Chapter Text
“I have a small favor to ask of you, Barok.”
Barok examines the cloaked, masked man Mael just brought into the room from head to toe. He is quite small in stature, the crown of his head barely reaching Barok’s eyes, and since he’s wearing a cloak, it’s quite difficult to make out what he really looks like.
This certainly isn’t the first time Mael has asked him for a favor – he is his boss after all, and if not for him, Barok probably would not have been the prosecutor he is now, so perhaps it’s that sense of owed gratitude that led him to never question anything Mael asks him to do.
This one though, is toeing the line.
Barok sighs as he crosses his arms, “Who is this man?”
Mael shakes his head, “I’m not quite sure myself, but I would like to entrust him in your care as a prosecutor in training.”
“You put the mask on him, Lord Stronghart. You certainly saw the face behind it, and decided that you need to hide it from me,” Barok refutes, “Although I wonder what the reason for that would be.”
“This man arrived at our ports as a stowaway, with no identifying documents nor belongings other than the clothes on his back,” Mael informs him, “I think it is only appropriate that we show him how hospitable the British are, wouldn’t you agree?”
Barok turns to the masked man, who hasn’t spoken a single word this entire time. What could he be hiding?
“What’s your name?”
The masked man does not answer, though he turns to look up at van Zieks. The only part of his face not covered by the mask was his mouth, and there was no indication that he was going to speak.
“I am no magician, my Lord – I’m afraid I cannot make a prosecutor out of a mute fellow.”
That seems to have elicited a reaction out of the masked man, though it’s just the slightest twitch of his lips. So it seems that he at least understands English.
“He is not mute,” Mael corrects him, “He argued his way in at the port of entry, and I met him while he was being taken in at Scotland Yard. Curiously, he seems to understand British and Japanese law.”
“And yet he cannot tell me his name?”
“Hmm,” Mael takes out his pocket watch and checks it, “I imagine you will not be convinced, but he seems to have lost his memories as well.”
“What a convenient excuse to rid yourself of the responsibility of revealing his identity to me.”
Mael sighs as he puts his pocket watch away. “Please, Barok, I only have six minutes and thirteen seconds before my next commitment.”
“I’m afraid I must refuse, my Lord,” Barok insists, “I have made it clear that I do not take apprentices.”
“But none of them has ever had my glowing recommendation, yes?”
Barok grits his teeth – that is indeed true. As it stands, everyone he has rejected so far has been hopelessly weak law students who thought they had the chance to be the Reaper’s apprentice.
“Assuming I accept this proposal, what would I have him do?”
“Anything you like,” Mael replies nonchalantly, waving his cane, “Make him clean the prosecutor’s office, make crime scene mockups, rearrange case files… I don’t care. He’s all yours, Barok.”
He turns to look at the masked man, whose attention now solely falls on him. Is he scared? Anxious? If he is an alien as Mael described, then he has no idea who Barok is, his reputation as the Reaper of the Bailey… all that. It may work to his advantage, or it might be the biggest shock of his life. There's no way to tell right now.
This masked man, strange as he is, if he’s as good as Mael says, may stand a chance.
…or not, but in that case, at least he can tell Mael he tried his best.
“Alright,” he finally relents, “I’ll entertain your request.”
“Fantastic!” Mael taps him on the shoulder, smiling ear to ear. “In that case, I must be going now. I only have four minutes and fifty seconds left until the meeting.”
“One last thing before you go, my Lord,” he interjects, “Since he is so new to this country, what about his accommodations?”
“You live alone in that huge estate, don’t you? Surely you can lend him one of the spare rooms.”
“...you expect me to house him as well?”
The masked man is silent the whole way back to the van Zieks estate.
Barok is reading – or pretending to read – the newspaper, as he observes the young man in front of him. He’s staring intently out of the window, as to be expected of someone who just arrived in London.
He can’t help but wonder what reason Mael must have had to obscure the young man’s identity from him. He also has not uttered a single word, which Barok initially assumed was because he may have felt intimidated in the Chief Justice’s office, but even in this presumably safe, private space, he has maintained that silence.
Perhaps he is overwhelmed by the sights of London and the situation he found himself in. They have only met barely thirty minutes ago, after all – it is understandable if he does not yet feel comfortable speaking to Barok. Perhaps he also has nothing to say due to his memory loss.
The apprentice turns to look at him, as if realizing that he’s being observed – Barok raises the newspaper to cover his face.
“Welcome back, Master Barok.” The maid bows to greet Barok and the apprentice, “I see you’ve brought a guest with you, how delightful!”
“This is Caroline – she’s in charge of all the household matters of the manor,” Barok introduces, and the masked man bows to greet her. “If you need anything during your stay here, you can let her know.
“He will be staying in this estate for the time being. Will you prepare the room next to the reading room on the East wing, please?”
“Of course, Master, right away,” she nods, “Does our guest have any luggage that we should set in his room?”
“No such thing, I’m afraid.” Now that she brought it up, he recalls Mael telling him the apprentice has nothing to his name. “Will you please arrange for the tailor to come sometime tomorrow?”
It has been years since he started living alone… it will likely take some time to adjust to having someone else in the manor.
At first he figured he should give the apprentice a room on the other wing of the manor, so that they never cross each other’s path again – but now, as they stand in the main hall of the manor, he’s starting to have second thoughts. Perhaps it’s best to keep him at a reasonable distance, just to make sure he doesn’t stumble upon anything he’s not supposed to see.
He turns to look at his apprentice, who is cautiously looking around, no doubt trying to assess the new environment he’s in. This is quite a historic place, at least two hundred years old – various paintings of the van Zieks of the past surround them on the walls. Barok remembers being quite terrified of them when he was a child, as he felt like their eyes were watching his every move, although of course he would never admit it.
The apprentice silently points at one of the paintings as he turns to look at Barok.
“Yes, that’s me. What about it?”
The apprentice does not reply, but Barok is certain he saw the man’s lips curl into a smile.