Facade
Summary: Rhode sends the twins on a mission to go eat pie, little knowing that she has just sent them to a shop called Leverrier’s Bakery and Heresy Investigation Bureau.
Prompt: 025. Facade
Disclaimer: D. Gray-man series and characters do not belong to me.
The door of the Noah family’s Edo mansion was ripped half of its hinges, but Jasdero and Devit paid this no mind. They barged on in, only to discover that the hall was on fire.
Waving a hand in front of his face and trying to cough away the smell of smoke, Devit voiced his puzzlement. “Why is the hall on fire?”
“Heehee! It smells like Tiki!” said Jasdero, who was more excited than concerned that part of the house was burning.
“We told him to quit. This is what he gets for not caring about our concern for his health,” said Devit in satisfaction. He put his hands on his hips and watched the flames licking at the base of the wall. There were holes in the wall too, he noticed, and a whole chunk of it seemed to have been torn out. I knew Tiki’s habit of traveling straight through walls wasn’t a good idea, thought Devit. “Let’s go tell the Earl,” he told Jasdero, who nodded vigorously.
However, just then they heard a faint cough from through the smoke. Rhode came into view, lugging a fire extinguisher. She sprayed at the flames below the large hole.
“Hello, Rhode!” said Jasdero.
“Why is the hall on fire?” Devit tried again.
“How did Tiki set the hall on fire?” asked Jasdero.
“It wasn’t Tiki, it was Skinn,” said Rhode, coughing.
“Oh,” said Devit.
“A little help here?” said Rhode in the superficially sweet tone that meant doom for anyone who disobeyed.
Devit removed his pistol from his pocket and nodded to Jasdero, who raised his own. They had acquired the guns recently and were very excited about them.
“Blue bomb!” they yelled in unison, sending a watery sphere towards the center of the flames. Their target froze in crackle of ice, which collapsed along with another dozen square feet of wall, revealing singed shelves in the adjacent room. Bits of ice fell on Rhode, who dropped her fire extinguisher with a clang.
“That’s a new one,” she said, looking mildly surprised. Then she turned to glare at them. “I’m holding you responsible for paying to replace this wall now.”
“We didn’t set it on fire,” Devit pointed out, although he did hold his gun behind his back and look vaguely guilty.
“Hee! Why did Skinn attack the wall?” Jasdero asked quickly.
“Because he was pissed off, of course,” said Rhode. With some difficulty, she lifted the fire extinguisher and began putting out the few remaining smoldering sections of wall.
“How come?” asked Jasdero.
Rhode looked exasperated. “Oh, more of the same. Turns out he was kicked out of a premier bakery in London for refusing to button his jacket.”
The twins started laughing.
This seemed to annoy Rhode further. “I learned all of this from him yelling, you understand.”
“So he punched holes in the wall and ignited part of it with electricity,” said Devit after he’d calmed down.
“Exactly. And then you knocked half of it down,” said Rhode. “I may as well go tell the Earl you helped burn down the wall right now.”
The twins looked stricken. “But we didn’t!” said Devit.
“Yeah, Jasdevi froze part of it down!” objected Jasdero, at which Devit smacked him on the head.
Rhode stopped. “You know, taking care of the wall is pretty annoying, but there’s something else that’s bothering me.”
They perked up. “What?” asked Devit.
“I’m wondering why Skinn didn’t attack the bakery itself. If you consider that this took place in London, which is swarming with the Black Order's followers, it’s rather suspicious.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” asked Devit.
Rhode pointed at one of the smaller holes in the wall. “I did. Then I knocked him out to save the rest of the hallway. But my point, you two, is that…how would you like to go on a mission?”
The excitement on their faces was all the answer she needed. “A real mission? Into the heart of London?” asked Devit eagerly.
“Yes! Jasdevi will do it!” shouted Jasdero.
Rhode smiled. “Wonderful. Now, I’m trying to prevent Skinn from going back there and causing an incident. He’s strong, of course, but there may be multiple Exorcists involved, and he doesn’t think straight when he’s angry. I want you to go to London in disguise and investigate this bakery.”
“Okay!” said Jasdero.
Devit was grinning. “Sounds like fun! Can we shoot people?”
“No,” said Rhode hastily. “This mission shouldn’t involve fighting. I know you haven’t had many missions before, but for this one you’ll need to go in disguise. Under no circumstances should you change to your Noah form. Also, don’t give out any names.” She exchanged a meaningful glance with Devit.
“You have two objectives,” she said, and waited for them to finish saying “Wow! Objectives!” to each other. She held up two fingers. “One, find out why Skinn didn’t attack the bakery. If there is any sign of Innocence or the direct involvement of Exorcists, take note of it, but do not confront them. Return here immediately instead. Two, order pie.”
“What?” asked Devit.
“I mean it. Have a piece of pie or something. And order one to go, because I want some too. Besides, the only way that Skinn might possibly forgive them for kicking him out is if their cooking is sublime-that means heavenly, by the way.”
“We can do it,” said Devit.
“Perfect. Jasdero, remember what I said about first-person pronouns?”
Jasdero nodded. “Yes, Rhode. Dero will use those.” He made a visible effort to concentrate. “I will use those,” he said, and looked pleased with himself when Rhode smiled at him.
“Good! Now get going. I’ve left the Ark set to emerge in an alley near the bakery in question-it’s called Leverrier’s Bakery, Skinn said.”
The twins shoved past Rhode, and she waved them goodbye as they rushed through the smoky hall.
Rhode was proud of herself. She’d sent the youngest members of her family on a mission that would make them proud to complete, but was quite safe. Besides, once they were out of the house, she’d have Tiki and the Earl all to herself. They’d been irritating Tiki and the Earl even more than Rhode usually did, and it was her turn to play. Her gesture was the perfect combination of selfish and generous. Rhode nodded smugly to herself as she replaced the fire extinguisher.
She ordered an Akuma to restore the wall to precisely as it had been before Skinn and Jasdevi had gotten to it, on pain of forced self-destruction.
Knowing that her order was impossible for the Akuma to fulfill to the letter made her all the happier.
Jasdero and Devit emerged in a back alley of London. It was paved unevenly in brick, and its twists hid their appearance from sight of the street. Rain had just let up. White-painted walls rose on either side of them, their eaves dripping rainwater to puddle and trickle down the brick path. The twins trotted along the alley, grousing about being forced to leave behind their shiny new weapons.
They turned onto the street and found that they were standing before the target bakery. Its storefront occupied little space, but its windows were neatly trimmed. A large window display contained several enormous cakes frosted in exquisite detail.
The shop name was written above the door in curlicued lettering. It took Devit and Jasdero a moment to puzzle through the entire thing, which read “Leverrier’s Bakery and Heresy Investigation Bureau.” Below it was written “The finest pastries and investigations of heresy in London since 1705.” They stood squinting up at this sentence for so long that the finely varnished wooden door swung open and a shop worker came out, asking “May I help you?”
He was a young man with two moles on his forehead. Even together with his forked eyebrows they did not distract from his severe expression. He had ramrod-straight posture, which made him seem taller than he actually was. His pale hair was pulled back in a braid, and he was wearing a green server’s apron.
Devit couldn’t help curling his lip slightly at such formal bearing and dull fashion sense. He and Jasdero were not in their Noah form, just like Rhode had told them, but they hadn’t bothered to change their clothes. They’d touched up their makeup, of course, but they’d agreed that going without their guns was bad enough, and changing into so-called normal clothes would be entirely too boring. Jasdero’s concession to further disguise had been to stick a bobbly blue sphere onto his headband, which this week was white and fuzzy.
