“I would never guess that Viscount Vincent Ventris’s destination would be Malacca.”
Malacca in the 19th Century was definitely as glorious as Nadirah envisioned it to be. The historical monuments stood strong on the ground, hardly deserted, barely aging, occupied by those people she often saw in her historical books.
Or at least, they looked similar. Even that person over there looked oddly similar to Avery.
Or maybe that was because they both had the same jaw.
She wondered if Vincent carried the same trait.
“If you’re not there to answer the question,” Nadirah remarked, “I probably wouldn’t have the chance of seeing him.”
“I saw the place,” was his grim reply, oblivious to the scenery, or perhaps he wasn’t as enthusiastic as Nadirah, “So I know his exact destination. The question was a pinch.”
Still, she couldn’t help but ignore the sole question in her mind. “How come we are here, though? The handkerchief couldn’t possibly transport us again—”
“You’ll see,” he swiftly cut her off, shutting Nadirah’s mouth down. “Follow me.”
She obliged his command like a puppy with his master, dreading at the thought of being lost in the past. She followed his lead, all the way through the busy streets of Malacca, feasting her eyes with the spectacularly unique scenery, before Ikhwan abruptly stopped, staring directly at the port.
She nearly bumped into him, and she was about to lodge a complaint on his sudden frozen state, when she noticed the enthralling scenery herself, and froze as well.
Truckloads of boats were tied to the shore, and behind it, stood a fairly large ship, containing an impressive amount of passengers. Each of them were immaculately dressed, and as Nadirah peered over those endless amount of people, she noticed two lean figures emerging from the ship, one carrying a strikingly familiar face, while the other holding a pair of extraordinarily pale—almost icy—grey eyes.
Or silver, she supposed.
She gasped. “Ikhwan!”
“Yes, that’s the Vi—”
“That’s Mr. Avery!”
He paused. “Yes,” and nodding, he added, “Mr. Avery Ventris and Viscount Vincent Ventris.”
“What’s he doing here?” astonishment took over her soul, further aggravating Ikhwan. “Does this mean that he’s jilted the marchioness?
He sighed. “You’ll see,” and again, commanded, “Follow me.”
The Ventris brothers passed by them before they could even make a move, and during that short interval, Nadirah noticed on how Avery shuddered at the mere contact with their presences.
Vincent’s face seemed to twitch, although perhaps her eyes were playing trick on her.
“We’re supposed to crack the case about the thievery,” commented Nadirah, trailing their backs with zero discretion, “Yet here we are, stalking some ancient people.”
“Well,” remarked Ikhwan haughtily, “You did prompt me to say his name.”
“You could avoid it if you want.”
“But I didn’t.”
“You didn’t,” said Nadirah matter-of-factly. “You wanted to meet him as much as I do.”
“True,” he made no effort in denying that, “I do.”
They followed the brothers into some sort of a market, trying to keep up with their fast paces. Frankly, Nadirah wanted nothing more than to bask in the glory of the ancient city, but it was hard to follow and gape simultaneously. Nadirah truly had no choice but to concentrate on the brothers’ figures instead of the view, crestfallenly so.
She tried to shake her disappointment away by reviving their conversation. “You know, we learned nothing about the thievery, except for the fact that my grandmother and her friends love historical tales.”
“Is that all you learned?”
She glanced at him, quite taken aback by his serious tone. “Well, I have a certain hunch that the owner of the handkerchief was the master of silk.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to procreate the handkerchief,” she said hurriedly, hastening her steps to match Ikhwan’s, “And I have in great authority that his works much resembled the handicraft of the handkerchief.”
Zahari was indeed, the equal of great authority. At least in her book.
“True,” he nodded, “Seems like we’ve unlocked his treasure.”
“Treasure? Oh, right,” she pursed her lips, carefully examining her thoughts. “Let’s see. Handkerchief for the master, hairpin for your grandmother, box for my—wait!” her steps halted, her eyes transfixed on a certain object that was swarmed by various humans alike. “That’s the box!”
Ikhwan followed her gaze. “Well, what do you know,” he expressed elatedly, “There it is.”
“We,” Nadirah stilled, her brain clicked. “We were teleported by the box?”
“I have it in my pocket at the time,” he mentioned, shifting his entire attention to the solid box, “Not anymore, in case you’re wondering. But I would have it back once we’ve returned—well,” his lips curved into a smile, “Depends on the situation.”
“Depends on the situation?”
“If the box is not in my pocket by then,” it didn’t seem as if the words were meant for her, “We’d be ceased to exist.”
Nadirah’s mouth fell open.
Exactly at that moment, Vincent strode pass the swarming humans, making his way toward the first lane. Scrutinizing the wooden box with his silver eyes, he quietly asked, “How much is this?”
At once, everyone backed off from the tall foreigner, intimidated by his unexpectedly firm voice.
The seller wasn’t the least intimidated. Instead, he was oddly fascinated. “My apologies sir,” he smiled, “This is not for sale.”
“Then how can I convince you to sell it?”
He chuckled. “Oh sir, this box right here is the prize for someone who can answer my riddle.”
“Ah,” Vincent laughed lightly. “Of course. Do I have a contender?”
“I believe you are the only one. None were clever enough to take on this challenge.”
“I am intrigued.”
“I can tell.”
“You have good eyes.”
“So were you,” the seller was clearly impressed, “You noticed the true value of the box. And that sir,” he leaned in to whisper, “Is a quality that not many possessed.”
True enough, the reason why his stall was gathered by countless of people were not because of the spectacular box. Rather—now that they had a clearer view of the stall—it was because the seller seemed to be accompanied with a whole lot of clucking chickens. And chickens grabbed people’s attentions, apparently.
“Is that so?” Vincent raised her brows. Again, Nadirah felt like smacking her head for her overly vulnerable thoughts, but realized that Vincent couldn’t possibly detect her presence, much less to read her mind. “Then by all means, I am more than intrigued to add this to my possession.”
“I must warn you sir. This riddle has no clew.”
“You need not worry.” Vincent roamed the audiences with his silver eyes, and as he smoldered his gaze toward every living things in the land, his figure grew rigid when he saw the two teenagers, hardly living, possibly not breathing, but definitely watching him.
His lips curled into a mocking smile. “I have my own source of clew.”
“Source of clew?” asked the seller, curious at his outburst.
Vincent swiveled back to him, subsequently pointing at his head. “My brain.”
He nodded understandably.
Nadirah also nodded understandably. “He saw us, didn’t he?”
“For sure, he saw us.”
“Okay then,” she said breathlessly, her voice sounded oddly foreign to her ears, “I think his source of clue is us.”
“Of course,” Vincent muttered softly, loud enough for their ears, yet subtle enough without sounding uncustomary.
That didn’t stop Nadirah from yelping aloud, though.
