"Sharp as always…" Klein chuckled, matching his older brother's humor with a witty line from his past life's collection:
"In fact, there's no actual evidence that any of those bigwigs even have brains."
"Well said! Very well said!" Benson burst out laughing, giving Klein an approving thumbs-up. "Klein, you've become much more humorous than before."
Catching his breath, Benson continued, "I'll need to head down to the docks this afternoon, but I'm off tomorrow. We can then… go together to the 'Tingen Housing Improvement Company' and check if they have any affordable yet decent row houses for rent. Also, we should pay Mr. Frenche a visit."
"Our landlord?" Klein asked, slightly puzzled.
Could it be that their current landlord had some well-located row houses available?
Benson glanced at his brother with amusement, saying, "You didn't forget that we signed a one-year lease, did you? It's only been six months."
"Ah…" Klein drew in a sharp breath.
He actually had forgotten all about it! While they were paying rent weekly, the lease was indeed for an entire year. Moving out now would mean breaking the contract, and if they ended up in court, it could cost them a considerable amount!
"You're still lacking some social experience," Benson remarked, patting his receding hairline. "That was actually a term I fought hard for. Frenche only wanted to sign for three months. For wealthier tenants, landlords will typically offer one, two, or even three-year leases for stability. But for folks like us, and the neighbors around here, they worry someone might suddenly run into hard times and can't pay rent, so they'd rather keep short-term contracts."
"That way, they also have the chance to raise the rent more frequently," Klein added, based on his original memories and his own rental experiences.
Benson sighed, "That's the harsh reality of today's world. Anyway, don't worry about the lease. It's not that complicated to work around. Honestly, all it would take is for us to delay rent by one week, and Frenche would gladly toss us out and keep anything of value he could find. After all, his intelligence isn't any sharper than a curly-haired baboon's; he struggles to grasp anything too complex."
Hearing this, Klein recalled a certain joke about Sir Humphrey and shook his head seriously, saying, "No, Benson, you're wrong."
"Why's that?" Benson looked at him, puzzled.
"Frenche's intelligence is indeed slightly higher than a curly-haired baboon's," Klein replied earnestly. Just as Benson's expression turned knowing and amused, Klein added, "When he's having a good day."
"Haha!" Benson couldn't hold back his laughter.
Laughing heartily, he pointed at Klein, momentarily at a loss for words, before finally returning to the main topic.
"Of course, as gentlemen, we won't resort to anything underhanded. We'll talk to Frenche directly tomorrow. Trust me—he's very persuadable, very persuadable indeed."
Klein didn't doubt that for a second. The gas line issue alone was proof enough of Frenche's "persuadability."
The two brothers chatted for a while, then added the leftover pan-fried fish from last night into a vegetable stew. While heating it up, they used steam to soften the rye bread.
Spreading a bit of butter on the bread, Klein and Benson had a simple meal, yet they ate with contentment—the rich, creamy taste was truly delightful.
Once Benson left, Klein took 3 soule notes and a few copper pennies and headed to the "Lettuce and Meat Market." He spent 6 pennies on a pound of beef and 7 pennies on a large, tender, and minimally bony Tasok fish. He also bought potatoes, peas, white radishes, rhubarb, lettuce, turnips, and seasonings like rosemary, basil, cumin, and oil.
Throughout this outing, Klein still felt the occasional watchful gaze, the presence of someone observing him, but the figure never made any direct approach.
After a brief stop at "Slin's Bakery," Klein returned home and began strength training with heavy objects, like stacked books, to work on his arm strength.
He had initially thought of practicing military boxing for physical fitness, but he had forgotten even the simplest exercise routines from his past life. With no other options, he settled for a few straightforward exercises.
Klein made sure not to exhaust himself during the workout, knowing that fatigue would increase his vulnerability. He paused at the right moment, picked up the old textbooks and notes, and began reviewing Fourth Epoch history, hoping to refresh his knowledge.
…
By evening, Benson and Melissa sat at the table, both sitting upright, as if they were upper-grade students at a primary school, admiring the meal laid out before them.
The array of mixed aromas created a symphony of flavors: the captivating richness of simmered beef, the earthy and comforting smell of mashed potatoes, the sweet allure of pea soup, the subtle balance of stewed rhubarb, and the fresh, creamy butter spread over rye bread.
Benson swallowed a gulp, turning to look at Klein, who was placing a crispy, golden fish onto a plate. The fried aroma seemed to travel from his nose to his throat, down his esophagus, and into his stomach.
Grumble! His stomach made an unmistakable sound.
With his shirt sleeves rolled up, Klein set the fried fish platter in the center of the tidied-up table, then went to fetch two large cups of ginger beer from the cabinet, placing them in front of Benson and himself.