“We’d like some pie,” said Devit coldly.
The server gave him a hard, disdainful stare for a long moment. “I’m sorry, we don’t serve people without shirts.” He indicated Jasdero. “Your friend will have to fasten his coat if you’re to patronize our shop. As they say, ‘No shirt, no shoes, no service,’ and we pride ourselves in following said policy.”
Jasdero obediently zipped up his coat. “Is not wearing underwear okay?” he asked.
The young man’s brow furrowed further. “Said policy makes no mention of underwear, so that will not be a problem.”
“Good thing,” said Jasdero.
“My superior believes in following the letter of the law, not the spirit,” said the server. He stepped out and stood in front of the door, holding it open for them. “Welcome to Leverrier’s Bakery and Heresy Investigation Bureau. Won’t you come inside?”
Devit strolled inside, scowling at the young man, who merely arched his brows further as he passed.
“Heee, it’s nice!” said Jasdero close behind Devit. The interior was small but cozy and well-decorated. The bakery contained café seating, tables with lacy white tablecloths and bright flowers placed at their center. The floor was stone tiling. Past a case displaying breads, pies, and pastries was a closed door labeled “Offices.”
The server ushered them to a table in the back. Jasdero goggled at the interior as he sat. Devit absently began pulling the petals off the sunflower at the center of the table. The young man handed over two menus and said, “My name’s Howard Link, and today I’ll be serving you and possibly investigating you for heresy.”
Jasdero took a menu over and began looking through it, but Devit set his down and met Howard’s eyes in challenge.
“We actually came here because we’re kind of pissed off,” he said. At Devit’s language, Howard’s eyebrows rose in a satisfying way.
“Along with your pie, would you like to order someone investigated for heresy?” he inquired.
“No, no…the thing is, one of our relatives came to your shop recently and was kicked out. We think that’s kind of rude.”
“Ah, the large man. He was rather adamant in refusing to fasten his coat. May I inquire after his name?”
Jasdero looked up from the menu. “It’s-” he began, but Devit lunged across the table and covered his mouth with a hand. “We don’t remember. He’s only distantly related to us. Actually.”
“I see…” said Howard, who looked like he was using all his willpower to restrain himself from saying anything more, such as “Get the hell off the table.”
“Actually, I was kind of curious about how you got him to leave. He doesn’t usually listen to people when he’s in a violent rage,” continued Devit, who was feeling proud that not only had he kept Jasdero from revealing Skinn’s name, but that he was set to fulfill one of Rhode’s objectives. Judging that it was safe, he removed his hand from Jasdero’s mouth (Jasdero went back to looking at the menu) and sat down.
“I believe the exact words I used were, ‘Look over there, cream puffs,’ upon which he went running down the street in the direction I indicated,” said Howard.
“Clever of you,” said Devit grudgingly. So Skinn had been distracted before he could smash the bakery to the ground.
“Time to order! Heehee,” said Jasdero. Howard removed a notepad from his apron pocket and Jasdero pointed out several items.
“Excellent. A chocolate silk pie to go, one fruit parfait and one piece of lemon meringue pie for here…under what name shall I put your order?” he addressed Devit.
Devit hooked an arm over the back of his chair. “Put it under ‘the only damn customers in the entire fucking store,’” he said.
Howard cleared his throat. “If I may be more direct, then. What are your names?”
“Together we’re-”
The instant Jasdero looked up eagerly to speak, Devit lashed out a foot and kicked him in the shins-not painfully, but Jasdero got the point before he finished his sentence. After meeting Devit’s eyes for a fraction of a second, he shut up and conspicuously began reading the menu again.
“We’re traveling incognito,” said Devit. He’d heard the word recently and was pretty sure that was what it meant.
Howard froze with pencil poised over notepad. His frown grew more pronounced. “That’s a very suspicious thing to say.”
“Yeah, well…your service is kind of suspicious,” Devit said, unable to find a better insult on such short notice.
Jasdero prodded Howard in the arm with the menu. “The waiter is angry about the not wearing underwear!”
“Please drop that subject and never mention it again,” said Howard, furrowing his brow.
Jasdero watched the changes in Howard’s expression in fascination as he spoke. He leaned over. “Can I touch your eyebrows?”
“No, you may not!” Howard’s objection didn’t stop Jasdero from reaching towards him. He said, “I have to go get your order!” and scurried off as fast as he could in his stiff and formal gait. He vanished through the door marked “Offices.”
“He’s gone,” said Jasdero, disappointed. But soon Howard bravely emerged once more. This time he was carrying a stack of papers.
“Before I can serve you, you’ll have to fill these out.” Howard placed half the stack in front of each twin. “Just an informal survey we like to give to customers when we think the situation calls for it.”
Devit looked from his stack of papers to Howard. “Do you ever have problems getting customers?”
“Our shop is prized for its service,” said Howard stiffly, bouncing back on his heels. “If you decline to fill out these very important documents…I’m afraid I can’t serve you pie.” He made it sound like this was the grimmest imaginable consequence.
Devit began to think that the success of Jasdevi’s mission was going to require considerable effort after all. He flipped through the corner of the stack with his thumb. The print size was awfully small. He glared at the server. When in doubt, bluff. “My brother can’t read.”
“I can too!” objected Jasdero.
“And nobody can read my handwriting,” said Devit.
“I can!” said Jasdero.
“So we’ll have to pass,” Devit continued grimly.
Howard glanced between the twins. His gaze settled on Jasdero, and he raised his notepad. “Are you lying?” he asked Jasdero.
“No,” said Jasdero. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table (eliciting a wince from Howard that he didn’t notice), friendly and eager to answer the server’s questions.
Under the table, Devit prodded Jasdero’s shin with his foot. Jasdero was going to keep things difficult. “Don’t mind him, he likes to make things up.”
“Just because Ja-because I’m telling the truth is no reason to kick me!” said Jasdero.
“Is he lying?” Howard asked Jasdero.
Jasdero thought very hard for moment. “About which part?”
“Can you read?”
“Yes! Sometimes!” said Jasdero. He ignored Devit’s glare.
Howard scribbled something on his notepad. “And what’s your name?”
Jasdero pressed his lips together tightly for a moment, then said, “Not saying.”
“I see….Well, either way, I’m going to ask you a few questions.” Howard wrote furiously as he spoke.
“The hell you are!” said Devit, slamming his hands on the table and standing up. “And where the hell’s our pie?”
“It’s baking,” said Howard, then turned to Jasdero with pencil poised. “Are you a witch?”
“No!” said Jasdero.
“Is he a witch?”
“No!” Now Jasdero looked angry.
Howard made note of this. “Hmm…are either of you a heretic?”
“What’s that?”
Devit had had enough. He swiped the notepad from Howard’s grasp. The pencil fell to the floor. Devit paged through the notepad. It was written in gibberish, which also pissed him off. “I can’t read your handwriting,” he said.
“It’s shorthand.” Howard walked over to stand by Jasdero’s chair. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come in back with me, where we can speak without interference.” He took Jasdero’s arm in a firm grip. Jasdero took on a confused expression.
Devit was about to panic, disobey Rhode’s warnings, blow the server’s head off, and return without fresh pie when he had a good idea. He thought it was a good idea, anyway, and he was pretty sure Jasdero would agree. These were the only two criteria that needed to be filled for Devit to put a plan into motion.