Clutchi
ng to her chest, she grumbled, “Okay, he’s freaking me out.”
“Big deal,” Ikhwan grinned. “You freaked his brother first.”
She shot dagger eyes at him, and focused her attention back to the viscount. He seemed to be highly immersed in the box, his eyes deeply piercing the exterior. To Nadirah, it could only mean one thing—he was arranging a plan.
But then, she was never good in reading a person—unlike this person beside her—so she truly had no idea about the accuracy of her theory.
“The riddle sir,” provided the seller, “If you don’t mind.”
“Go on.”
He smiled secretively, taking out a smooth, ivory egg out from his pocket. “Here in my hand, is an egg too worthy for this world. Now sir, if you could kindly tell me, which of these,” he pointed out at the flocks of chickens, “Laid this egg?”
For a moment, none of them said a thing.
And then, there was a gasp. “What kind of question is that?” she exclaimed. “That’s impossibly difficult.”
“Yeah,” he arched his brows. “Identical chickens and whatnot. Well, let’s inspect it closer.”
“Do you think it’s fine?”
“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “The viscount is not going to eat us, not that he can, not that he would.”
They closed their distance, and as they stood right beside the tall viscount, Nadirah had the fleeting feeling that the viscount will eat them alive if he had the chance.
Yet before she could dwell further in the intimidating sensation, the brother of the viscount whispered slightly, “I don’t feel so good.”
“Stay,” ordered Vincent simply.
Avery shivered, proceeding to concentrate on the egg and no more.
Nadirah stifled a chortle.
She was about to taunt him further, when Ikhwan suddenly remarked, “You do know that my visions are muted, don’t you?”
She wasn’t certain to whom the question was directed.
But since she had the capability of answering, she decided to answer, “Yes.”
“So even if we could provide the answer to the viscount, I couldn’t provide the explanation.”
“Oh,” she mouthed, realizing that he was indeed talking to her, “That’s true.”
“Yet if you were to assist me on switching the volume, we would be transported to the seller’s past, and possibly couldn’t return back here.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Not an idea that I executed, not that I see,” said he. “You need to rewind his words.”
“Rig—what? Rewind? ” she smacked her ears. “Am I hearing right?”
“Yes.”
“Is it possible?”
“Absolutely,” his eyes never left the egg, “The most crucial thing to do.”
“Rewind…” she tilted her head, considering the action. Still contemplating, her eyes flickered at Vincent’s face. “My lord, if you don’t mind me asking, is there something that you can do?”
Ikhwan nudged her, hard, while Vincent tried very hard to hide his smile.
“He might be a psychic,” she hissed, but his harsh look prompted her to concentrate on the seller. Sighing, she said, “Fine. Rewind…let me try.”
Really, if there were to be any explanation for the reunion between the chicken and its egg, wouldn’t a simple reason such as plain luck suffice?
Probably yes for someone like her, probably not for someone like Vincent. It wouldn’t sound as honorable if he were to admit that he relied mostly on luck. And apparently, they really needed to rescue the box from the evil seller, so as she stared at the evil captivator, she tried to rewind his words that mentioned anything regarding chicken and egg.
She burst into laughter.
“You need to get into his mind,” suggested Ikhwan, noticing her difficulty. “Try it again, you can do this. You’ve done this already anyway.”
Indeed she has, hasn’t she?
Taking a deep breath, she gazed into the seller’s eyes. Those eyes were the darkest eyes she had ever seen, the eyes that told a thousand secrets, the eyes that saw everything that crossed his way, be it a chicken, be it an egg, but preferably, chickens and egg…
Her ears perked up as a certain voice, which sounded exactly like the seller, played in her head.
“What if I use the chickens and egg?”
“The chickens and egg?” asked another voice, bewildered beyond words. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“The most perceiving one will know the connection. I could create a riddle, and find the person worthy of this box.”
“You can always sell the box.”
“Oh, I won’t. My love wouldn’t love that.”
“Don’t listen to her,” the voice suddenly hissed, “She is nothing but a manipulative female.”
“No, she is nothing like that,” countered the seller, “She is the most intelligent lady I’ve ever met. And whether you like it or not, I will propose to her.”
“And how are you going to propose to her?” the voice asked sarcastically.
“I have a dream,” the seller said, “A beautiful dream. And I dreamt that the person who cracked my riddle would lead me to the most marvelous jewelry in the whole wide world, the perfect gift for my proposal that will surely touch the heart of my beloved. I will find him.”
“There is no way that someone could crack a riddle as impossible as that.”
“Not entirely impossible, for the riddle has no dead end. The shell of the egg is uniquely iridescent, and strangely, if you look at all of these chickens, only one of them glimmers as brightly as the egg. You simply shine some lights on them, and you would know the answer, loud and clear.”
There was a snorting sound. “Preposterous.”
“Try it yourself, if you are still suspicious.”
“Fine. Where did you acquire such a chicken anyway?”
“Ah,” his tone grew wickedly secretive, “That is not for you to know.”
Ah,” Nadirah mouthed, intently staring at the seller, “Are you a psychic too, Mister?”
“I assume you’ve gotten it?” Ikhwan hurriedly asked.
“Yeah,” she nodded to him, subsequently averting her gaze to the viscount. “Shine some lights on the egg and chicken, and you will have your answer. Apparently, both of those are iridescent, and glimmer under the lights.”
Vincent kept his eyes glued on the egg, but it was hard to ignore the slightest twinge of amusement in his aloof expression. “I thought my eyes deceived me, but I did notice something strange about this egg. Mind if I take a closer look?”
“Be my guest, sir, but you can’t hold it.”
“Good enough,” he smiled. He shoved his hand into his pocket, taking out a box of matches. Lighting the match, he inspected the egg thoroughly.
His eyes glimmered.
“How intriguing,” he did sound curiously astonished, “Your egg is unmistakably iridescent.”
“It is, isn’t it?” said the seller excitedly.
Vincent nodded, his eyes abruptly flickered towards the chickens. “Again, if you don’t mind, I would like to inspect the chickens.”
“Have it your way, sir.” He quickly moved aside, making way for the viscount to pass him by.
“Now what?” asked Nadirah, perplexed. “You don’t think he’s going to inspect each and every one of them, do you?”
Ikhwan lifted his shoulder. “I expect he will, but I suppose we could shorten his inspection.” He followed the viscount into the land of chickens, and after a few second, he pointed at one of them. “Torch it here. This is the chicken in question”
But instead, Vincent ignored Ikhwan’s order, and proceeded to inspect a chicken near to it.
“Lovely chicken you have here,” commented the viscount. “Did you breed them yourself?”
“Sure did sir,” the seller grinned. “My pride and joy.”
“I see.” He began to inspect the other chickens, “Quite unique, this lot.”
