.
“These varieties are abundant and simple to maintain. I am sure we could find room among the bleeding hearts and calla lilies for them.”
'We could find room'! WE... much more of this and Ryunosuke would have to jump into that puddle outside to cool his head.
“Wouldn't they be frightened by the bleeding hearts?” He'd slowly accustomed himself to the sight of them at van Zieks's London house, but they still gave him gooseflesh if he looked at them too closely.
(This was another flower-based point of contention between himself and Susato. He maintained that just because bleeding hearts were native to Japan, and that he'd seen them often throughout his life, he wasn't required to like or tolerate their appearance. He was making the effort now in deference to van Zieks's aesthetic sensibilities! That would have to suffice-)
“Somehow I doubt they'd mind,” van Zieks drawled, interrupting Ryunosuke's train of thought, and opened the shop door.
The interior of the tailor shop looked as one might expect, but if you asked Ryunosuke to describe what a standard English tailor shop should look like, he wouldn't be able to tell you. Despite the large glass windows facing the street, the shop was warm and close thanks to the wood-fire heater puffing away, and made even cosier by shelves of fabric and a large, cheerful calendar proclaiming the day of the month on the far wall. The frame that held it was emblazoned with a large cloisonné piece depicting a five-petaled pink and engraved with its scientific name, Dianthus plumarius.
Ingsheares himself was a stout, middle-aged man with pleasantly rounded cheeks and a receding hairline. Rising from where he'd installed himself on his workbench, he greeted them with a soft cry of there they are! and happily took Ryunosuke's cape and cap, chattering to a looming van Zieks about everything and the price of fish.
He quite liked Mr Ingsheares. Ingsheares had known van Zieks since he was a child, from the time that Klint van Zieks had first sought out his services. Decades on and he still treated van Zieks with genuine respect and bonhomie, not wheedling or distrustful fear.
He suspected Ingsheares treated everyone that way. It was nice to know people like him existed in this often unwelcoming city.
When Ingsheares stopped for breath, he instructed Ryunosuke to step into the dressing room, and the mostly-finished suit would be brought for him to try on. Aside from being present for the measurements, Ryunosuke had not involved himself in the process of ordering the suit, overwhelmed by the questions about fit, fabrics, colors, and accessories. He knew nothing about drapery and had only the faintest knowledge of seasonality, so he had been grateful to leave the design particulars in van Zieks's hands. Today would be the first time he would see what had been chosen for him.
New clothes... new clothes from Lord van Zieks...!
His toes curled in his shoes, and he couldn't help but smile.
Ingsheares seemed to think Ryunosuke was smiling at him specifically, responding brightly: “If the pieces are to your liking, you may well be able to wear them home today!”
Now Ryunosuke's smile was entirely for the tailor. “Really? You need not rush on my account...”
“No, no, Mr Naruhodo, it's been no rush. I'm simply accustomed to his lordship's style,” Ingsheares said conspiratorially, winking exaggeratedly from behind his spectacles. “I've had practice, you see.”
“I shall leave him in your care, then,” van Zieks said briskly, placing his hat back on his head. The teasing had flustered him. “I won't be far, and shall return shortly.”
“Very well, my lord,” Ingsheares said, bowing slightly. “We both shall keep out of trouble, won't we?”
Ryunosuke laughed. “With a little effort we'll manage.”
Satisfied, van Zieks glanced at Ryunosuke before he turned to go. The warmth of his gaze put such a lightness in Ryunosuke's step that he fairly floated into the dressing booth.
He had just taken off his jacket when a crash resounded from the front of the shop. Emerging, he found a man wearing a beautiful pink waistcoat and steel grey tailcoat arguing with Ingsheares. The newcomer's his voice carried through the shop as easily as a hot knife through butter.