“How dare you interrogate your superiors for heresy,” said Devit. He slapped Howard’s notebook down on the table.
Now Howard took on a confused expression. “You’re lying. Is he lying?” he demanded of Jasdero, who was still in his grasp.
“Hee! Let go,” said Jasdero.
Devit mimicked what he’d observed of Howard’s imperious air. “You see?” He sat down again and folded his hands together on the table. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but you were most rude.”
“The chain of command is quite clear. Leverrier is my superior,” said Howard. “And you two can’t possibly be from the Black Order or the Vatican. ” He gave a loud, nervous laugh. Since Devit’s claim to authority, he had looked uncertain, and Jasdero was able to tug his arm free and sit down.
“Of course we wouldn’t look like we were,” said Devit in his best uptight bureaucrat tone, which resembled Howard’s tone of voice to a remarkable extent. “We find our inspections of you guys work best that way.”
Howard stood ramrod-straight. “If I’ve insulted you, I apologize, but under the authority of Leverrier’s Bakery and Heresy Investigation Bureau (the finest pastries and investigations of heresy in London since 1705), I call on you to state your credentials, as per standard operational procedure. Under whose authority do you act, and under whose authority were you sent here?”
Devit put on a thoughtful frown to conceal his furious consideration of what would be a plausible lie. Nothing came to mind, but fortunately Jasdero came to his rescue.
“God’s,” said Jasdero happily.
Howard looked perturbed. “Nobody likes to claim the authority of God as much as heretics. You’re lying, aren’t you.”
“No,” said Jasdero, smiling.
Now the young man was definitely agitated. “That’s ridiculous.”
Devit saw his chance to leap in again. While Jasdero was giggling in response to Howard, he gave Howard a charming smile that was precisely the opposite of the loathing he felt for the server. “Now, now, who does the Vatican work for?”
Howard frowned in thought. “The man with the hat?”
It took Devit a moment to realize that he meant that Pope guy, not the Earl. “Go higher.”
Howard’s thought processes seemed to hit a roadblock, because he didn’t move until Jasdero tried to touch his eyebrows again, at which point Howard whisked a serving tray from the counter next to him and used it to ward Jasdero off.
Devit went in for the kill. “We are so very impressed with your dedication to your job. Young man,” he added, because he enjoyed speaking down to someone who was clearly older than him. “It’s just your approach that pisses me off. Why d’you think there’re no customers in this place? Because you’re rude, that’s why.”
“I-I’m following shop procedures precisely! Our procedures are a tradition as fine as investigations of heresy, pie, and investigations of pie. ‘Never serve pie to suspected heretics,’ is among our strictures, as is ‘Never shave your eyebrows.” He looked warily at the twins. “However, if you’re truly Leverrier’s superiors, you’ll know the proper paperwork required for us to change our policies.”
“Oh, there’s no paperwork in Heaven,” said Devit, thoroughly enjoying the game now that Howard half-believed their cover story.
Howard drew in his breath sharply. He looked at Jasdero, who was looking at his eyebrows. “Is this true?”
Jasdero met Devit’s eyes for a second, clearly thrown off by such an idiotic question. Devit shrugged slightly.
“Yeah,” said Jasdero. He’d never heard about any paperwork, anyway.
“I shall have to rethink my views, while taking the utmost care never to stray from the glorious path of orthodoxy,” said Howard eventually. “Do excuse me-I’ll serve you your orders for here.”
He disappeared into “Offices,” and when Jasdevi were sure he was gone, Devit leaned over the table and whispered, “Good job, Jasdero. I think he believes us! But we haven’t completed our mission until we’ve brought a pie to Rhode. Be careful not to do anything that blows our cover story and makes him suspect us. Don’t let any names slip either.”
Jasdero nodded. “Devit, what’s a heretic?”
“Someone who’s stopped pretending to follow the rules.”
“So Jasdevi are heretics after all?”
“Oh shit. No, we’re-”
At just that moment, Howard swept out with two small plates on a tray. He placed the fruit parfait in front of Jasdero and the lemon meringue in front of Devit. It looked really good, but Devit was too occupied with worrying to start eating. If only the server hadn’t come out so quickly, he could have explained to Jasdero that they weren’t heretics, just the opposite in fact, but as it was Jasdero was under the impression that they were two of the people the shop was trying to investigate, and was liable to blurt it out at any moment.
Jasdero began unwrapping the thread from around his mouth piercings.
Stall, thought Devit. He was pretty sure the server was looking at him funny. “One thing we were wondering is what possessed you say right out you investigate heresy. Wouldn’t using the bakery as a front for the heresy investigations be a better idea? You’d probably get more people in here, anyway.”
“Ah, but the beauty of it is that we are a bakery. The Leverrier family and its associates pride themselves not only on their upholding of religious law, but their fine baking skills. The people of London-no, the entirety of England, if not the continent, know the quality of Leverrier’s Bakery’s cakes, pies, and pastries. We are honest with our customers because of the very trust our customers place in us. Or, if you prefer, you could say we hide our second line of work in plain sight.”
“Hmmmmm,” said Devit.
Jasdero set his thread in a tangle beside his plate. Howard eyed it with barely concealed disgust. Jasdero prodded at the stack of papers on the other side of the plate. “Do J-we need to fill this out if we-”
Ironically, Devit was so distracted by worrying about how to prevent Jasdero from ruining their mission that he almost failed to stop him from finishing his sentence. “Holy shit, this fork is tiny!” he yelled, holding up the tiny fork on the side of his plate. “Get me a bigger one!”
“Right away,” said Howard, whose obedience instincts functioned well.
In the brief gap of time while Howard was on the far side of the bakery perusing the contents of a drawer, Devit leaned over and said in a barely audible voice, “We aren’t heretics because when it comes to everyone else’s rules, Noahs don’t count.”
Realization dawned on Jasdero. “That’s right!” he said. He stabbed a piece of melon.
“But don’t say anything about Noahs or heretics or anything else just in case,” added Devit, and was innocently holding up his plate and licking at his pie when Howard came back with a normal-sized fork.
Howard didn’t seem to approve of eating directly from the plate, either. Dear God, did the man approve of anything? Devit wouldn’t come back to this place to eat even if it weren’t a heresy investigation bureau with possible ties to Jasdevi’s enemies.
“Is that how you eat dessert in Heaven?” asked Howard flatly.
Well, maybe he’d come back to shoot out its windows. At night.
Devit snatched the fork away from Howard and had a bite of pie. “It’s true the food’s good,” he allowed.
“Of course it’s true,” said Howard. “We’re a bakery.”
Jasdero had finished his dessert, and, knowing now that he wasn’t a heretic, was folding the top pages of the forms into lopsided paper airplanes.
“Would you…like any water?” Going through the motions was an obvious effort for the young man. Devit was pretty sure Howard didn’t believe their story, at least not all the way, but he was no longer trying to investigate them for heresy, and that was a start.
“We’d like you to stop hovering,” said Devit.
Howard, also eager to stop hovering, turned his head as if hearing a sudden noise, said “Pie’s done!” and left for the back.
Devit slipped the ridiculous tiny fork into his pocket as a souvenir. He quickly ate the rest of his dessert, then looked around for anything interesting to do.
Howard Link returned to find the loud-mouthed customer with one boot on the table, which was surrounded by paper airplanes. There was a pen from the front sitting by his empty plate, but it did not appear that he’d filled out any of his forms. He’d ripped the tops off a few and folded the resulting squares into paper cranes, though.