/>
“I have been told continuously about that, sir.”
He nodded, taking all the time in the world. Finally, he approached the fateful chicken.
And his brows rose far, far up.
He blew the match, grabbed the chicken with both of his hands, and presented it to the seller. “I believe this is the mother of the egg?”
Nadirah was certain that she saw the seller’s eyes crystallizing with joy.
“Why yes, sir, you are correct! This is indeed, the mother of the egg. But tell me sir, for I am deeply curious. How did you know that this chicken is the mother?”
“Your egg glimmers under the light,” his eyes darted to Nadirah, before averting back to the seller, “And this is the only chicken that possessed the same trait as the egg. I simply couldn’t ignore the connection.”
“It sure is sir, it sure is.” The seller was definitely overjoyed with the viscount’s explanation, so much that he couldn’t stop grinning as he took the box from his possession, handing it with utmost admiration. “Your prize sir.”
Returning the gesture, the brothers were about to leave when the seller suddenly blurted, “I was wondering about the reason for your decision on stepping on our land, sir.”
Vincent contemplated for a while, but decided to tell the truth. “I was in search for something.”
“So do I, sir. So do I.” He too, hesitated for a while, but decided to take the plunge. “Never have I seen someone as dexterous, but if you could spare me a moment, would you like to join me for tea?”
“You should talk to him,” Nadirah quickly interjected, recognizing her cue. “He needs your help.” Shrugging, she added, “And maybe you need his too.”
Vincent stood in silence for a couple of seconds, considering the options.
Then he smiled. “I would love to, but I’m afraid now is not the greatest time. Why don’t I meet you again tomorrow, preferably here, and we can have our little chat.”
The seller was on the verge of squealing, Nadirah was sure of that.
“Absolutely, sir,” he said excitedly. “I shall wait for you tomorrow, sir. Exactly at this spot.”
“That would be best,” Vincent tilted his head. “If I may be excused, and oh,” his eyes fell onto the box, “I shall keep this, then.”
“Take it sir,” the seller grinned. “It’s all yours to take.”
After giving another brief smile, the viscount left the place, followed closely by his brother, leaving quite a huge gap between their distances.
“Now what?”
“Come on,” urged Ikhwan, “He’s calling us.”
Nadirah looked at the viscount, and sure enough, she saw that his fingers were beckoning them. Flabbergasted, she blurted, “Are you sure that we are who he meant?”
She could see Vincent’s face breaking into a smile.
“I guess it means us, then,” she smiled nervously. “Let’s go.”
They followed the fast strides of the Ventris brothers, passing by several of the natives, passing by several of the foreigners, passing by everything that passed them by, and finally, after much passing bys, the brothers stopped, right in front of a building that resembled a homely inn.
Or maybe it was a homely inn.
“Avery.”
Vincent’s voice abruptly pierced his ears, catching him off-guard.
“You look quite green,” Vincent didn’t make an effort of waiting for his reply, “Seasick, perhaps?”
He tried to recover his composure, chortling nervously. “It is not because of the seasick, I suppose not, for I have traveled a lot by ships and never was I nauseous. Yet there was something that makes me green, and I couldn’t tell what exactly, except it certainly prickled my skin,” he swallowed, “And churned my stomach, I think.”
“You should rest,” suggested Vincent. “I shall inform the innkeeper for the need of another room.”
“Vincent, that is not necessary.”
“I beg to differ,” he said firmly. “I mustn’t bother you, and I for sure didn’t want to clean you up if you were to...” he looked at him distastefully, “Well. You will get your own room, and that is final.”
Avery shrugged, didn’t feel the need of refusing the privacy. “I shall make myself comfortable, then.” He was about to make his move, when his fingers brushed Nadirah’s clothes.
He shuddered.
“Oh,” said Nadirah, noticing the occurrence, “My apologies, sir.”
But it was too late, because he was shivering as he said, “I should…I should go.”
Avery didn’t spare a moment any longer, quickly leading the way into the inn, followed closely by the viscount, and reluctantly followed by the two futuristic ghosts.
All the way, Vincent never stopped from beckoning them to follow his pace, and after the two gentlemen had settled themselves in their own private rooms, the viscount locked his door and faced the two ghosts.
“I believe the two of you have much to explain.” He tossed the box around with his hands, and further added, “Especially regarding your sudden appearance, and the so-called fate of your life concerning this box.”
“I have no idea, my lord,” admitted Nadirah blatantly. “I couldn’t read people, unlike this person beside me.”
At once, Vincent’s eyes flickered toward Ikhwan.
“I can read people, yes,” he arched his brows. “Yet you wouldn’t allow me to do so on you.”
Vincent merely smiled.
“Mind telling me the reason?”
He snickered, changing the subject. “Quite sharp, the lot of you. Yet ashamed is I to admit such quality, for my senses are definitely…not as sharp to reason about your sudden appearance. Especially regarding that fateful meeting with Lady Laura,” his gaze trailed to Nadirah, “And my brother.”
“They told you?” Nadirah blurted, horrorstricken.
“No, I saw you,” he answered truthfully. “Loud and clear, I saw you. And honestly,” he held the box firmly, “I am intrigued.”
He had been intrigued ever since he stepped on this soil. That was nothing new.
She bit her tongue.
“And that is why you’re here,” Ikhwan insinuated, “To search for the sparkling butterfly.”
“The sparkling butterfly seems to matter a great deal to the lady, especially after freedom was hers to claim and breathe. And believe me,” he stared at both of them intently, “She has done everything in her power to acquire the little thing, and I certainly feel obliged to lend her a favor. Thus, as my sign of apology towards the uncouth behavior portrayed by my brother and I, I have vowed to search for that hair accessory.”
Ikhwan looked oddly perturbed. “And you heard us made that deal, didn’t you? Release her from confinement, and give us our butterfly?”
“I was quite close by, and I owe you my gratitude for strengthening my image. And I do owe you too,” he shifted his attention to Nadirah, “For smacking some sense into my brother’s thick skull, because truly, he is a jest.”
“He’s quite easy to intimidate,” Nadirah conceded, “And I’m just doing my portion of the plan. But that aside,” this question had been bugging her from the start, “Why do you think that the sparkling butterfly is here?”
“I have searched the world, and this is one of the many.”
“Do you really think such thing exists?”
He let out a humorless laugh, narrowing his eyes. “Well, pray tell, for I am ludicrously aware that the butterfly has something to do with you.”
“Yes, we are searching for it,” she wasn’t denying it, not at all, “But you do know that our timeline is different, right?”
“Then why on earth do you want Lady Laura to search for it?”
“I am not entirely sure, my lord,” she replied bluntly. “Apparently, we are perfecting history, or we would be ceased to exist,” she glanced at Ikhwan, “Or so he said.”
