When he entered the room, Clara was surprisingly awake and fluttering from the table to the bed. On the floor in the middle of the room was a bedspread with two pillows facing each other and two plates in the middle. Two earthenware mugs stood beside the plates. Bacon and eggs and two cups of tea tickled his nostrils and awakened his appetite.
"What are you doing?" Cyril asked, smiling in spite of himself.
"We'll have a picnic!" Clara exclaimed, and in two strides she was at his side.
Before Cyril could do anything, the girl jumped on him, put her arms around his neck, wrapped her legs around his thighs, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Good morning." She smiled, smelling his breath.
"Ugh." Cyril said, grimacing. "Not that good."
'I need to introduce toothpaste into this world.'
He shook his head mentally, but decided not to say anything. Cyril had been rude enough to her, but this morning he felt fine. So why was it necessary to hurt Clara again with that simple truth that she had stank breath?
Clara jumped down and took a step back. She pouted and looked at him with sad eyes.
"Why? Don't you like it?"
"No, no, it's all right." He said, waving his hands and smiling again. "Just don't jump on me so suddenly, okay? It's too much."
'It smells like so much, that I wanna wash your mouth with soap.'
Cyril looked around the room again. The blanket was neatly tucked in, but a basket from the table had moved to the bed.
"All right." Clara said, then brightened. "I hung up your herbs."
A long rope stretched over the basket. A forgotten nail had been driven into the wall above the bed, and Clara had tied one end to it. A makeshift herb dryer stretched across the room from the ceiling, its other end clinging to the edge of an empty ledge. The herbs Cyril had gathered in the forest were carefully tied with thread and hung in bunches from a rope near the ceiling.
"Where did you get the rope?" Cyril asked.
"Girls have their own secrets." Clara giggled, and invited him to sit down, landing on the bedspread. "Let's have breakfast."
She decided not to tell him that the idea to hang the herbs had come to her yesterday. Clara had already taken the rope and thread from the innkeeper when she handed Alice to him. Seeing the puzzled and displeased look of Cyril, she rolled her eyes and sang in her thin voice:
"They will last longer this way, Cyril. Don't be a bore, go eat."
'When did you become so persistent?' Syril was stunned. 'I'm afraid of your concern.'
He looked for the book of debtors, which was still in the basket. This reassured Cyril, because he was afraid of losing such an important artifact. On the other hand, what could have happened? Clara was his, no matter how much he wanted to get rid of her. It was unlikely that she would reveal the fact of Cyril's murder of Lady Oink.
"Thank you for your care." Cyril smiled, sinking down on a pillow on the floor. "But try not to get used to it. I still intend to leave."
"Uh-huh." Clara said, putting a piece of bacon in her mouth. Still chewing, she added: "You talk about it so often, it's like you're trying to convince yourself."
Cyril said nothing. Indeed, he couldn't just die, and that was a worry. On the one hand, he wanted to leave this world as soon as possible. At the same time, he found himself thinking again that Clara might be a good companion in his new life.
He decided to change the subject.
"Clara, where do you live?" He asked, and took a sip of the invigorating tea. "I mean, you can't stay here forever."
Clara took a bite of the fresh bread, chewed and swallowed it and nodded. Then she held up her index finger, asking Cyril to be patient, and picked up her earthenware mug. Only when she had washed it down and thoroughly rinsed her mouth did she smile again and look at him with innocent eyes.
"I lived in the residence of the Clean Heel clan." She said, and set the mug on the bedspread. "But I ran away from the bathhouse in the middle of the day, and now they won't let me back in. But what? There are five rooms here, and four of them are still empty."
She shrugged, indicating that she would not return to the clan residence. Cyril shook his head. He had expected this response, and it didn't bother him too much if she stayed close while he controlled the urge to take her against the nearest wall. Still, he hoped he could get rid of Clara before it was too late.
"Are there any shelters in the city to send there Alice to?"
The sudden question made Clara choke. She coughed. Cyril wanted to tap her on the back, but she stopped him with a gesture and shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was send the girl to an orphanage.
"No, no, no." She said, shaking her head and wagging her finger at him very prettily. "No, Cyril. I won't let you."
"Why? We can't keep the girl." Cyril said. "And Dyck barely agreed to take her in. I'm not going to raise her."
"First of all, shelters are evil." Clara began in a voice that sounded like a formal greeting. "You agreed to save the child, but the shelter isn't helping. They'll make a monster out of her and throw her out on the street as soon as she's fifteen. She would be very lucky to become a noble's concubine. But most likely, she will die in the slums."
"Where did you learn that?" Cyril asked.
"Didn't I tell you I ran away from home?" She looked puzzled. "I lived on the street, Cyril. I know what I'm talking about."
An innocent dragonfly turned into a serious woman in an instant. Cyril could not imagine how she combined a touching girl and this new to him, adult Clara. As soon as he raised the issue of the shelter, Clara changed. She immediately took over the conversation and made him wait for an answer. When he got the answer, he had no choice but to listen and nod.
'Well, she's lived in this world longer than I have.' Cyril thought.
"Do you have any other options?" He asked.
Clara nodded.
"Yes. The Clean Heel clan saved me two years ago. I think they will help Alice."
"All right." Cyril nodded and continued to eat.