STABLE BOY ; Trash of the Count's Family

04. OBSERVATIONS FROM CALE

Cale Henituse had to admit— the stable boy was weird. He wasn't a character in the novel, which was odd because of how much he naturally stood out.

He was small and young for a servant of his experience— just barely twenty, apparently— and he was hired here after being recommended by the townsfolk for his skills. He had no family to account for, and no roots to attribute any heritage to. 

He was just a capable, hard working young man.

His hair was dark— not completely black like Choi Han, but it was certainly quite close to it leaning toward a deep green, which made it unusual in Roan.

And then there were the tattoos.

On his left arm, starting from the middle of his palm— flame patterns. They spiralled down to his wrist in a band, and then opened into stripes and dots, crosses, and petals., then scales. There seemed to be much further up his sleeve, the edge of skulls and chains just barely visible from a distance.

He never hid them, but he also never answered any questions about them.

"Where could a slum rat have found the money or the artist to do so many?"

It's a question often passed around the staff. Not to insult, but of genuine curiosity. If that wasn't expensive, it must have been risky. And yet, all the ink never seemed infected.

Apparently, "he said they just appear on his body some days," Hans told Cale when he asked. "It's true! He never leaves the servant dorms, and yet, somedays his roommates will find a new one."

"What is it, some kind of infectious rash?" Cale couldn't help but retort. It's either that or some tattoo artist is doing stealth practice on the servants at night, and Cale didn't know which was scarier.

Hans laughed heartily at that. "Of course not, we think it might be an inherited biological or cultural condition of some kind, like his sleep attacks, but with his birth story we'll never know for sure."

There was also the possibility that it was a seal for some kind of power.

After all, in this world, Ancient Powers left a symbol on their users' bodies. Cale wouldn't know if there was one that could cumulatively add symbols to someone's arm, but considering he's a transmigrated human, he can't eliminate the possibility of some kind of ability outside his realm of knowledge.

Maybe he's thinking too far.

That guy is so jumpy he's got to be harmless... even if he did have some kind of weird magic or ability, Cale couldn't see him being something to be alarmed about.

It's not like he's Ron or Vicross level of scary, right?

"Who was that trainee butler that served me yesterday?" Cale brought up.

"Oh, Gian? He's been fired."

Cale was surprised, honestly. Hans was so frank about it, like it was obvious. Maybe it was— only people with status like Cale get to be trashy and haughty without consequences, after all.

"We had to. The butlers never mess with the stables! It's rule number one in the community section of the rule book we're given!" Hans stressed this part so sincerely, "I literally told him that was the second most important thing! It was my first conversation with him and he forgot! Of course he gets fired. Being forgetful while you're a nervous newbie is fine, but not when it's about that!"

If the infamous Henituse Butler to Stablehand rivalry was rule number two, then Cale wondered what was the first most important thing.

...it's 'do not annoy Cale Henituse', isn't it?

Also, Cale never forgets things, so he couldn't relate at all.

"I'm going out today. Get me a carriage."

"Yes, young master."

-

"...he's asleep? In that position?"

When Cale realized the one driving his coach today wouldn't be South, he went to investigate. Only to find South stood precariously in the corner of the stables, in the midst of some hay— snoring while standing.

His legs were stood just slightly leaning on his left, and his balance was miraculously offset by the rake in his hands, which he was cradling carefully across his midsection to his shoulder. While he was upright now, he swayed with his breathing, like a particularly strong wind would knock him right over.

"Yes, it's fairly common," said the head coachman. "Sometimes he falls asleep in the middle of conversations and meals, too."

"Oh, so this inhumane body balance is the only reason he's not drowned in a ditch somewhere," Cale mused.

The head coachman stifled laughter. "Count Henituse allows him to sleep like this because his productivity is still high. His medicine is expensive, anyways."

Now Cale raised a brow. 

"Are we not paying him enough? Since when was my father such a stingy man?"

Head coachman sighed deeply. 

"He refused the payment raises, saying he would rather donate it to charity."

"What? What a waste," Cale blanched. How could he refuse money? "From now on, raise his pay anyway. Arrange payments for his meals and medication regardless if he wants it or not."

Now the Head coachman whirled over flabbergasted. First because who is this man and what did they do with Cale Henituse, and secondly, "but young master! What if he refuses to take them, even if we buy it for him?"

"Then take away his rake right now and let him fall," Cale said, walking away. "Refusing money from our county when we've so much money is an insult to the Henituse name."

Or at least, that's a convenient excuse. Seriously, why would you refuse money when it's right there, being given to you? Are you dumb?

"I'll wait at the front gates, bring the carriage around."

"Ah— yes, young master..."