Ikhwan rolled his eyes.
“Our lives are at the hands of the butterfly!” she
exclaimed sardonically. “How dramatic.”
“More like at the wings.”
“Why wings?”
“Because—”
“Sadly,” Vincent intervened, “I do not particularly comprehend the mindset of young teenagers nowadays, so I couldn’t really understand.”
“You don’t need to,” said Nadirah. “Not if you’re going to live for another 200 years.”
“I see,” said he, bemused. “Yet it still didn’t answer my question about my presence being followed by the so-called children of the future.”
“You do believe that we are from the 21st Century?” asked Ikhwan teasingly.
“Perhaps,” was his vague answer, “But that’s not my main concern.”
“Then my lord, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ikhwan, and this is my friend, Nadirah. The box was the reason for the sudden stalking by yours truly, and I assure you,” he smirked, “It was completely unintentional.”
“Yet something about your expression tells me otherwise.”
It was otherwise—intentionally, definitely—they did stalk him under the order of this future kid beside her, but Nadirah wasn’t sure if she should mention that aloud.
Supposedly, Vincent knew about the butterfly in the first place, so surely, he would know about the true motive behind their stalking business?
“Well surely you’ll know,” she suddenly said, unaware of pouring out her thoughts, “If you were there during our meeting with Lady Laura, that is.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I see that both of you kept your promise.”
“And so is she,” she returned, “She’s still searching for the sparkling butterfly, isn’t she?”
“Indeed. Nevertheless, how shameful of me to admit, but I have searched high and low for this particular thing, yet it still hasn’t landed in my hands. Surely,” he cocked his head, “You’ll have a certain clew regarding the hiding place of the sparkling butterfly?”
“Not in this world, I wouldn’t know,” Ikhwan let out a mischievous grin. “But as the saying goes, if you couldn’t find it, why not make it?”
Sharp exhale of breaths and narrowed eyes landed simultaneously on him.
“What on earth do you mean?” asked Vincent, surprised by Ikhwan’s suggestion.
“Create it,” he further stressed, “Lady Laura has only been enlightened with the rough sketch of the butterfly. She didn’t know the real image of the thing.”
Nadirah gaped at him, astounded by her lack of knowledge. “And how did she know about the rough sketch of the butterfly?”
“I showed her,” he answered, “When you were out to spook his brother.”
“Ah,” that didn’t surprise her, somehow. He’d been extremely tightlipped since the start—it wasn’t a wonder that such information would escape from Nadirah’s ears. And it was not as if she had told him about that whole rendezvous with Avery either, which, now that she thought about it, was exceptionally comical, so much that she unconsciously burst into a snort.
She cleared her throat, staring apologetically at the viscount. “Tell Mr. Ventris that I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think that is necessary,” Vincent stared at her oddly, before shifting his attention back to Ikhwan. “You’re asking me to lie to the lady.”
“The butterfly is not for the lady in the first place, it’s for us.”
He tapped his fingers against the box, reluctantly agreed. “True.”
“So in a sense, if we were to ask you to create a new one, it wouldn’t matter to her, because it will only greatly affect us.”
Vincent took a moment to evaluate that statement, before letting out a dry laugh. “Perfecting history,” he echoed. “Is that it? Perfecting history.”
“Yes,” Ikhwan lifted his shoulders. “Such a twisted world we’re living in, tempering we are not, perfecting we are doing.”
The viscount exhaled a sharp breath, crossing his arms as he leaned on the wall. “And where do you suggest I find the craftsman?”
“The seller,” answered Ikhwan simply. “He is the key.”
“I don’t understand the need of creating the sparkling butterfly,” remarked Nadirah impatiently, staring directly at the gorgeous hue of the Malacca Strait. They had finally escaped from the clutches of the viscount, and finding the private moment, she couldn’t wait to ask the question that had been throbbing in her mind, especially when the time was too perfect and serene to be thought otherwise. “Is it true that without that thing, we’d be ceased to exist?”
He sighed, and answered, albeit reluctantly, “Without the butterfly, my grandmother will probably marry someone else, and my father wouldn’t exist, much less myself.” He stared at her for a while, before finally stating, “You, on the other hand, might exist, so maybe I was wrong, maybe the one who’d cease to exist would be me.”
Nadirah blanched. “You don’t say.”
He simply smiled.
“And what about the thieves?”
“Do the math,” he replied briskly, “I hate explaining, I’ve told you so.”
“I can’t do the math when there is not enough information,” she said heatedly. “I much understand the mystery of Lady Laura and Lord Ventris than the mystery of the thieves. And we have yet to crack the mystery of the fragrance and the carriage, although,” she craned her necks about, thinking aloud, “If we were to take everything into consideration, I think the other clue would have something to do with Khalil.”
“Khalil?” he asked, “You mean the friend of my grandmother?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Look at it this way, the butterfly is your grandmother’s, the box is my grandmother’s, the handkerchief is the other person’s, surely there’ll be something for Khalil, I mean,” she tapped her feet impatiently, “He couldn’t be left without something. So it’s either the fragrance or the carriage, and,” she especially emphasized the last word, “His share of stuff must’ve been something from the 19th Century too.”
“19th Century,” he echoed, “I suppose it must have something to do with Lord Ventris and Lady Laura as well.”
“It must,” she agreed wholeheartedly, “It’s a good thing that we are not ‘perfecting’ the much bigger affairs such as the upcoming British expansion—”
“Ah,” he looked around, as if suddenly realizing the place for the first time, “Malacca is now under the British’s care instead of the Dutch.”
“Napoleonic war,” she shuddered at the current war that was happening right at that second, “After that, British would gain full authority over Malacca, and look at us,” she referred to them both. “Watching instead of doing anything. Not that we can, we could be tempering with the future and thus changing the history or worse, the development, but even if we could, I doubt any of them could see us. Maybe they could if they were psychic, but we are too imaginary to be taken seriously, they might shoot us in the mean time, not that it would affect us—”
“It’s a good thing that the Britons we met didn’t discriminate us much.”
“I wonder if their ability was too overwhelming that they didn’t think meeting the children of the future are such a bizarre situation anymore. And Lord Ventris was being too generous to Lady Laura in his attempt of searching for the butterfly,” she creased her brows, “Although I don’t get why he desperately needs to be in her good terms.”
He chuckled in disbelief. “You really don’t get it, don’t you?”
She blinked, and said, “No, I don’t.”
“Well, you should ask him the next time you meet him, who knows,” he grinned, “You might get a chance of watching him waltzing in a season ball while sipping imaginary lemonade.”
“I have no intention to see him in a courtship with any debutante whatsoever.”
“You don’t.”
“I don’t!”
“I’m not arguing.”