Perhaps it was just as well the customers hadn’t filled their forms out, though, thought Link. If there was even the remotest chance that they were his superiors, well…Link had trained never to accuse them of heresy or make them fill out paperwork they didn’t want to fill out. He’d never learned what the official punishment was for making them do so, and he wanted to keep it that way. (He had a long and promising career in baking and heretical investigations ahead of him, Leverrier always said.)
What unnerved him was the way the odd blond one had reacted to his questions. The blond one may have a questionable mental state, but he seemed incapable of lying. Link had asked questions of suspected heretics before, and he possessed a basic grasp of how to tell when other people were lying, as befitted an aspiring investigative official. He had no doubt that the black-haired customer was lying, but his blond companion apparently believed his own words. Now, there was the distinct possibility that this was because he was crazy. In Howard Link’s opinion, he needed to be sent to an institution and examined by a qualified physician.
Still…he would be cautious, even if he risked being unprofessional.
The blond one was staring at him again. Link had difficulty looking away from the strange item he was wearing on his head. It was a blue sphere on a length of wire, and it wobbled around. He rather wanted to grab it, like a cat after a toy, but he knew that it would not be proper. What’s more, he wanted to burst out laughing at the foolishness of it, but he had quashed this impulse firmly down. Must keep a suitable front.
“Your order,” he said stiffly, placing an elegant paper box on the table between one customer’s boot and the other’s pile of paper airplanes.
“Great,” said the black-haired one, not looking up from the paper crane he was folding. Such impropriety! It was impossible that this hoodlum was anything but a heretic of some sort, much less Leverrier’s superior. Still, Link had been taught that most heretics concealed themselves in the guise of orthodoxy, among proper upholders of law. Would that not mean by a certain logic that those in the guise of heresy were actually blameless? Not that innocence should be presumed, of course.
Link was interrupted from his musings when the black-haired customer finished the crane and flicked it over his shoulder to land on the floor. “Let’s go,” he said.
The blond one threw a paper airplane at the black-haired one’s head. The black-haired one swatted it down to the table and crumpled it into a little ball, which he threw at Link. Link dodged deftly. He had dealt with rude customers before, although none of the others had been quite so interestingly dressed.
Only moments until they leave, he told himself. “May I…offer you anything else?”
“Your eyebrows?” the blond said promptly, with that troubling grin. Link was suddenly able to put into words why his instincts told him that the blond was telling the truth-he had no façade. The blond customer was not concealing the truth behind pretense (or, well, manners) like ordinary people.
“Can I have them?” persisted the blond when Link did not immediately respond.
And it was highly irritating. “No,” he said stiffly.
The blond one looked down in disappointment, and the black-haired one gave an exaggerated sigh. He took his boots off the table (finally) and took the box containing the pie (again, finally). Both customers stood.
“As for your bill, your total comes to-”
“You’re still making us pay?” The black-haired one’s face held a look of exaggerated surprise.
“I can’t just allow-”
The black-haired one grinned. “Just kidding!” He rummaged around inside his coat, which was probably filthy, and tossed some money on the table. Link swept aside a handful of paper cranes, enough to discover, to his surprise, that they’d given enough for their high bill and then some.
He moved quickly enough to stand beside the door and bow the two boys out. “You were lying, weren’t you,” he told the black-haired one. Link did not grasp their identities or the circumstances of their visit, but could not quite restrain himself from speaking. He did dislike being made a fool of. (Leverrier said this was an obstacle often encountered in the sacred mission of heresy investigation and baking.)
The black-haired one grinned again. “Yeah, pretty much.” He and his friend shrieked in laughter and went running around the corner, into the alley.
Entirely as a gesture, Link followed and peered into the alley, but they’d vanished.
After cleaning up the paper detritus around their table, he went through the surviving questionnaires in case they’d actually filled anything out. They hadn’t, but “FUCK YOU” was written in large letters on the very bottom page of the black-haired one’s stack.
Link folded it in half and threw it away with the cranes and airplanes. He locked the door after being sure to flip the “Gone for Lunch” sign to face the street. He wasn’t actually going for lunch, but he felt this small deception was justified. (Leverrier was at the Black Order’s headquarters, as he often was.) Link climbed the back stairs to his small loft bedroom. He closed and locked his door.
His privacy assured, he laughed himself sick over the blond’s bobbly blue antenna.
Jasdero tore the blue attachment off his headband and tossed it onto his bed. “Mission’s done! Jasdevi succeeded!”
Devit, sitting on his own bed, kicked off his boots. He had the box open, and he’d stuck the tiny fork into the pie to sample the filling, being careful not to leave noticeable holes. “Pie’s good too.”
“Isn’t it Rhode’s and Skinn’s pie? But can Jasdero have some?” asked Jasdero.
“Yeah, but they won’t notice…sure,” said Devit, and broke a millimeter of the perfectly symmetrical crust. He handed it over and carefully closed the box so that it looked exactly like it had before. “Better give it over to Rhode.”
Rhode was in one of her playrooms. She was on her stomach on the floor, humming and putting together a puzzle. Upon close inspection, the puzzle picture seem to depict someone being impaled, but as this was not actually surprising, the twins did not comment.
Tiki was sitting on a couch with a newspaper over his face, not moving.
“For you,” said Devit proudly, setting the box on top of her mostly-finished puzzle.
“Oh good, you’re back. Tiki decided to be boring just now and nap.” Rhode opened the box and looked at the pie, her expression shifting from boredom to unconcealed greed.
“Jasdevi did real well,” said Jasdero, sidestepping through Rhode’s stuffed animals and picture books, which were strewn about the floor.
“You didn’t have any of this pie, did you?” asked Rhode.
“Of course not,” said Devit.
“Hardly any,” said Jasdero.
Rhode glanced at him. “Well, if you did, you hid it very well.”
“Thanks!” said Jasdero.
Devit said, “And the other half of our mission, where you wanted to know why Skinn didn’t flatten it? It’s because this one server-who was a total fucker-”
“-Jasdero wants his eyebrows-”
“-yeah, you should have seen ‘em-cleverly distracted him with food.”
Rhode nodded. “That’s the only thing that could have worked.” She contemplated the pie. “Half for me, half for Skinn, perhaps…”
Devit pulled out the tiny fork. “Have you ever seen a fork this tiny?”
Rhode sat up, looking at him in irked confusion. “All the time, at dinner. They’re the ones you never use.”
Devit squinted back at the fork as if it might begin to look familiar at any moment.
“Jasdero used one to comb his hair once,” said Jasdero.
“They’re mostly for if you’re trying to look refined. So you wouldn’t ever have used them.”
“Oh, well that’s why…hey!” said Devit.
Rhode smiled up at him sweetly. “Would you like to help me finish my puzzle? It’s almost done.”
“Fuck you. We’re gonna go do important things.”
“Hee! Like laundry.”
“No, like fighting! Or something.”
“Yes! Jasdevi should figure out that illusion attack…”
Whispering to each other, they walked out. As he entered the hall, Devit realized he was still holding the tiny fork. He paused and reentered the playroom, where he flipped the fork at Tiki.
It bounced off his newspaper and onto the floor. Tiki showed no reaction, and Devit ran back out to resume his conversation with Jasdero.
Rhode set the pie to the side and jumped to kneel on the arm of the couch. She pulled the newspaper off Tiki’s face. His eyelids twitched.
“Come play dolls with me,” she said.