“... and I don't give a fig if there's anyone else here in this shop! The more to hear this nonsense the better!” His dreary grey eyes were red about the seams, ageing a face that was likely no more than thirty years old. “You, there! In the shirtsleeves! I'd have you know that this fellow is nothing more than a base cheat and liar. I'll never spend my money here again! You can kiss your reputation good-bye, Ingsheares! Thinking you can just give the clothes I ordered in good faith to-”
“S-sir Horneswoggler, why would I do such a thing to you? I swear it, I-”
Thinking back on this moment later that evening, Ryunosuke wasn't quite sure what came over him. He would never have done what he was about to do if he was still in Tokyo. But as he listened to Sir Horneswoggler berate Ingsheares, something strange and light rose in his chest, and he stepped forward, smiling, to say:
“Pray tell, Sir Horneswoggler, are you a follower of Herlock Sholmes's adventures in the Randst?”
“What? What has that to do with anything?” The gentleman drew himself up to his full height, which brought his eyes exactly level with Ryunosuke's.
“Everything, truth be told. I'd hate for Mr Ingsheares to lose a customer over a mere misunderstanding,” Ryunosuke said, giving Horneswoggler his sunniest smile.
“There is no misunderstanding here!” Horneswoggler protested. “He- he-”
Ryunosuke channelled Sholmes with a waggle of his upraised finger. “Instead of all this hullabaloo, why don't I show you how easily one may deduce the source of your mutual strife?”
“You-” Horneswoggler's lips twitched.
“Yes, let's!” Ingsheares nodded vigorously, eyes darting between Ryunosuke and Horneswoggler. His enthusiasm rang false. Not that Ryunosuke could blame him for assuming this was entirely a ploy to buy time and not a chance for Ryunosuke to show off.
“Ha.” Horneswoggler shook his head, errant cowlicks of limp dishwater-brown hair waggling to and fro. “I have only a few minutes to waste on you-”
“Splendid!” Ryunosuke spread his hands, canting forward at the waist. “I flatter myself that I've come to thoroughly understand the science of deduction. Perhaps you good gentlemen could survey and critique my attempt?”
“Well, I am extremely busy, but if you insist on showing me your strange foreign understanding of the inimitable Herlock Sholmes, who am I to stop you?”
“Very well! Let us begin.”
Both Ingsheares and Horneswoggler flinched as Ryunosuke slid into position. They couldn't hear the music in his head, of course, but that wouldn't stop him from dancing.
“I, Ryunosuke Naruhodo, am proud to present... my valiant attempt at a Sholmesian Logic and Reasoning Spectacular!”
“Being that today is Saturday, a man-about-town like Sir Horneswoggler finds himself with ample leisure time! Unless today is an exceedingly important day for him.”
“...!” Horneswoggler glanced at the wall where the large calendar hung.
“Ah, his eyes have given him away. Given how anxious Sir Horneswoggler appears, and how insistent he is on dressing well, he is off to a social engagement with a treasured friend!”
“?” Both Horneswoggler and Ingsheares tilted their heads in confusion. Surely they were agog at how Ryunosuke had deduced that from so little!
“However, as our fashionable sir is so very busy he ran out of his house without one very precious item...”
Ryunosuke gestured to the pink waistcoat clinging expertly to Horneswoggler's torso. He was on the right track with this, he was sure; the surprise on Horneswoggler's vaguely handsome features was proof positive.
“... he is without his watch! Realizing he had an order outstanding with his tailor, he decided to visit, not only to check the time, but to pick up the clothing he had ordered from Mr Ingsheares's fine establishment.”
“Wha-”
“That I did, that I did!” Horneswoggler agreed, glaring at Ingsheares.
“Sir, be careful sashaying past that cabinet – oh, dear, is sashaying necessary for this...?” Ingsheares pressed his knuckles to his lips, eyes wide.
“Fear not,” van Zieks rumbled from his chair in the corner.
Despite his large frame, van Zieks could move as silently as a cat in the night, and not only had he snuck back into the shop undetected, he had procured a wine bottle and poured himself a glass. He lifted the glass in a mocking toast to the rest of the room.
“Mr Naruhodo understands that there will be consequences should his reckless abandon cause real harm.”
“Th-thank you for the vote of confidence, my lord!” Ryunosuke chirped, willing his startlement to subside. He knew he looked a proper idiot, dancing around jacketless, but van Zieks knew better than to stop him when he was in one of these moods.