“Yeah, you don’t,” her tone was unmistakably reserved, “How weird, still!” he flinched as the loud volume o
f her voice hit her ears, “A ball,” she pointed out, “Is much better in fiction, so don’t ruin my imagination about the dance scene between Cinderella and Prince Christopher Rupert Windemere Vladimir Carl Alexander Francois Reginald Lancelot Herman Gregory James.”
He laughed, for real.
“What, what?” she asked nervously, completely oblivious, “You don’t think we would go to the ball, would you?”
“I am not in the mood of creating a pumpkin carriage, so big chance, no.”
She narrowed her eyes.
He shrugged, “I haven’t seen everything so I couldn’t comment.”
Nadirah exhaled a sharp breath. “Oh no.”
“Serves you right,” he smiled mockingly, “You meddled in my affairs.”
“Yet if you don’t have me, you couldn’t be ‘perfecting’ the future.”
As if was hit by sudden realization, he smiled idiotically, “You’re right. I should be grateful to you.”
“I owe you your life.”
“Seems so,” he laughed dryly, “We were quite noisy about it when trailing the viscount, weren’t we?”
did you notice this? He grinned. Smugly. Grinned,” she grimaced, “Smugly.”
“Smug is an understatement. He purposely played our role to perfection.”
“Huh?”
“He knew the answer all along. He just wanted to see what we have to offer.”
She stared at him, openmouthed. “No wonder he laughed at me when I ask whether he’s a psychic or not! He is one!”
“He didn’t say otherwise.”
“He knew who we are all along!”
“I’m assuming that we are quite easy to read,” he said thoughtfully, “He locked himself quite well however, no wonder Lady Laura was doubtful.”
“What can he do, exactly?” she asked, impatient.
“Hypothetical at the moment, but I think he could lock some things.”
“Lock?”
“Lock,” he proved his point firmly, “He could pinned us to the wall, locking our joints if we’re proven to be suspicious to his eyes.”
“Really?” she gnawed her lips, “That viscount, it’s a no-brainer that someone like him would be such a disturbing—”
“Well what do you know,” Ikhwan suddenly said, expertly cutting her words, “Do you see what I am seeing?”
“You see a lot of things,” she answered simply.
“Yet I see what you see, and I can see that you’ll see what I thought you will see.”
She gasped. “I see!”
Mr. Avery Ventris crept out of the inn quietly, his hand carrying a big suitcase, fully dressed in his evening robe. He found an empty spot of solitude, and accompanied by the soft moonlight, he opened his suitcase, taking out a large canvas and a palette of paint.
“He’s an artist?” asked Nadirah, amusedly. “One wouldn’t expect a nosy nose like him would have a creative mind running down his veins.”
“That one, is you,” he replied, slowly walking toward Avery. “I wonder if our intimidating presence could be mistaken as the evening’s chills.”
“Probably not,” said Nadirah, “Those chills are two entirely different sensations.”
He grinned. “We might as well pursue the role as a phantom.”
They sat beside Avery, curiously watching his reaction. He quivered, quietly said, “The air is briskly warmed, yet why do I feel quite the contrary?” he shook his head. “My guilt must have not washed out, I shall not think of the unnecessary.”
“He talked to himself,” said Nadirah intriguingly.
“He probably wished that he talked to the butterfly.”
Avery’s eyes abruptly widened, as he said, “Why do I feel as if my ears ringing with foreign words? I have not felt it for months, yet I would have expected the remorse feeling to worn down already.”
“So months have passed,” exclaimed Nadirah thoughtfully, “No wonder he is fine and dandy with no hint of attachment to the marchioness.”
“Marchioness,” he echoed her word, “Why do I suddenly hear that name? Could it be that she is nearer than I have anticipated? Please, I wish for no such thing. At least, give me a chance to turn a new leaf.”
“Wow,” Nadirah tilted her head, having a closer inspection of Avery’s face, “He’s more sensitive than I thought, he wasn’t so perceiving earlier.”
“He was locked, obviously.”
“By Lord Ventris?”
“As I said, obviously.”
Nadirah looked at Avery amusingly, tempted to speak.
She did just that. “Hello Mr. Avery Ventris.”
Avery staggered, his eyes wildly assessing the scene, “Who is it that just spoken? Show yourself!”
Ikhwan covered his mouth with his hand, and after recovering himself, he said, “We have, but I’m afraid your eyes are fully silhouette from seeing us.”
“I-is that so?” he asked, clearly agitated. “Well, I—” he stared at his canvas, swallowing loudly, “Excuse my lack of courtesy, but I’m afraid you will need to leave.”
“And why is that, sir?”
He bit his lips, slowly answering, “I need to do an errand in behalf of my brother.”
“Your brother? The Viscount Ventris?”
“Yes,” he narrowed his eyes, “Do you know who he is?”
“We have the pleasure of being his acquaintances,” replied Ikhwan, “We have his best interest in our hearts.”
“Is that so?” he asked nervously, “My brother has always been quite the odd one.”
“Yet you are currently fulfilling his errand.”
He licked his lips. “The odd one he is, he asked me to draw a painting of a butterfly.”
“A painting of a butterfly? Are you an artist, Mr. Ventris?” asked Nadirah curiously.
“I have been quite an accomplished artist,” he replied, “I am not the successor after all. Therefore, I need to have my own share of living.”
“It’s nice of you to be indulging in a rather creative line of career than being a thrash of society.”
He didn’t answer, and instead, concentrated on his canvas.
Nadirah decided to try her luck, and a quick glance at Ikhwan prompted her further to pursue her intention. “Are you drawing the sparkling butterfly, by any chance?”
His hand halted from touching the canvas, stammering slight, “H-how did you know?”
“Something about us, Mr. Ventris,” Ikhwan grinned, “Is that we always know. We also know that you have never laid your eyes on the butterfly.”
“I-I haven’t.”
“Yet how are you going to draw it?”
“I—” he sighed miserably, “I was hoping that the scenery could inspire me.”
“Then let us inspire you, Mr. Ventris,” said Nadirah, “We have indeed, seen the butterfly.”
She had not, but it was nice to prickle Mr. Ventris.
“Is that so?” he gripped his drawing appliance firmly, “How generous of you, I am extremely grateful—”
“Granted, we could only provide the basic details, but it concerns me on why you need to draw it on the first place,” asked Ikhwan.
“I have told you,” he answered, “My brother deemed for a painting of the butterfly. He specifically told me to draw and inhale the inspiration in an empty place, and let my pen moved with the exact synchronization of the wind.”
Nadirah sighed. “The viscount.”
“He wanted it,” grinned Ikhwan, “He might as well get it.”
“But I have no idea how the butterfly looks like,” she hissed.
However, instead of furiously panicking like she, he just shrugged, “We are perfecting history.”