Tiki met her eyes. “I don’t care what you look like, you’re too old to play with dolls,” he said.
Prompt: 025. Facade
Disclaimer: D. Gray-man series and characters do not belong to me.
The door of the Noah family’s Edo mansion was ripped half of its hinges, but Jasdero and Devit paid this no mind. They barged on in, only to discover that the hall was on fire.
Waving a hand in front of his face and trying to cough away the smell of smoke, Devit voiced his puzzlement. “Why is the hall on fire?”
“Heehee! It smells like Tiki!” said Jasdero, who was more excited than concerned that part of the house was burning.
“We told him to quit. This is what he gets for not caring about our concern for his health,” said Devit in satisfaction. He put his hands on his hips and watched the flames licking at the base of the wall. There were holes in the wall too, he noticed, and a whole chunk of it seemed to have been torn out. I knew Tiki’s habit of traveling straight through walls wasn’t a good idea, thought Devit. “Let’s go tell the Earl,” he told Jasdero, who nodded vigorously.
However, just then they heard a faint cough from through the smoke. Rhode came into view, lugging a fire extinguisher. She sprayed at the flames below the large hole.
“Hello, Rhode!” said Jasdero.
“Why is the hall on fire?” Devit tried again.
“How did Tiki set the hall on fire?” asked Jasdero.
“It wasn’t Tiki, it was Skinn,” said Rhode, coughing.
“Oh,” said Devit.
“A little help here?” said Rhode in the superficially sweet tone that meant doom for anyone who disobeyed.
Devit removed his pistol from his pocket and nodded to Jasdero, who raised his own. They had acquired the guns recently and were very excited about them.
“Blue bomb!” they yelled in unison, sending a watery sphere towards the center of the flames. Their target froze in crackle of ice, which collapsed along with another dozen square feet of wall, revealing singed shelves in the adjacent room. Bits of ice fell on Rhode, who dropped her fire extinguisher with a clang.
“That’s a new one,” she said, looking mildly surprised. Then she turned to glare at them. “I’m holding you responsible for paying to replace this wall now.”
“We didn’t set it on fire,” Devit pointed out, although he did hold his gun behind his back and look vaguely guilty.
“Hee! Why did Skinn attack the wall?” Jasdero asked quickly.
“Because he was pissed off, of course,” said Rhode. With some difficulty, she lifted the fire extinguisher and began putting out the few remaining smoldering sections of wall.
“How come?” asked Jasdero.
Rhode looked exasperated. “Oh, more of the same. Turns out he was kicked out of a premier bakery in London for refusing to button his jacket.”
The twins started laughing.
This seemed to annoy Rhode further. “I learned all of this from him yelling, you understand.”
“So he punched holes in the wall and ignited part of it with electricity,” said Devit after he’d calmed down.
“Exactly. And then you knocked half of it down,” said Rhode. “I may as well go tell the Earl you helped burn down the wall right now.”
The twins looked stricken. “But we didn’t!” said Devit.
“Yeah, Jasdevi froze part of it down!” objected Jasdero, at which Devit smacked him on the head.
Rhode stopped. “You know, taking care of the wall is pretty annoying, but there’s something else that’s bothering me.”
They perked up. “What?” asked Devit.
“I’m wondering why Skinn didn’t attack the bakery itself. If you consider that this took place in London, which is swarming with the Black Order's followers, it’s rather suspicious.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” asked Devit.
Rhode pointed at one of the smaller holes in the wall. “I did. Then I knocked him out to save the rest of the hallway. But my point, you two, is that…how would you like to go on a mission?”
The excitement on their faces was all the answer she needed. “A real mission? Into the heart of London?” asked Devit eagerly.
“Yes! Jasdevi will do it!” shouted Jasdero.
Rhode smiled. “Wonderful. Now, I’m trying to prevent Skinn from going back there and causing an incident. He’s strong, of course, but there may be multiple Exorcists involved, and he doesn’t think straight when he’s angry. I want you to go to London in disguise and investigate this bakery.”
“Okay!” said Jasdero.
Devit was grinning. “Sounds like fun! Can we shoot people?”
“No,” said Rhode hastily. “This mission shouldn’t involve fighting. I know you haven’t had many missions before, but for this one you’ll need to go in disguise. Under no circumstances should you change to your Noah form. Also, don’t give out any names.” She exchanged a meaningful glance with Devit.
“You have two objectives,” she said, and waited for them to finish saying “Wow! Objectives!” to each other. She held up two fingers. “One, find out why Skinn didn’t attack the bakery. If there is any sign of Innocence or the direct involvement of Exorcists, take note of it, but do not confront them. Return here immediately instead. Two, order pie.”
“What?” asked Devit.
“I mean it. Have a piece of pie or something. And order one to go, because I want some too. Besides, the only way that Skinn might possibly forgive them for kicking him out is if their cooking is sublime-that means heavenly, by the way.”
“We can do it,” said Devit.
“Perfect. Jasdero, remember what I said about first-person pronouns?”
Jasdero nodded. “Yes, Rhode. Dero will use those.” He made a visible effort to concentrate. “I will use those,” he said, and looked pleased with himself when Rhode smiled at him.
“Good! Now get going. I’ve left the Ark set to emerge in an alley near the bakery in question-it’s called Leverrier’s Bakery, Skinn said.”
The twins shoved past Rhode, and she waved them goodbye as they rushed through the smoky hall.
Rhode was proud of herself. She’d sent the youngest members of her family on a mission that would make them proud to complete, but was quite safe. Besides, once they were out of the house, she’d have Tiki and the Earl all to herself. They’d been irritating Tiki and the Earl even more than Rhode usually did, and it was her turn to play. Her gesture was the perfect combination of selfish and generous. Rhode nodded smugly to herself as she replaced the fire extinguisher.
She ordered an Akuma to restore the wall to precisely as it had been before Skinn and Jasdevi had gotten to it, on pain of forced self-destruction.
Knowing that her order was impossible for the Akuma to fulfill to the letter made her all the happier.
Jasdero and Devit emerged in a back alley of London. It was paved unevenly in brick, and its twists hid their appearance from sight of the street. Rain had just let up. White-painted walls rose on either side of them, their eaves dripping rainwater to puddle and trickle down the brick path. The twins trotted along the alley, grousing about being forced to leave behind their shiny new weapons.
They turned onto the street and found that they were standing before the target bakery. Its storefront occupied little space, but its windows were neatly trimmed. A large window display contained several enormous cakes frosted in exquisite detail.
The shop name was written above the door in curlicued lettering. It took Devit and Jasdero a moment to puzzle through the entire thing, which read “Leverrier’s Bakery and Heresy Investigation Bureau.” Below it was written “The finest pastries and investigations of heresy in London since 1705.” They stood squinting up at this sentence for so long that the finely varnished wooden door swung open and a shop worker came out, asking “May I help you?”
He was a young man with two moles on his forehead. Even together with his forked eyebrows they did not distract from his severe expression. He had ramrod-straight posture, which made him seem taller than he actually was. His pale hair was pulled back in a braid, and he was wearing a green server’s apron.
Devit couldn’t help curling his lip slightly at such formal bearing and dull fashion sense. He and Jasdero were not in their Noah form, just like Rhode had told them, but they hadn’t bothered to change their clothes. They’d touched up their makeup, of course, but they’d agreed that going without their guns was bad enough, and changing into so-called normal clothes would be entirely too boring. Jasdero’s concession to further disguise had been to stick a bobbly blue sphere onto his headband, which this week was white and fuzzy.
