Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 53

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 53
Beatrice rinsed vegetables in the cramped sink while Patrick sat at the table, applying meticulous care to peeling potatoes and carrots.
Unlike Edward, whose movements were swift and practiced, the two of them—who had never done housework themselves—approached even simple tasks with visible tension, as though embarking on something grave.
Beatrice rinsing the vegetables, Patrick’s eyes as he carefully carved out the potato sprouts—both worked with such concentration they might have been peering through a microscope.
Meanwhile, Edward set a heavy Cast Iron Pot atop the stove and melted a lump of beef fat.
He’d dusted large chunks of beef with flour, salt, and pepper, and when he laid them into the hot oil, they sizzled with a sharp crack—the rich, savory aroma filling the narrow Second Floor in an instant.
Once the meat had browned, it was transferred to a plate, and now thin-sliced onions absorbed the caramelized fat from the pot’s bottom, softening as they cooked. The way he scraped the browned bits with a Wooden Spoon, stirring them through, spoke of far more than a day or two of practice.
“I’m rather surprised, Uncle.”
Beatrice murmured her admiration.
“I had no idea you cooked so well. I’d heard that most people who embark on foreign expeditions bring along cooks and servants.”
“That’s true enough. Especially those who grumble that foreign food doesn’t suit their palate.”
Edward waited for the onions to turn translucent, then poured the reserved meat back into the pot, added half a bottle of Apple Wine and stock in a generous stream. Two Bay Leaves floated to the surface of the broth.
“At first, I was the same. I thought it natural, you understand. I used to travel with a whole entourage—cooks who knew Brionian cuisine, servants to launder my clothes. But as years passed, my thinking shifted.”
“In what way?”
Patrick, who had been listening intently for some time, ventured carefully into the conversation. He still held a half-peeled carrot in one hand.
“If I’m an Explorer traveling with a retinue of subordinates, then the people I meet and engage with in those lands will inevitably be much like myself. People who keep slaves don’t care in the slightest whether treasures slip away from those lands or stay behind.”
Edward continued speaking without pausing in his work, taking the prepared vegetables from Patrick and pouring them into the pot.
“While Brionian Explorers plundered like madmen, they too sought to line their own pockets through commerce with those lands. And thanks to such exchanges, our Brionian Museum’s Annex Repository grows richer by the day.”
Edward half-covered the pot, lowered the stove’s flame slightly, and carefully hooked the Wooden Spoon over the pot’s edge. He wiped his hands on his apron and lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
“Of course, I was hardly free of ambition myself. But resources and precious inheritances extracted that way are beautiful only when they remain in their own lands. I didn’t want to join that procession of madness. I paid dearly for that choice.”
Patrick glanced around the small room. He knew something of how Explorers behaved.
Unlike most Explorers who displayed their collections with pride, Edward’s modest quarters bore no trace of the famous Explorer, the legendary Mr. Greenleaf.
The shelf held only a Wooden Carved Bird, a bracelet strung with colored glass beads, a Teacup with a broken handle, and a few striped stones.
These were surely not trophies purchased at great cost, but humble gifts pressed into someone’s hands in farewell.
Take the Museum itself—the Annex Repository still held unopened crates stacked to the ceiling.
Each label bore the names of distant, foreign lands. No one asks how the dead birds within them, the butterflies, the orchids uprooted whole, the preserved animals—no one asks by what route they crossed the sea.
The inventory is so long it would take years to complete, yet few people seriously contemplate the circumstances by which those things arrived in this land.
Patrick asked carefully.
“Was that why you returned to Brionia, Curator?”
“To be frank, it was quite influential.”
Edward admitted readily. He lifted the pot’s lid just enough to check that the stew was simmering properly, then covered it again.
“The practice of ravenously consuming other lands grows more varied by the day. I bear considerable responsibility for that. I felt a great deal of guilt. The columns I wrote while traveling abroad stoked the fantasies and curiosity of such people, after all. It was while drowning in such doubt that I was unexpectedly offered the position of Museum Director.”
The stew began to bubble on the stove. Edward gave it one long stir with the Wooden Spoon, tasted a small spoonful of broth, then added a pinch more salt.
“The Board of Directors didn’t seem to realize how other Explorers in those lands treated me. They thought that having a popular Columnist as Curator would boost the Museum’s appeal, which would allow Brionia to acquire more resources from more nations. So I… came in playing along, then seized the position outright.”
So that was it.
Patrick found himself recalling the radical speech Edward had delivered at his inauguration, and with it, the changing expressions of the Board members behind him as they grew thoughtful.
“They’re all regretting it now. They know it’s a position I won’t hold long, so I’m doing as I please while I’m here—offering resistance while I can. I allocated funds to lichen research hoping that Milton’s Economic Plants Department might plunder just a little less greedily. That was my reason…”
“My goodness! That’s quite a wonderful smell!”
“Good heavens!”
Edward jumped, nearly dropping the ladle he was holding, startled by Mrs. Rosy suddenly poking her head over his shoulder from behind.
“We tiptoed upstairs because of you. I’ve brought Bread Pudding from home today.”
Mrs. Rosy stage-whispered with undisguised delight.
“Splendid.”
Edward smiled broadly as he accepted the envelope from Mrs. Rosy, and she retrieved glasses and utensils from the cabinet with the ease of someone well acquainted with the place.
The ease of their movements—they looked almost like a married couple for a moment. A brief glance passed between Patrick and Beatrice, who had caught the subtle current; Mrs. Rosy, sharp-eyed, smiled knowingly.
Edward switched off the stove, laughing openly.
“Come now. The food is ready, so let us eat.”
Three chairs of varying heights gathered cozily around the table. Edward dragged over a wooden crate for the fourth place and sat. The steaming stew, thick slices of bread and butter, and the Bread Pudding Mrs. Rosy had brought made for quite an impressive spread.
Edward retrieved a bottle of Brandy from the cabinet and poured a small measure into four glasses. After a brief toast and the first few spoonfuls of stew, Edward set down his glass and spoke plainly.
“Before Rosy brings it up, let me say it myself: we’ve become quite close friends. Things grew considerably more intimate after the Cafeteria incident.”
Edward winked playfully, and Mrs. Rosy picked up the thread with cheerful alacrity.
“That’s right. We’re the sort of friends who can spend an easy evening together like this. Of course, we’re not close enough to share a bed, so don’t worry.”
Pfft!
Patrick, who had been drinking water, choked at once.
“Excuse me… my apologies.”
He hastily dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief, his ears burning red. Beatrice, stifling her laughter, asked very carefully, as though treading on thin ice.
“But then, Mrs. Rosy, you are…”
Mrs. Rosy was married. At least, that was what everyone at the Museum understood.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Rosy exhaled quietly. Her hand, as she set down the glass, hesitated for just a moment.
“It’s time those two knew my secret as well.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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