Nadirah had the slightest urge of transforming the butterfly into the most ludicrous piece of art.
Nevertheless, she wasn’t as cruel, so she began with the basic, “It’s actually a hairpin,” she tapped her temples, instinctively said, “Silver hairpin.”
“A hairpin that sparkles u
nder the sun,” commented Ikhwan, “Adorned with multiple gems, much like Cleopatra.”
She chuckled. “Yes, like Cleopatra, like a peacock.” She stared at Ikhwan. “Does Cleopatra lives in this age?”
“Depending on which Cleopatra you referred to,” he replied.
“Sparkles like Cleopatra and the peacock, with multiple gems,” recited Avery.
“Lots of gems, just like Taming Sari, which was created by twenty metal substance—” she closed her mouth horrifically, “This is the place of Hang Tuah and Hang Jebat! I nearly forgot that.”
“Good, we don’t want to attract more attention,” replied Ikhwan. “But seriously, twenty gems?”
“Maybe less, less is more,” she grinned, “But we must put a tourmaline in it.”
“Tourmaline?”
“It was the Empress Dowager Cixi’s favorite gemstone. Preferably, the pink one, she loved it so much that she even requested for it on her deathbed. It would be a nice surprise for my grandmother.”
“What is tourmaline’s specialty, exactly?”
“It supposedly could preserve beauty.”
“Ah, no wonder,” he snickered. “Then, a fuchsia tourmaline on the both of the antenna.”
“Fuchsia tourmaline,” echoed Avery, “On the antennas.”
“On the head, there should be Madeira Citrine,” she grinned, “Guess why.”
“I am not particularly educated about the wellbeing of gems.”
“Madeira Citrine,” she said, “Is a psychic stone!”
It was hard to describe his facial expression at the moment, but a safe bet would be a mixture of amusement, flummox and leer. “You can’t be trusting in those superstitions.”
“Of course not,” she said defiantly, “It’s highly amusing and interesting, that’s all. But I’m still with my decision of putting the Citrine on the head.”
“Citrine…is a yellow stone, isn’t it?”
“I thought you don’t know much about gems.”
“Much, I don’t say all.”
“You very much like to twist my words around. You need a citrine, it could clarify your head.”
“I guess I need it, in order to read you.”
“Maybe you don’t,” and changing the subject, she said to Avery, “The yellow Madeira Citrine on the head.”
“Yellow Madeira Citrine on the head,” said he, making a mental note to himself.
“Shouldn’t we put some precious stones as well?” Nadirah considered. “All of those have been semi-precious.”
“Precious being?” asked Ikhwan.
“You know, sapphire, ruby, emerald—”
“Does Opal fit in the category?”
“Opal,” she nodded in agreement, “Yes, opal is nice. What’s with opal?”
“Since you have surprised your grandmother with the tourmaline, I should surprise mine with the opal.”
“Ah,” she squealed, “King Louis XVI used to wear those while in Versailles with Marie Antoinette.”
“My grandmother thinks that the couple is the most dramatic couple she had ever read.”
“What about Count Fersen then?” she smacked her head, “Oh, wow. I think he’s still alive at this moment. The Count, I mean.”
“She didn’t think much about Count Fersen. She doesn’t really like adultery.”
“What about true love?”
He snorted.
She knew she was being laughed at, so she decided to change the subject. “We should use a black opal!”
“I don’t think they discovered it during this time of age.”
“Any opal then, on the thorax!”
“Opal on the thorax,” said Avery, reciting her words.
“It may have seemed as if we are jumbling all of those gems into that poor butterfly,” he said thoughtfully, “I wonder if the immense aura from the gems would somehow overpower the whole thing.”
Nadirah let the words sank into her head, and answered, “It’s just a painting. It might have been an inspiration in terms of colors more than gems. Besides, it’s not as if Lord Ventris could find all of these gems.”
Ikhwan was silent for a while, before proceeding, “I will say nothing.”
“You know something!”
“I’m thinking,” he indulged in a deep thought, “What was the gemstone that Alexander the Great loved the most?”
“Alexander the Great,” said she, “Surprise for Khalil, then?”
“Yes,” he raised his brows. “Any idea?”
“Chrysoprase.”
“Then we should include chrysoprase, preferably at the abdomen.”
“We should carve it into a heart-shape!”
He stared at her bewilderedly. “Heart-shape?”
“It has more power if it were to be carved into the shape of a heart.”
“More power is the least we wanted right now,” he said patiently, “Scratch the heart-shape idea. Chrysoprase on the abdomen.”
“Chrysoprase on the abdomen,” echoed Avery.
“Your mentioning of Alexander gives me an idea,” said Nadirah excitedly. “I always love Alexandrite!”
“Alexandrite?”
“Yes! It changes colors you see, I once saw an Alexandrite changing from red to green,” she smiled jovially, “It was marvelous.”
“Well, that is nice and all, but I think, once again, the age is too early for such a thing to be discovered.”
“No Alexandrite?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“But the green and red is so pretty,” her voice was prickled with annoyance, “Why wasn’t the lord and the lady was born in the Victorian Era instead of Regency?”
He laughed, and sighed. “Well, there’s emerald for green, and ruby for red.”
“I’ll take emerald,” said she, “Emerald for the forewings.”
“Emerald for the forewings,” said Avery, “I say my lovely companions, if I may have a word?”
“Sure,” they said simultaneously.
“I think Lady Laura is deeply fond with lapis lazuli.”
“How did you know?” asked Nadirah teasingly.
“I-I—” he stammered, “Well, it is hard to say—”
“You stalk her, didn’t you?”
“That’s a harsh way to put it, but in a sense—”
“Yes?”
He bit his tongue. “Yes,” and then he blurted, “But I’m her friend too, if that made any sense.”
“It sure does,” assured Ikhwan. “Well then. Lapis lazuli, dated since the 16th Century,” he sniggered at Nadirah. “Aren’t you glad that they are living in the Regency?”
“Even if they were living in the Georgian Era, they could wear the Lapis Lazuli.”
“Lapis Lazuli on the hindwings then,” grinned Ikhwan, feigning ignorance toward Nadirah, “Does Lord Ventris have a favorite gemstone I wonder?”
“I think not, my dear companion,” provided Avery. “But he does treasure a certain carbuncle.”
“Garnet?”
“Carbuncle, my dear, carbuncle.”
“Why does he like garnet?”
Avery sighed, unwilling to argue any further. “I am not my brother, so I couldn’t comment.”
“Then we should put a garnet there. Garnet at the scales.”
“That’s a whole lot of garnet.”
“Garnet is quite common in this time of day, isn’t it?”
“Not a gem expert, not I am,” Avery further added, “Carbuncle for the scales.”
“But surely Mr. Ventris, you’ve stumbled across a lot of gems.”