“We’d like some pie,” said Devit coldly.
The server gave him a hard, disdainful stare for a long moment. “I’m sorry, we don’t serve people without shirts.” He indicated Jasdero. “Your friend will have to fasten his coat if you’re to patronize our shop. As they say, ‘No shirt, no shoes, no service,’ and we pride ourselves in following said policy.”
Jasdero obediently zipped up his coat. “Is not wearing underwear okay?” he asked.
The young man’s brow furrowed further. “Said policy makes no mention of underwear, so that will not be a problem.”
“Good thing,” said Jasdero.
“My superior believes in following the letter of the law, not the spirit,” said the server. He stepped out and stood in front of the door, holding it open for them. “Welcome to Leverrier’s Bakery and Heresy Investigation Bureau. Won’t you come inside?”
Devit strolled inside, scowling at the young man, who merely arched his brows further as he passed.
“Heee, it’s nice!” said Jasdero close behind Devit. The interior was small but cozy and well-decorated. The bakery contained café seating, tables with lacy white tablecloths and bright flowers placed at their center. The floor was stone tiling. Past a case displaying breads, pies, and pastries was a closed door labeled “Offices.”
The server ushered them to a table in the back. Jasdero goggled at the interior as he sat. Devit absently began pulling the petals off the sunflower at the center of the table. The young man handed over two menus and said, “My name’s Howard Link, and today I’ll be serving you and possibly investigating you for heresy.”
Jasdero took a menu over and began looking through it, but Devit set his down and met Howard’s eyes in challenge.
“We actually came here because we’re kind of pissed off,” he said. At Devit’s language, Howard’s eyebrows rose in a satisfying way.
“Along with your pie, would you like to order someone investigated for heresy?” he inquired.
“No, no…the thing is, one of our relatives came to your shop recently and was kicked out. We think that’s kind of rude.”
“Ah, the large man. He was rather adamant in refusing to fasten his coat. May I inquire after his name?”
Jasdero looked up from the menu. “It’s-” he began, but Devit lunged across the table and covered his mouth with a hand. “We don’t remember. He’s only distantly related to us. Actually.”
“I see…” said Howard, who looked like he was using all his willpower to restrain himself from saying anything more, such as “Get the hell off the table.”
“Actually, I was kind of curious about how you got him to leave. He doesn’t usually listen to people when he’s in a violent rage,” continued Devit, who was feeling proud that not only had he kept Jasdero from revealing Skinn’s name, but that he was set to fulfill one of Rhode’s objectives. Judging that it was safe, he removed his hand from Jasdero’s mouth (Jasdero went back to looking at the menu) and sat down.
“I believe the exact words I used were, ‘Look over there, cream puffs,’ upon which he went running down the street in the direction I indicated,” said Howard.
“Clever of you,” said Devit grudgingly. So Skinn had been distracted before he could smash the bakery to the ground.
“Time to order! Heehee,” said Jasdero. Howard removed a notepad from his apron pocket and Jasdero pointed out several items.
“Excellent. A chocolate silk pie to go, one fruit parfait and one piece of lemon meringue pie for here…under what name shall I put your order?” he addressed Devit.
Devit hooked an arm over the back of his chair. “Put it under ‘the only damn customers in the entire fucking store,’” he said.
Howard cleared his throat. “If I may be more direct, then. What are your names?”
“Together we’re-”
The instant Jasdero looked up eagerly to speak, Devit lashed out a foot and kicked him in the shins-not painfully, but Jasdero got the point before he finished his sentence. After meeting Devit’s eyes for a fraction of a second, he shut up and conspicuously began reading the menu again.
“We’re traveling incognito,” said Devit. He’d heard the word recently and was pretty sure that was what it meant.
Howard froze with pencil poised over notepad. His frown grew more pronounced. “That’s a very suspicious thing to say.”
“Yeah, well…your service is kind of suspicious,” Devit said, unable to find a better insult on such short notice.
Jasdero prodded Howard in the arm with the menu. “The waiter is angry about the not wearing underwear!”
“Please drop that subject and never mention it again,” said Howard, furrowing his brow.
Jasdero watched the changes in Howard’s expression in fascination as he spoke. He leaned over. “Can I touch your eyebrows?”
“No, you may not!” Howard’s objection didn’t stop Jasdero from reaching towards him. He said, “I have to go get your order!” and scurried off as fast as he could in his stiff and formal gait. He vanished through the door marked “Offices.”
“He’s gone,” said Jasdero, disappointed. But soon Howard bravely emerged once more. This time he was carrying a stack of papers.
“Before I can serve you, you’ll have to fill these out.” Howard placed half the stack in front of each twin. “Just an informal survey we like to give to customers when we think the situation calls for it.”
Devit looked from his stack of papers to Howard. “Do you ever have problems getting customers?”
“Our shop is prized for its service,” said Howard stiffly, bouncing back on his heels. “If you decline to fill out these very important documents…I’m afraid I can’t serve you pie.” He made it sound like this was the grimmest imaginable consequence.
Devit began to think that the success of Jasdevi’s mission was going to require considerable effort after all. He flipped through the corner of the stack with his thumb. The print size was awfully small. He glared at the server. When in doubt, bluff. “My brother can’t read.”
“I can too!” objected Jasdero.
“And nobody can read my handwriting,” said Devit.
“I can!” said Jasdero.
“So we’ll have to pass,” Devit continued grimly.
Howard glanced between the twins. His gaze settled on Jasdero, and he raised his notepad. “Are you lying?” he asked Jasdero.
“No,” said Jasdero. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table (eliciting a wince from Howard that he didn’t notice), friendly and eager to answer the server’s questions.
Under the table, Devit prodded Jasdero’s shin with his foot. Jasdero was going to keep things difficult. “Don’t mind him, he likes to make things up.”
“Just because Ja-because I’m telling the truth is no reason to kick me!” said Jasdero.
“Is he lying?” Howard asked Jasdero.
Jasdero thought very hard for moment. “About which part?”
“Can you read?”
“Yes! Sometimes!” said Jasdero. He ignored Devit’s glare.
Howard scribbled something on his notepad. “And what’s your name?”
Jasdero pressed his lips together tightly for a moment, then said, “Not saying.”
“I see….Well, either way, I’m going to ask you a few questions.” Howard wrote furiously as he spoke.
“The hell you are!” said Devit, slamming his hands on the table and standing up. “And where the hell’s our pie?”
“It’s baking,” said Howard, then turned to Jasdero with pencil poised. “Are you a witch?”
“No!” said Jasdero.
“Is he a witch?”
“No!” Now Jasdero looked angry.
Howard made note of this. “Hmm…are either of you a heretic?”
“What’s that?”
Devit had had enough. He swiped the notepad from Howard’s grasp. The pencil fell to the floor. Devit paged through the notepad. It was written in gibberish, which also pissed him off. “I can’t read your handwriting,” he said.
“It’s shorthand.” Howard walked over to stand by Jasdero’s chair. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come in back with me, where we can speak without interference.” He took Jasdero’s arm in a firm grip. Jasdero took on a confused expression.
Devit was about to panic, disobey Rhode’s warnings, blow the server’s head off, and return without fresh pie when he had a good idea. He thought it was a good idea, anyway, and he was pretty sure Jasdero would agree. These were the only two criteria that needed to be filled for Devit to put a plan into motion.
“How dare you interrogate your superiors for heresy,” said Devit. He slapped Howard’s notebook down on the table.