He turned to Melissa with a smile and, with a theatrical flourish, produced a lemon pudding from behind his back.
"We have beer, and you have this."
"…Thank you," Melissa replied softly, accepting the lemon pudding.
Benson raised his cup, smiling as he said, "To Klein, for finding a good job."
Klein raised his cup, clinking it against Benson's and Melissa's lemon pudding.
"Praise the Goddess!"
He took a swig, the spicy flavor burning down his throat and leaving a pleasant aftertaste.
Ginger beer, while named so, contained no alcohol. Instead, it combined the sharpness of ginger and the tartness of lemon to create a beer-like experience. It was a drink acceptable even for women and children, though Melissa was never too fond of its taste.
"Praise the Goddess!" Benson took another sip, while Melissa took a small bite of her lemon pudding, savoring each chew.
"Go ahead, give it a try," Klein said, setting down his cup and picking up his fork, gesturing to the spread on the table.
Among all the dishes, he felt the least confident about the pea soup—something he'd never considered edible back on Earth. He'd merely recreated it based on fragments of the original Klein's memories.
As the eldest, Benson didn't hold back, scooping up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and popping it into his mouth.
The flavor of soft, mashed potatoes with a hint of pork lard and just the right amount of salt made his mouth water, his appetite instantly sharpened.
"Not... bad… Not bad at all," Benson mumbled appreciatively. "Much better than what I had at the office last time—they used cream for theirs."
This was, in fact, one of Klein's specialties, so he accepted the praise readily. "I owe it to Welch's cook for the tips."
Melissa, meanwhile, eyed the bowl of beef soup, where green basil leaves, leafy lettuce, and chunks of white radish floated among tender pieces of beef in a clear broth, releasing a refreshing aroma.
She speared a piece of beef, bringing it to her mouth. Soft yet chewy, the flavors of salt, sweet radish, and basil intermingled, drawing out the rich taste of the beef.
"...Delicious..." she murmured, but couldn't stop eating long enough to elaborate.
Klein sampled some as well, finding it tasty but not quite at his best. Without access to certain spices, he'd had to substitute, leaving the taste slightly off.
Still, he realized with a pang that even this modest cooking might be the best Benson and Melissa had ever tasted.
He took a crispy, cumin-and-rosemary-dusted piece of fried Tasok fish, savoring its golden, flaky texture and salty richness. Next, he tried a bit of stewed rhubarb, which was decent, helping cut through the heaviness of the meat.
Finally, he steeled himself and took a spoonful of the pea soup.
Too sweet… too tangy… Klein grimaced slightly.
But seeing Benson and Melissa's content expressions as they sipped the soup made him question his own taste. He quickly took a gulp of ginger beer to clear his palate.
By the end of the meal, all three had eaten until they were stuffed, too full to rise from their chairs.
"Let's praise the Goddess once more!" Benson raised his cup, his voice filled with satisfaction.
"Praise the Goddess!" Klein drained the last of his ginger beer.
"Praise the Goddess," Melissa echoed, savoring the final bite of her lemon pudding she'd saved till the end.
Seeing this, Klein, feeling a bit tipsy, chuckled. "Melissa, that's not ideal. You should enjoy your favorite food at the beginning when you're hungriest. That's when it's at its best. If you wait until you're full and your appetite's faded, the taste won't be as good."
"No, it tastes just as good," Melissa replied, resolute and stubborn.
The three siblings chatted and laughed as they digested their meal, then worked together to clear the dishes, utensils, and carefully pour the leftover frying oil back into its container.
Afterward, each settled into their evening routines—Melissa reviewing her coursework, Benson studying accounting, and Klein poring over his textbooks and notes. It was a fulfilling, contented night.
At eleven, the siblings extinguished the gas lamp, washed up, and each retired to bed.
…
In the dim haze of a dream, Klein's sight was foggy, his mind drifting, until the figure of Dunn Smith appeared—a man dressed in a knee-length black trench coat and a half-height hat.
"Captain!" Klein snapped to attention, instantly aware that he was dreaming.
Dunn's gray eyes were calm, his tone as casual as if mentioning a minor detail. "Someone has broken into your room. Grab your revolver, drive him out to the hallway, and we'll handle the rest."
Someone had broken into his room? Had the watcher finally decided to act? Klein's heart pounded, but he simply nodded, "Understood."
Suddenly, the dreamscape shifted, colors whirling and fragmenting like soap bubbles bursting.
When Klein opened his eyes, he cautiously turned his head toward the window. There, a thin, unfamiliar silhouette stood by the desk, silently rummaging through his belongings.