“Far little than the both of you, I presume.”
“We stumbled across the gems in photographs and on the internet, not in real life you see.”
“I have quite a difficulty in comprehending your words, but I’m afraid I have to agree, I do stumble quite a lot in my journey with my brother.”
“So which gain your most attention?”
“Why must I bother?”
?
??Because Mr. Avery Ventris,” Nadirah said matter-of-factly, “We have tourmaline which represents my grandmother, opal which represents his grandmother, citrine which represents me, chrysoprase which represents my grandmother’s friend, emerald which represents my friend, lapis lazuli which represents Lady Laura, garnet which represents Lord Ventris, and—” she stopped, and stared at Ikhwan, ghastly. “We’ve forgotten about the other friend!”
“No,” he shook his head gently, “The butterfly was made in Malacca, which obviously represents him.”
“Oh,” she said thoughtfully, “That’s true. So, no need for a gem then?”
“No.”
“Yes, and that leaves one more person to the mix, and that is you Mr. Ventris!”
By the expression on his face, it may have seemed that he had realized on how they were creating a butterfly out of their own will, rather than duplicating the real thing.
But he didn’t seem to mind.
Perhaps he just wanted to let this over with.
“I.”
“Yes.”
“Is this inevitable?”
“Yes it is.”
He drummed his fingers against the canvas, slowly muttering, “Shame to say, I wasn’t much knowledgeable about the gems in the world.”
“Tell us your favorite color,” suggested Nadirah, “Then we will match a gem with the color of your choice.”
“I am always keen towards the family shade of lilac.”
“Amethyst then,” said Nadirah, “Amethyst for the scales.”
“Amethyst is hardly lilac.”
“Amethyst then!”
He sighed. “Fine. Amethyst for the scales,” said he, and after a while, he spoke with much authority, “I shall remind myself on the real images of the gems.”
For the longest time, he sat there, lost in his own mind, before his fingers started to dance on the canvas, immensely concentrating on the piece of art.
“Fuchsia on the antenna,” they heard him said, “Tangerine on the head, ivory on the thorax, apple green on the abdomen, emerald on the forewings, blue with golden specks on the hindwings, crimson and violet on the scales.”
Nadirah and Ikhwan both stared at Avery, slowly sketching the drawing, accompanied by the subtle light from the moon, and startled when the first streak of sun shone on their faces, illuminating Avery as he added his finishing touch to the painting.
“I’ll be honest,” said Nadirah, “I thought the mash of colors will make the butterfly looks beyond hideous and tacky.”
“You thought wrong.”
“I thought wrong,” she took a deep breath of the deliciously uncorrupted morning air, “It is beautiful.”
“It is I who paint,” said Avery, “My painting defines the beauty of a creation. That is my specialty.”
Nadirah was tempted to say show-off.
“Say it,” said Ikhwan amusingly, “Whatever it is that you wanted to say.”
She grinned.
“I am mentally prepared.”
“Fine then,” she snorted loudly, “Mr. Ventris is a show-off.”
“You should feign ignorance, Mr. Ventris.”
“I am doing just that, in case you are wondering.”
The loud chortle died out, as soon as they heard the familiar footsteps approaching their spot.
It was the exact footsteps that she heard during her last visit to the Ventris’s house, now that she recalled.
Vincent closed their distance, amusedly noted, “It’s nice to see that you have come in great terms with the ghosts.”
“Th-they are ghosts?”
“Quite the contrary, I couldn’t really pick the most suitable term, yet ghosts it is, suited them well enough.”
“True,” he shivered, “For the past hours, they did nothing but shackle me senseless.”
“Wait, that is not all. Don’t listen to your lying brother, my lord,” Nadirah wrinkled her nose, “We provided the details for the sparkling butterfly.”
“So it is,” he took a long speculative look at the painting, “Quite a unique contraption.”
“I would say bizarre is more appropriate, but as they said,” Nadirah grinned, “Listen to the elders.”
“For sure, I am your elders for more than two hundred years, so I appreciate the courtesy. Yet it is not a question that the knowledge of your world is far superior to mine, for I live quite early in the world, while your world is living in the peak of developments.”
“That’s true,” she nodded. “You have yet to mine and discover Alexandrite.”
“Or even create robots,” added Ikhwan.
Avery sighed. “I wonder if all the children of the future behave like this.”
“Oh,” Nadirah grinned. “They are wackier.”
“Well,” Avery swallowed, “Glad that I met the less-wackier type, although I couldn’t imagine the much wackier children than this lot.”
“You have yet to meet our friend,” her tone was serious, “He talked as if the world will end any second from now.”
Ikhwan snickered.
“I have the pleasure of not meeting him, then. If I am not as obvious, I much do not enjoy the sensation of hearing one’s voice while not seeing his face.”
Nadirah exchanged glances with Ikhwan, and said flatly, “Alexander Graham Bell couldn’t be born any sooner.”
“He does not know the telephone,” he sighed.
“Or the internet.”
Avery stood there uneasily, curiously staring at his brother.
“They are such witty kids, aren’t they? Desperately delighting one’s heart.”
“Not mine, Vincent, not mine.”
“Suit yourself,” he averted his gaze and let it fall on the two devils. “Now then, I assume the both of you are knowledgeable about the next move.”
“I assume you know what to do more than us, my lord,” grinned Ikhwan.
“Yet nothing could be done, since my brain was lacking the much desired explanation about the enthusiastic seller.”
Nadirah and Ikhwan exchanged glances at each other, and grinned widely.
The merchant introduced himself as Abdullah, the native of the land of Malacca. He’d been living in Malacca for all of his life, never stepping even a mere inch away from the soil of his birth. All of his parentage had lived in the proud land ever since the reign of the Sultanate—which meant that they probably existed during the arc of Hang Tuah—yet they too never dream in residing in another land.
His face was purely excited to be able to meet the viscount yet again, thoroughly convinced that the viscount would fulfill his dream of proposing to his beloved.
Nadirah didn’t understand the need to appear extravagant just for a mere proposal, but she wasn’t a 19th Century Malaccan native, so she kept herself quiet like Avery himself, listening to the words from the merchant diligently.
“I hope I am not intruding your time in our land, sir, for it would be such a waste for your long journey if you were to listen only to my selfish request.”
“Not at all,” said the viscount, “I am more than willing to help a fellow friend. I would lend you my favor if it deemed necessary.”
“Thank you sir, much gratitude from my humble self, yet I wonder if a person such as you would believe in the least possible story,” he said nervously, “Because as shame as I am to admit, my story is mythical at its best.”
“I have quite an open-minded mind.”
“That is good to know, sir, and I am sorry once again for troubling you with my petty request.”
“Please, no more,” he held out his hand, “Or else you will strip away my rare generosity.”