“After having looked at Ingsheares's gorgeous wall calendar, the good sir realised he has misjudged his own social calendar!”
“Now that we understand why Sir Horneswoggler's temper is running hot, let us consider the next loose thread of this tapestry...”
“Oh, because cloth, yes,” Ingsheares murmured.
Ryunosuke grinned and spun, cocking his hip against the desk behind which Ingsheares had taken refuge.
“Ah!”
“... why are you so aggrieved, Mr Ingsheares?”
“Other than the obvious reason?” The tailor's voice shook. “Well, I shall have you know that-”
“Not another word,” hissed Horneswoggler.
Ah, if only Horneswoggler wasn't so quick to underestimate those around him.
Ryunosuke grinned.
“Not to worry, Mr Ingsheares – if your tongue is bound to secrecy, there are ways to deduce your woes from the constellation of clues in which you stand!”
Van Zieks sighed softly, refilling his glass.
“Milord?”
“Carry on,” van Zieks said tersely. “Unlike Sir Horneswoggler, I have nothing of importance on my agenda for today.”
That was a patent lie. They were meant to visit the Chelsea Physic Garden today with Iris – a hard-won visitation, as unlike other botanic gardens in London, the physic garden was dedicated to scientific research and was not open to the public. He'd have to hurry this up a bit so they would not miss their appointment... but it wouldn't do to rush overmuch.
After all, dancing out one's reasoning was such fun!
“On your desk are many different calendars. One additional calendar might be understandable, but fifteen is either an obsession or a necessity. Let us see...”
Horneswoggler's bit-off curse of surprise as Ryunosuke danced closer only made him bolder.
“Each of these calendars has the name of a gentleman or a crest noted – I see the van Zieks swords there, and on the farthest right, there is one labelled 'Sir Horneswoggler'. The good sir's calendar is the fullest and most well-timed of them all – it is practically a daily agenda!”
His arm swept up in triumph.
“Mr Ingsheares, I put forth that your upset is due to overwork – not only are you engaged in your trade day by day, you are working on the side as Mr Horneswoggler's secretary!”
“Thus concludes Ryunosuke Naruhodo's great Sholmesian deduction!”
Here he paused for dramatic effect-
- and was met with resounding silence.
Ingsheares and Horneswoggler's expressions were each a study in befuddlement. Van Zieks let them stew in their respective disappointments before he took it upon himself to break the silence, swirling the remaining wine in his glass and draining it.
“...I'll grant that my second act was much shorter than the first,” Ryunosuke chuckled, scratching his neck. “Well? How was it?”
More silence.
“... was I really that far off the mark?”
“No, that was splendidly done,” Horneswoggler exclaimed, at the same time that Ingsheares dodged away from his swiping hand, yelling, “Blimey, yes, you've got it entirely wrong!”
“I, I have? Ah, ahahaha...”
This was the first time he'd reasoned out something like this on his own, after all. It was one thing to listen to Sholmes's deductions first and provide his own refinements. It was entirely another to do it himself from nothing.
“If I may...”
“Lord van Zieks?” Ingsheares wrung his hands, watching van Zieks unfurl himself from the chair. Horneswoggler backed against the desk, trying to look down his nose and instead managing to look like a man showing his chin wart to a surgeon.
“I overheard enough of my learned friend's attempted deduction to understand the chain of logic he has followed. If you've a few more minutes, Sir Horneswoggler, I shall improve upon his deductions and present you with an accurate analysis of the situation at hand.”
“And if I do not have any more minutes?”
“I strongly advise that you find some,” van Zieks rumbled, eyes narrowing. “For a true gentleman does not take advantage of youthful naïvete to further his own ends.”
Before Horneswoggler could protest, Ryunosuke bounced on his heels, drawing the attention of the room. “How exciting that his lordship wishes to join in! Let us return to the beginning, gentlemen... of Ryunosuke Naruhodo's Sholm-”
“Oh, just get on with it,” Horneswoggler and Ingsheares cried in unison, one in anger and one in exasperation.
