Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 14: Suspicions

The Quinnian continues to watch my every move. I feign surprise, fighting to conceal my shock. "Maybe he was slipping off the edge at the time. He did live to a ripe old age of a hundred and forty," I babble, distracting myself from the gnawing feeling in my stomach. "It has to be—I'm obviously not a girl." I don't know why I say that. If anything, it's sure to make Quinnian Allura even more suspicious.

"No," she says slowly. "You are obviously not a girl."

I quickly snap the book shut, as though it is cursed by a necromancer. In a more decisive tone, I say, "No, I'm not."

"So you have no idea why Lord Hubert had written this?" The Quinnian picks the book up again, waving it about in the air.

I shake my head with forced mournfulness. "Aside from what I said just now, no."

The air is thick with restrained silence. The Quinnian and I are unable to offer words of a normal conversation to each other. We just stare at the book before us, tongues frozen in their respective places.

"Perhaps he'd just wanted to play a jest on his successor," Quinnian Allura suggests lightly. "Come, we shouldn't keep Squire Falkner waiting." I almost sag in relief at her words.

"Yes, Qui – Allura." I catch myself when the scholar shoots me a swift look.

We exit the room in silence. When we finally reach the hallway outside the library, Gilbert is leaning against the wall, picking his fingers. He jumps up eagerly when he sees us emerging out of the doors. "Finally! You two kept me waiting for so long! I almost thought that I was deliberately left here so that I can tear the bricks apart out of sheer boredom."

Quinn – Allura smiles at him. I hide my smile.

"Hurry now, I have business to do before sundown." Allura's words spur us to speed up, though in the end her mortal weakness forces Gilbert and me to slow down. Gilbert bounds along cheerfully, squawking and complaining about how sore his legs are and how painful his black eye is. However, despite the faux-cheery atmosphere, nothing can stop the painful awkwardness between the Quinnian and I.

******

As we enter the Galennus Workhouse, the smell of various herbs mingling with each other produces a scent that is not unlike a broth full of clashing ingredients. The workhouse is composed of many rooms—where each Galennus and his or her assistant is assigned to—which are all connected by way of a corridor built down the centre of the structure.

All about us, the excited clatter of metal and the bubbling noises of concoctions harmonise with each other happily. Assistants rush around, picking up materials from a room where all the medicinal plants are stocked.

Beside me, Gilbert is still chatting happily with no one in particular, the current conversation topic being something to do with exotic fruits. I'm distracted from his endless talking, which had seemed so annoying a few minutes ago. Now, I'm only anticipating the moment where I see the Galennus the scholar is bringing us to.

"Please don't let it be Galennus Asa," I mutter under my breath.

Allura guides us into one of the workrooms, which has an interesting layout. While the size and structure are similar to the others, it draws the eye because one side seems to be run by a person entirely and voraciously obsessed with neatness—perfectly in order, with nary a trace of unruliness. The other side however, gives me the impression that no living person has inhabited that side for more than a century—with piles and piles of paper discarded haphazardly all over the floor, coupled with the bottles of potions spilling over the paper, it is a wonder that rats and cockroaches don't scurry in and out of the heap every few seconds.