“Is that so, sir? Well, I suppose I should quickly elaborate my story. I couldn’t afford to bore you,” he paused, indulging in his deep thoughts, before saying, “It is hard to believe, but I have my reason for putting my precious box on the stake.”
“Did you make this box? Quite an articulate piece, I am impressed.”
“Indeed
I do,” he smiled, “My greatest masterpiece, of which were created in memory of my beloved. I am willing to part from it if it was the price for my beloved, and so that was why I did the little sacrifice, no matter how painful it felt.”
“The box,” said the viscount, “You can have it back if you want.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t do so. I am a man of words, a man of promise, and what I have given you, I shall not take it back. That is my rule.”
“As you wish,” Vincent smiled.
Nadirah had the slightest hunch that maybe the viscount knew about the man’s vulnerability, and thus, asking the basic question in order to enhance his generosity image.
But then, maybe he was genuinely generous.
“I have a dream, my dream is a premonition, or so I thought,” his tone grew serious, “The one who cracked my riddle and possessed my box would lead me to the greatest proposal item one could think for a bride as lovely as my beloved.”
“Is that so Mr. Abdullah? But I’m afraid I am as much clueless as you are.”
False.
Yet, it was vital to keep your innocent façade upfront in order to not intimidate your acquaintance with your bizarre personality.
“I thought as much, sir. How foolish of me to think that you are the solution for all my worries, and so I have been thinking,” he leaned closer, “Maybe you unconsciously bear the hint for my request.”
“Maybe so,” he raised his brows, “However, you have piqued my interest and I have no reason to ignore your request. But I do wonder, if you were not to have that dream, what would you give to your beloved for the proposal?”
The merchant paused to think, and slowly answered, “I would give her a replica of a butterfly.”
“Butterfly, you say?” he arched his brows, “Interesting, yet quite questionable.”
“My beloved loves butterfly,” the merchant smiled. “It is endearing to see her so immersed in things such as those.”
Vincent laughed, jokingly said, “It is always endearing to watch our beloved do anything at all in front of our nose.”
“I couldn’t agree more. My love for her is indescribable, so much that even the slightest view of her admiring the butterflies fascinated me to no end.”
“I understand your sentiment,” he nodded, “The human emotions are truly amazing, isn’t it? Inexplicably so, I always put my eyes out in admiring the many forms of humans, yet you once again piqued my interest, this time on fellow insects! Truly spectacular,” his voice was buttery smooth yet politely conversed, “I ought to pay much attention to butterflies then, beautiful creatures they are. In fact,” he creased his brows, remembering something on top of his mind, “I think I have.” He averted his attention to his brother, slowly said, “Did you bring the painting of the butterfly?”
“I think I do,” said the brother vaguely, “Is it the painting of the butterfly in a form of a hair accessory?”
“Truly, that’s the one in my mind.”
“Then I might as well have it right here,” he searched for the painting amidst his many parchments, and took out with much rejoiced. “Here we are, a painting of the sparkling butterfly.”
For a while, there was not a sound except for the loud gasp by the merchant, but even then, he quickly recovered, albeit panting slightly, “This is perfect.”
“Of course,” Avery grinned, “It is I who paint.”
The two devils snorted.
“Shut up, devils,” muttered Avery.
“How magnificent, what raw talents you have,” appraised the merchant.
“Indeed,” said the viscount, “And I have searched high and low for a person who could carve this little accessory into perfection as portrayed in this portrait. But alas, none really exceeds my expectation,” he smiled sagely, “It is for my beloved as well, you see.”
“Beloved?” spat Nadirah.
For a moment, Vincent’s eyes flickered towards Nadirah, casting a beguiling smile at her before returning his gaze back to the merchant.
“Oh,” Nadirah clasped her hand together in realization, “No wonder you are so persistent in helping Lady Laura. You liked her.”
“You are surprisingly innocently slow.”
She smiled blandly. “How should I know? He might have a viscountess by his side already for all I care.”
The eyes flickered back at her, this time, thoroughly glinting with amusement.
“Okay,” Nadirah turned her gaze away from the lord, “You don’t. End of story.”
Yet it wasn’t the end for her, because she continued, “No wonder the both of you are still miserably staying at your family house. You don’t have a partner, nor do you have your own personal lodgings.”
“I will,” whispered Avery, “Soon.”
“Did you say something?” asked the merchant.
“Ah,” he smiled. “My thoughts must have flown away from my brain. I shall keep in mind that everything in here,” he pointed at his head, “Should remain in there.”
“Not exactly,” said the merchant, “Everything in there shouldn’t be selfishly kept, although it doesn’t apply to you, since you did pour everything in your artworks,” he said, greatly impressed, “And I shall do the same. Sir, if you don’t mind,” he inquired the viscount with great intensity, “I might not exceed your level of expectancy, but I really appreciate it if you would give me the chance of bringing the static butterfly into life. I would make one for you sir, and one for myself, if you don’t mind.”
“I sincerely do not mind,” answered the viscount simply, “It is my greatest desire to hold the splendor butterfly in my hands, and so, even if the world has two of the duplicates, I wouldn’t mind.”
“T—” Nadirah quickly bit her tongue, didn’t want to distract them with her outburst, “T’was great,” she laughed nervously. “We have finally found the craftsman.”
Exactly at that moment, the ancient world of 19th Century began to cease from their eyes, bringing them back to Grandmother Fatima’s 21st Century house.
Nadirah blinked. “Did I say the keyword?”
“Possibly,” he proceeded to repeat the words, “We have finally found the craftsman. It sure does sounds like the keyword for returning.”
She smacked her head. “If I know such a thing, I would never say that. We don’t even have the chance of looking at the finished product.”
“At least, if we solved the mystery, we would have a chance to look at the product, even if we are 200 years late.”
“Wow,” she sighed, “Such a long time for a little peek at the princess butterfly—No.” Realizing something, she whispered, “Two princesses.”
He lifted a shoulder.
“You know.”
“I never said I don’t.”
“You love that style of speech.”
“It’s vague and deceiving.”
“It’s irritating.”
“Personal reference, I adore it,” he peeked at the clock, and said, “Two measly seconds have passed, and it felt as if we’ve been gone for a lifetime. Truly ingenious.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Felt like a dream, except the dream was definitive authentic, and we did help Mr. Ventris with the painting, although the painting is ridiculously familiar—”
“Familiar?” he asked, intrigued. “What do you mean by familiar?”
She scrunched her face. “I don’t understand either, but I can’t shake the sense of familiarity off my head. Perhaps I have seen a picture of the sparkling butterfly somewhere before.”
“Maybe,” he acquiesced, “But it is highly irritating to have an unsolved puzzle in your head, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
He grinned, leisurely crossing his arms. “I’ll give you a clue.”
chapter 8