Now Howard took on a confused expression. “You’re lying. Is he lying?” he demanded of Jasdero, who was still in his grasp.
“Hee! Let go,” said Jasdero.
Devit mimicked what he’d observed of Howard’s imperious air. “You see?” He sat down again and folded his hands together on the table. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but you were most rude.”
“The chain of command is quite clear. Leverrier is my superior,” said Howard. “And you two can’t possibly be from the Black Order or the Vatican. ” He gave a loud, nervous laugh. Since Devit’s claim to authority, he had looked uncertain, and Jasdero was able to tug his arm free and sit down.
“Of course we wouldn’t look like we were,” said Devit in his best uptight bureaucrat tone, which resembled Howard’s tone of voice to a remarkable extent. “We find our inspections of you guys work best that way.”
Howard stood ramrod-straight. “If I’ve insulted you, I apologize, but under the authority of Leverrier’s Bakery and Heresy Investigation Bureau (the finest pastries and investigations of heresy in London since 1705), I call on you to state your credentials, as per standard operational procedure. Under whose authority do you act, and under whose authority were you sent here?”
Devit put on a thoughtful frown to conceal his furious consideration of what would be a plausible lie. Nothing came to mind, but fortunately Jasdero came to his rescue.
“God’s,” said Jasdero happily.
Howard looked perturbed. “Nobody likes to claim the authority of God as much as heretics. You’re lying, aren’t you.”
“No,” said Jasdero, smiling.
Now the young man was definitely agitated. “That’s ridiculous.”
Devit saw his chance to leap in again. While Jasdero was giggling in response to Howard, he gave Howard a charming smile that was precisely the opposite of the loathing he felt for the server. “Now, now, who does the Vatican work for?”
Howard frowned in thought. “The man with the hat?”
It took Devit a moment to realize that he meant that Pope guy, not the Earl. “Go higher.”
Howard’s thought processes seemed to hit a roadblock, because he didn’t move until Jasdero tried to touch his eyebrows again, at which point Howard whisked a serving tray from the counter next to him and used it to ward Jasdero off.
Devit went in for the kill. “We are so very impressed with your dedication to your job. Young man,” he added, because he enjoyed speaking down to someone who was clearly older than him. “It’s just your approach that pisses me off. Why d’you think there’re no customers in this place? Because you’re rude, that’s why.”
“I-I’m following shop procedures precisely! Our procedures are a tradition as fine as investigations of heresy, pie, and investigations of pie. ‘Never serve pie to suspected heretics,’ is among our strictures, as is ‘Never shave your eyebrows.” He looked warily at the twins. “However, if you’re truly Leverrier’s superiors, you’ll know the proper paperwork required for us to change our policies.”
“Oh, there’s no paperwork in Heaven,” said Devit, thoroughly enjoying the game now that Howard half-believed their cover story.
Howard drew in his breath sharply. He looked at Jasdero, who was looking at his eyebrows. “Is this true?”
Jasdero met Devit’s eyes for a second, clearly thrown off by such an idiotic question. Devit shrugged slightly.
“Yeah,” said Jasdero. He’d never heard about any paperwork, anyway.
“I shall have to rethink my views, while taking the utmost care never to stray from the glorious path of orthodoxy,” said Howard eventually. “Do excuse me-I’ll serve you your orders for here.”
He disappeared into “Offices,” and when Jasdevi were sure he was gone, Devit leaned over the table and whispered, “Good job, Jasdero. I think he believes us! But we haven’t completed our mission until we’ve brought a pie to Rhode. Be careful not to do anything that blows our cover story and makes him suspect us. Don’t let any names slip either.”
Jasdero nodded. “Devit, what’s a heretic?”
“Someone who’s stopped pretending to follow the rules.”
“So Jasdevi are heretics after all?”
“Oh shit. No, we’re-”
At just that moment, Howard swept out with two small plates on a tray. He placed the fruit parfait in front of Jasdero and the lemon meringue in front of Devit. It looked really good, but Devit was too occupied with worrying to start eating. If only the server hadn’t come out so quickly, he could have explained to Jasdero that they weren’t heretics, just the opposite in fact, but as it was Jasdero was under the impression that they were two of the people the shop was trying to investigate, and was liable to blurt it out at any moment.
Jasdero began unwrapping the thread from around his mouth piercings.
Stall, thought Devit. He was pretty sure the server was looking at him funny. “One thing we were wondering is what possessed you say right out you investigate heresy. Wouldn’t using the bakery as a front for the heresy investigations be a better idea? You’d probably get more people in here, anyway.”
“Ah, but the beauty of it is that we are a bakery. The Leverrier family and its associates pride themselves not only on their upholding of religious law, but their fine baking skills. The people of London-no, the entirety of England, if not the continent, know the quality of Leverrier’s Bakery’s cakes, pies, and pastries. We are honest with our customers because of the very trust our customers place in us. Or, if you prefer, you could say we hide our second line of work in plain sight.”
“Hmmmmm,” said Devit.
Jasdero set his thread in a tangle beside his plate. Howard eyed it with barely concealed disgust. Jasdero prodded at the stack of papers on the other side of the plate. “Do J-we need to fill this out if we-”
Ironically, Devit was so distracted by worrying about how to prevent Jasdero from ruining their mission that he almost failed to stop him from finishing his sentence. “Holy shit, this fork is tiny!” he yelled, holding up the tiny fork on the side of his plate. “Get me a bigger one!”
“Right away,” said Howard, whose obedience instincts functioned well.
In the brief gap of time while Howard was on the far side of the bakery perusing the contents of a drawer, Devit leaned over and said in a barely audible voice, “We aren’t heretics because when it comes to everyone else’s rules, Noahs don’t count.”
Realization dawned on Jasdero. “That’s right!” he said. He stabbed a piece of melon.
“But don’t say anything about Noahs or heretics or anything else just in case,” added Devit, and was innocently holding up his plate and licking at his pie when Howard came back with a normal-sized fork.
Howard didn’t seem to approve of eating directly from the plate, either. Dear God, did the man approve of anything? Devit wouldn’t come back to this place to eat even if it weren’t a heresy investigation bureau with possible ties to Jasdevi’s enemies.
“Is that how you eat dessert in Heaven?” asked Howard flatly.
Well, maybe he’d come back to shoot out its windows. At night.
Devit snatched the fork away from Howard and had a bite of pie. “It’s true the food’s good,” he allowed.
“Of course it’s true,” said Howard. “We’re a bakery.”
Jasdero had finished his dessert, and, knowing now that he wasn’t a heretic, was folding the top pages of the forms into lopsided paper airplanes.
“Would you…like any water?” Going through the motions was an obvious effort for the young man. Devit was pretty sure Howard didn’t believe their story, at least not all the way, but he was no longer trying to investigate them for heresy, and that was a start.
“We’d like you to stop hovering,” said Devit.
Howard, also eager to stop hovering, turned his head as if hearing a sudden noise, said “Pie’s done!” and left for the back.
Devit slipped the ridiculous tiny fork into his pocket as a souvenir. He quickly ate the rest of his dessert, then looked around for anything interesting to do.
Howard Link returned to find the loud-mouthed customer with one boot on the table, which was surrounded by paper airplanes. There was a pen from the front sitting by his empty plate, but it did not appear that he’d filled out any of his forms. He’d ripped the tops off a few and folded the resulting squares into paper cranes, though.
