"I'm very interested in tea. Could you tell me more about it?" The young lady, seemingly at a loss for a conversation topic, asked Ribo.
Ribo wasn't particularly interested in the beautiful lady before him. He wanted to avoid unnecessary complications—Eckert's instructions were clear: secure the invitation to the upcoming dinner, not a baron's daughter for a wife. So, he responded in a neutral tone, engaging in small talk with her, almost like he was describing a product in his shop to a customer.
However, Ribo noticed that the lady's attention wasn't really on the tea itself, but rather on him, which made him uncomfortable.
"You certainly know a lot," she commented, clearly impressed.
"Not really," Ribo said modestly. "When you're around something long enough, you just remember things."
"Does that make you happy?" the lady suddenly asked, catching Ribo off guard with her unexpected question.
He wasn't sure how to respond to such an odd inquiry.
"You must have some hobbies or enjoy certain things, right? At least two years ago, when I was your age, I still loved playing games," she explained.
"Not really," Ribo replied truthfully. "Games and playing have always been too much of a luxury for me."
Hearing this, the lady's eyes brightened. With a sigh, she said, "Although I'm older than you, it's clear you're more mature. You already know how to take responsibility for your life, while I still worry my parents."
"You have loving parents and a warm family," Ribo said, sighing as well. "My parents have been gone for a long time."
"Yes, I'm much luckier than you," the lady agreed softly. "I'd love to get to know you better. Are you free in the next few days? Three days from now, my family is hosting a dinner at our villa in the woods. I hope you'll come."
Ribo could hardly contain his excitement. He'd succeeded in his mission. The invitation he needed had come through. Though he kept his tone calm, his face betrayed a slight smile.
"It would be my honor," he replied, trying to remain composed.
However, the baron's daughter mistook his reaction, assuming his joy had deeper meaning. Blushing, she quickly excused herself, walking away while worrying that her invitation might have been too forward. She even began to fret over how to bring this up with her parents and whether her father would strongly oppose her feelings—after all, she herself found it strange to be drawn to someone younger by two or three years.
As for Ribo, he stayed in the parlor, patiently waiting for the ball to end. He knew the sound of carriages departing would signal that it was time for him to take his leave.
As the moon rose higher into the night sky, the first carriage finally rolled away. Ribo figured it was the right time to make his exit. He descended the stairs, where the baron and his wife still stood, surrounded by guests.
Bowing slightly, Ribo addressed them, "It has been an honor to attend your ball. But it's getting late, and I must take my leave."
The baron was mildly surprised. To him, the night was still young, and the ball was just getting into full swing. Aside from one guest who had left due to urgent business, no one else had made any indication of leaving.
Had he unintentionally neglected this young man? After all, he had been left to wait in the parlor for quite some time. Perhaps he felt slighted.
Smiling warmly, the baron said, "There's still plenty of time. You haven't danced with my daughter yet. Should I use my privilege as her father to arrange that?"
"Yes, it's still early. You've come such a long way; there's no rush to leave," the baroness chimed in.
"It's precisely because I live far away that I must depart," Ribo explained. "I also have duties tomorrow, and Uncle Eckert will surely need my help. As for dancing, I wouldn't want to upset the gentlemen who have been patiently waiting their turn. Perhaps I'll ask for a dance with your daughter next time."
Seeing that Ribo was resolute in leaving, the baron and baroness seemed a bit disappointed. Still, the baron extended another invitation. "In a few days, I'll be hosting a dinner at my villa. Would you be able to attend?"
"It would be an honor! In fact, I've already accepted your daughter's invitation," Ribo replied, barely able to contain his excitement.
The baron and his wife exchanged a knowing glance. Their daughter certainly worked quickly.
"Be sure to come in person," the baron said with a smile. "Don't send a stand-in like your uncle did."
"I'll make sure to be there," Ribo assured him.
"All right then, I was just teasing. But do come. I would be quite upset with your uncle if you didn't," the baron said with a playful tone, giving Ribo a warm send-off.
As Ribo boarded the carriage, he found Eckert immersed in a book, reading intently by the light of an oil lamp.
"You succeeded, didn't you?" Eckert asked, not even looking up from his reading.
"Yes, but how did you know?" Ribo asked.
"For a con man, leaving his hunting ground early means one of two things: either he's been caught or he's made his kill. Since you don't seem panicked, it's obviously the latter."
Days passed, and Ribo now found himself riding through the woods toward Baron Lonna's villa. Unlike before, he had arrived on horseback, just as high society nobles typically did for shorter trips. This, too, was under Haide's orders. Navigating a route by map was a basic skill for any thief, after all. And although Ribo had learned to ride, he had never taken a long journey on horseback.
This trip was an opportunity to test his endurance and learn how to pace both himself and his horse over a long distance. Riding a good horse required more than just short sprints. It involved conserving the horse's energy and managing one's own fatigue.
Ribo slowed the horse's pace, gently touching its neck. It was slightly damp but hadn't broken into a full sweat—he had been managing the pace well. If he had traveled by carriage, the journey from Laire to Pitten would have taken half a day, but on horseback, it was much quicker. Especially considering that Ribo, being a young, slight boy, was riding a high-quality purebred horse. The hundred or so miles between Laire and Pitten seemed like nothing.
Riding this prized steed, rather than the small pony he usually rode, was also part of Haide's plan. Among nobles, a fine horse was often more valuable than a decorated carriage. The horse's lineage mattered greatly, and a purebred could fetch up to 5,000 gold francs.
In fact, many knowledgeable horsemen could discern a horse's country of origin, its breeding line, and even the family that owned it just by its physical characteristics. These purebred horses were so rare that their lineage was far simpler than the extensive genealogies of noble families.