“... we shall return to the beginning of the attempted Sholmesian Logic and Reasoning Spectacular.”
As solemnly as a monk in prayer, van Zieks lifted his arms into a loose circle, one booted foot sliding in front of the other. Before Ryunosuke could ask what the blazes was happening, Ingsheares cried:
“Oh, it's been so long since I've seen his lordship's ballet!”
Ryunosuke goggled. “B, ballet?!”
“Today is Saturday, a day of leisure and rest. Indeed, Sir Horneswoggler is observing his own form of sabbath, yet all of his days are almost all leisure and no toil – and very little social engagement, if memory serves,” van Zieks said quietly, his toe tracing a large arc across the wooden floor, “for Sir Horneswoggler is not in Society's favour. All his proposals fielded on the marriage mart have been rebuffed since last year's scandal-” this was not elaborated upon, but Horneswoggler's face went as pale as fog “-and ill-judged investments in numerous failing enterprises have made his means, if you will, meaner than ever before.”
One solid thunk of an iron heel against the floorboards silenced Horneswoggler's indignant protest. Van Zieks continued at greater volume, as if addressing a witness in court.
“Some desperate men understand that the best cure for flagrant spending is austerity. Others, however, turn the other way, opening their purses to gambling hells, dog fighting... and horse races.”
“!” Horneswoggler glanced at the wall again, drawing Ryunosuke's eyes back to the calendar.
Ah!
This time, he noticed the image in the lower corner: a woodcut print of a horse galloping at full tilt, the dirt spraying from beneath its hooves resolving into a banner emblazoned with the word SANDOWN.
“We can infer, by his glance and comportment, that Sir Horneswoggler wishes to attend the races at Sandown Park. He left his home in a state of excitement and chose to visit Mr Ingsheares before travelling to Surrey, as he has several orders in progress. In his haste to inquire at the shop, he tripped and fell from his curricle into the sizeable mud puddle outside.”
“Ha!” Horneswoggler slapped a palm onto the desk in mock amusement. “Now just how do you know that? There was no one else on the street when I arrived, not even your driver!”
So he did fall in that ugly puddle, Ryunosuke thought, and he all but admitted to it just now. He'd never tire of watching van Zieks needle the guilty into blurting out the shape of the truth, even if he was shattering Ryunosuke's original conclusions to smithereens as he did so.
“Even now, the aggrieved Mr Ingsheares endeavours to preserve your reputation in spite of your fervent efforts otherwise. He has hidden your mud-stained clothes behind his desk; I can smell the stink of them from here.”
“Oh, wonderful! Marvelous!” Ingsheares, freed from one shackle of propriety, held up a frock coat that dripped all over with greenish-brown mud. “Yes, Lord van Zieks! Your nose is as keen as ever!”
“Put that away!” Horneswoggler protested, swiping fruitlessly for the sullied frock. As he did so, a watch fell out of a pocket, dangling from its chain, along with a flyer for the Sandown races that fluttered to the desk below.
Van Zieks gestured to both items with elegantly splayed fingers.
“You had possession of your watch from the moment you left home, and you know exactly when the races start at Sandown. How unfortunate that a bit of clumsiness has thrown off your schedule. According to the flyer, the race starts... in an hour. What a pity. You shall be quite late.”
“If the good sir is thinking of running, I advise him to think again.” Van Zieks shifted again into an elegant extension of leg and arm. It looked pretty, but Ryunosuke knew one move would block any movement toward the door.
“A flawless attitude,” Ingsheares breathed behind cupped hands. He pronounced the last word with a distinctly French lilt, ah-tee-tewd, so he must have meant the pose, not the chilly contempt roiling off of van Zieks.
“With one of our mysteries solved, let us turn our attention to our second point of contention.”
When Horneswoggler nonetheless attempted to make a run for it, van Zieks stepped forward as quickly as a breath, graceful as a leaf on the wind. He perched on one foot, one leg extended behind him, with his arms lifted before him as if on a gentle breeze.