Perhaps it was just as well the customers hadn’t filled their forms out, though, thought Link. If there was even the remotest chance that they were his superiors, well…Link had trained never to accuse them of heresy or make them fill out paperwork they didn’t want to fill out. He’d never learned what the official punishment was for making them do so, and he wanted to keep it that way. (He had a long and promising career in baking and heretical investigations ahead of him, Leverrier always said.)
What unnerved him was the way the odd blond one had reacted to his questions. The blond one may have a questionable mental state, but he seemed incapable of lying. Link had asked questions of suspected heretics before, and he possessed a basic grasp of how to tell when other people were lying, as befitted an aspiring investigative official. He had no doubt that the black-haired customer was lying, but his blond companion apparently believed his own words. Now, there was the distinct possibility that this was because he was crazy. In Howard Link’s opinion, he needed to be sent to an institution and examined by a qualified physician.
Still…he would be cautious, even if he risked being unprofessional.
The blond one was staring at him again. Link had difficulty looking away from the strange item he was wearing on his head. It was a blue sphere on a length of wire, and it wobbled around. He rather wanted to grab it, like a cat after a toy, but he knew that it would not be proper. What’s more, he wanted to burst out laughing at the foolishness of it, but he had quashed this impulse firmly down. Must keep a suitable front.
“Your order,” he said stiffly, placing an elegant paper box on the table between one customer’s boot and the other’s pile of paper airplanes.
“Great,” said the black-haired one, not looking up from the paper crane he was folding. Such impropriety! It was impossible that this hoodlum was anything but a heretic of some sort, much less Leverrier’s superior. Still, Link had been taught that most heretics concealed themselves in the guise of orthodoxy, among proper upholders of law. Would that not mean by a certain logic that those in the guise of heresy were actually blameless? Not that innocence should be presumed, of course.
Link was interrupted from his musings when the black-haired customer finished the crane and flicked it over his shoulder to land on the floor. “Let’s go,” he said.
The blond one threw a paper airplane at the black-haired one’s head. The black-haired one swatted it down to the table and crumpled it into a little ball, which he threw at Link. Link dodged deftly. He had dealt with rude customers before, although none of the others had been quite so interestingly dressed.
Only moments until they leave, he told himself. “May I…offer you anything else?”
“Your eyebrows?” the blond said promptly, with that troubling grin. Link was suddenly able to put into words why his instincts told him that the blond was telling the truth-he had no façade. The blond customer was not concealing the truth behind pretense (or, well, manners) like ordinary people.
“Can I have them?” persisted the blond when Link did not immediately respond.
And it was highly irritating. “No,” he said stiffly.
The blond one looked down in disappointment, and the black-haired one gave an exaggerated sigh. He took his boots off the table (finally) and took the box containing the pie (again, finally). Both customers stood.
“As for your bill, your total comes to-”
“You’re still making us pay?” The black-haired one’s face held a look of exaggerated surprise.
“I can’t just allow-”
The black-haired one grinned. “Just kidding!” He rummaged around inside his coat, which was probably filthy, and tossed some money on the table. Link swept aside a handful of paper cranes, enough to discover, to his surprise, that they’d given enough for their high bill and then some.
He moved quickly enough to stand beside the door and bow the two boys out. “You were lying, weren’t you,” he told the black-haired one. Link did not grasp their identities or the circumstances of their visit, but could not quite restrain himself from speaking. He did dislike being made a fool of. (Leverrier said this was an obstacle often encountered in the sacred mission of heresy investigation and baking.)
The black-haired one grinned again. “Yeah, pretty much.” He and his friend shrieked in laughter and went running around the corner, into the alley.
Entirely as a gesture, Link followed and peered into the alley, but they’d vanished.
After cleaning up the paper detritus around their table, he went through the surviving questionnaires in case they’d actually filled anything out. They hadn’t, but “FUCK YOU” was written in large letters on the very bottom page of the black-haired one’s stack.
Link folded it in half and threw it away with the cranes and airplanes. He locked the door after being sure to flip the “Gone for Lunch” sign to face the street. He wasn’t actually going for lunch, but he felt this small deception was justified. (Leverrier was at the Black Order’s headquarters, as he often was.) Link climbed the back stairs to his small loft bedroom. He closed and locked his door.
His privacy assured, he laughed himself sick over the blond’s bobbly blue antenna.
Jasdero tore the blue attachment off his headband and tossed it onto his bed. “Mission’s done! Jasdevi succeeded!”
Devit, sitting on his own bed, kicked off his boots. He had the box open, and he’d stuck the tiny fork into the pie to sample the filling, being careful not to leave noticeable holes. “Pie’s good too.”
“Isn’t it Rhode’s and Skinn’s pie? But can Jasdero have some?” asked Jasdero.
“Yeah, but they won’t notice…sure,” said Devit, and broke a millimeter of the perfectly symmetrical crust. He handed it over and carefully closed the box so that it looked exactly like it had before. “Better give it over to Rhode.”
Rhode was in one of her playrooms. She was on her stomach on the floor, humming and putting together a puzzle. Upon close inspection, the puzzle picture seem to depict someone being impaled, but as this was not actually surprising, the twins did not comment.
Tiki was sitting on a couch with a newspaper over his face, not moving.
“For you,” said Devit proudly, setting the box on top of her mostly-finished puzzle.
“Oh good, you’re back. Tiki decided to be boring just now and nap.” Rhode opened the box and looked at the pie, her expression shifting from boredom to unconcealed greed.
“Jasdevi did real well,” said Jasdero, sidestepping through Rhode’s stuffed animals and picture books, which were strewn about the floor.
“You didn’t have any of this pie, did you?” asked Rhode.
“Of course not,” said Devit.
“Hardly any,” said Jasdero.
Rhode glanced at him. “Well, if you did, you hid it very well.”
“Thanks!” said Jasdero.
Devit said, “And the other half of our mission, where you wanted to know why Skinn didn’t flatten it? It’s because this one server-who was a total fucker-”
“-Jasdero wants his eyebrows-”
“-yeah, you should have seen ‘em-cleverly distracted him with food.”
Rhode nodded. “That’s the only thing that could have worked.” She contemplated the pie. “Half for me, half for Skinn, perhaps…”
Devit pulled out the tiny fork. “Have you ever seen a fork this tiny?”
Rhode sat up, looking at him in irked confusion. “All the time, at dinner. They’re the ones you never use.”
Devit squinted back at the fork as if it might begin to look familiar at any moment.
“Jasdero used one to comb his hair once,” said Jasdero.
“They’re mostly for if you’re trying to look refined. So you wouldn’t ever have used them.”
“Oh, well that’s why…hey!” said Devit.
Rhode smiled up at him sweetly. “Would you like to help me finish my puzzle? It’s almost done.”
“Fuck you. We’re gonna go do important things.”
“Hee! Like laundry.”
“No, like fighting! Or something.”
“Yes! Jasdevi should figure out that illusion attack…”
Whispering to each other, they walked out. As he entered the hall, Devit realized he was still holding the tiny fork. He paused and reentered the playroom, where he flipped the fork at Tiki.
It bounced off his newspaper and onto the floor. Tiki showed no reaction, and Devit ran back out to resume his conversation with Jasdero.
Rhode set the pie to the side and jumped to kneel on the arm of the couch. She pulled the newspaper off Tiki’s face. His eyelids twitched.
“Come play dolls with me,” she said.
Tiki met her eyes. “I don’t care what you look like, you’re too old to play with dolls,” he said.