“Third arabesque,” squeaked Ingsheares.
It was a gorgeous sight. Van Zieks himself was beautiful, and Ingsheares's peerless tailoring made all the folds of his clothes set off every curve and angle to perfection. But... still. A man of his size and proportions took up a great deal of the shop's limited space with his limbs all akimbo, a too-large ballerino in a too-small music box.
Ryunosuke would not and could not laugh. Instead, he'd sear the memory into his brain for future amusement.
Van Zieks continued:
“Mr Ingsheares has always been an impeccable scheduler and keeper of his deadlines. He keeps separate books for all of his customers, of which there are many, among them my own family and the esteemed Hornswogglers.”
“Which is all the more reason for him to assist me! I cannot be seen at the races in muddy clothes!”
“Money from any pocket spends just the same. The good sir merely did not wish to return home and change into clean attire when he had a perfectly amenable mark to defraud.”
“Defraud! What slanderous-” Horneswoggler scoffed. “Lord van Zieks, I cannot waste any more time playing silly buggers with you and your foreign boy. Ingsheares is giving me some of the pieces I ordered in advance because he is a consummate professional and wishes to keep my business. Look at my book!”
“I am well aware of the long relationship your family has maintained with Mr Ingsheares. More to the point, I need not look at the book he keeps to know that the pieces on your person are not yours.”
“What?!”
“They're not?” Ryunosuke, who had been watching raptly, spoke up. “But they fit him perfectly!”
“I wonder if they do.” Van Zieks turned to Horneswoggler. “Sir, would you button your coat?”
“I certainly will!” Horneswoggler grasped one of the coat's buttons moved to fasten it, but couldn't quite get it around his middle. He tried again, and again, and again until van Zieks snapped, “Stop.”
“Ingsheares! You got my measurements wrong!”
“They are not your measurements, as you very well know, sir, for those are not your clothes. On the inner lining of the left breast of the waistcoat and beneath the collar of the coat are van Zieks crests, embroidered in thread of gold. Isn't that right?”
Van Zieks crests?
Ryunosuke felt his cheeks flame. “Wait, those are mine?”
“Van Zieks!” Horneswoggler raged.
“They are Mr. Ryunosuke Naruhodo's, as ordered by myself,” van Zieks sneered, “and we should all be much obliged if you would remove them at once before you are taken to the nearest police box for attempted theft – another mark on your poor reputation that Ingsheares wished to help you avoid.”
“Thus concludes the final act of our Sholmesian Logic and Reasoning Spectacular.”
As self-possessed as ever, Van Zieks swept into a bow that any dancer would envy.
It surprised no one that Horneswoggler attempted to scarper immediately. Van Zieks foiled his attempt in a single move that the man sprawling to the floor; after he was made to divest himself of Ryunosuke's new coat and waistcoat, the bobby on beat was called to escort him out of the shop.
Ingsheares fell over himself in apology after apology, practically melting into the floor. They had just managed to restore his equilibrium when he discovered that Horneswoggler had ruptured some seams in both the tailcoat and waistcoat. This sent him into a greater panic than before.
Several minutes of concerted effort later, van Zieks now sat with Ingsheares, feeding him wine and speaking to him in low, gentle tones. While lord and tailor were occupied, Ryunosuke contrived to stay out of the way. Now was the perfect time to inspect the clothes van Zieks had helped design.
Just as difficult as it was to quash his disappointment at not being able to wear them out of the shop, it was hard not to turn round and exclaim in awe at the skill on display. The soft pink fabric of the waistcoat was actually pinstriped, each stripe so fine that the surface fairly shimmered as Ryunosuke turned it this way and that. And the tailcoat! The steely grey colour was a near match for van Zieks's favourite daily coat, simply adjusted to look well against Ryunosuke's warm brown complexion. It took everything in him not to bury his face in it and squeal happily.
...but did they really have the crests? Or had van Zieks been bluffing?
Steeling himself, he peeked inside of the waistcoat-
-and picked out in gold on the inner left breast were the crossed swords of the van Zieks family. A quick glance at the tailcoat showed a crest of the same size, glittering against the sumptuous purple satin lining an inch below the collar.
Swallowing hard, he fought the desperate urge to run his fingers over the embroidery. He knew that if he did, he'd blush, and if he blushed, he'd get teased, and after having his deductions so thoroughly picked apart by van Zieks in front of Mr Ingsheares, he didn't think he could handle it, even in good fun. He'd have to blush as much as he wanted on the way to Chelsea.
Thus resolved to keep his physical state in check, it dawned on him that when he wore these out and about, the crests would press against his heart and the nape of his neck.
His face instantly flared with prickly heat. He clapped his palms over his burning face as quietly as he could manage and bit his lip to keep from muttering his thoughts aloud.
Van Zieks wasn't a man of untoward presumption. He must have known Ryunosuke would accept these marks of... ownership didn't seem the right word, but that's what it was, wasn't it? More than simple fraternity and acceptance. Nothing so emotionless as mere association.
Here is Ryunosuke Naruhodo, and he is mine, the crests said.
Yes, he could accept this. Implicit in the claim was its reverse, after all: here is Barok van Zieks, and he is Ryunosuke Naruhodo's.
He is mine.
As soon as Ingsheares was soothed (and Ryunosuke's skin temperature had lowered to normal), a new appointment was scheduled, and with a genial leavetaking they were off to Baker Street to fetch Iris. They had gone only a few blocks in the hansom when a sheepish van Zieks withdrew a slightly squished bouquet of roses from beneath his cloak.
Where had they come from?! Was that what he stepped out to see to earlier? He must have been sitting on them while Ryunosuke was spouting his nonsense, then left them beneath his cloak on the chair. Poor things.
From the look on van Zieks's face Ryunosuke could tell he'd said that last bit out loud, so he continued:
“They're so beautiful. I never knew roses came in so many colours.”
It was as if van Zieks had run amok in a hot house, grabbing as many different kinds of roses as he could lay his hands on. There was a red one, like the one Officer Beate had bought for his wife on their anniversary, but the rest were unexpected shades of pink, white, yellow, and even a light purple colour reminiscent of van Zieks's own hair. Ryunosuke made a show of burying his nose in that one, inhaling the heavy fragrance deep into his lungs.
Hm... would Lord van Zieks ever dance ballet for Ryunosuke's sake?
“What was that?”
Curse his leaky mouth. “Oh! Erm. Will the physic garden turn me away in my student attire?”
“As much as I was looking forward to seeing you in your new suit, no, they will not, not with me escorting you.”
Somehow it surprised him that van Zieks was also disappointed. Judging by the faint bitterness in his voice, van Zieks must have awaited today with an eagerness to match Ryunosuke's own. The contempt he had shown during his dance of deduction had so swiftly given way to concern for Ingsheares's wellbeing that there had been no room for disappointment to show itself.
But now, safely hidden within the privacy of a moving vehicle, van Zieks had allowed himself a moment of petulance. Petulance that only Ryunosuke could see.
Such trust was an even finer gift than clothes and roses.
“Then, today was not a loss in the least. After all...”
He leaned against van Zieks's shoulder, pillowing his cheek against the thick wool of the prosecutor's cape. It smelled of London smog, of the tailor shop's wood stove, of van Zieks himself.
“After all, regardless of whose crest is sewn into my clothes, I'm yours, Barok van Zieks.”
A gloved hand lifted his cap to make room for warm kisses pressed against his hairline. Once. Twice. Thrice.
“And I, yours,” van Zieks replied. “Ryunosuke Naruhodo.”
Unable to keep pretending at bravado he didn't feel, Ryunosuke caught the hand at his brow and threaded their fingers together, squeezing as tightly as he dared, for in that moment, words had deserted him.
When he found them again, he asked:
“Are you really going to let me plant pinks in the yard?”
“Why not?”
“Mmm... well, could I grow other flowers?”
Van Zieks hummed softly. “Such as?”
“Other carnations, maybe...”
“...”
“Green ones?”
“... objection.”