In the middle of winter, on the branches of dry trees, small sparrows line up in a row, combing their feathers. One of them spreads its wings and flies to the ground, jumping around in the snow on the ground, looking for possible birds.
food.
One hand dropped a piece of bread crumbs, and many sparrows gathered around. The bakery owner wearing a cotton hat and apron straightened up and patted the remaining bread crumbs off his hand.
With a "crunch", the sound of the bicycle braking came. The tightly wrapped newsboy took off his gloves and knocked the bell with his fingers.
The bakery owner wore thick cotton boots and stepped on the snow on the ground. He frightened the sparrows that had just fallen and flew up in groups. He strode across the sidewalk and came to the street.
Take the newspaper.
"It's you again, you clever little devil! You must know that the gentlemen here are the best to talk, and you can grab the jobs here every time."
The newspaper boy who delivers the newspaper is a little boy with freckles on his face. Like most children in Gotham, he is lively, wild and rebellious.
These children just shuttle through the streets and alleys of Gotham, not afraid of wind, rain, snow, and always full of vitality, just like sparrows walking through the streets looking for food in winter. They are the most vibrant scenery in Gotham, a city of sin.
The bakery gave the newsboy a small piece of toasted brown bread, and he asked: "Any gossip recently?"
The newsboy picked up the bread and took a bite. He was so hot that he gasped. While puffing air into his mouth, he said intermittently: "The situation is not bad."
"I heard that the charity dinner held in the Metropolis was very successful. The wealthy old people donated a lot of money to solve the traffic problems caused by the snowstorm."
"I heard that our mayor bought several large snowplow trucks after taking donations. Now the central roundabout and the pier in the east district have been cleared, otherwise the traffic would not be reopened today."
The newsboy took another bite of the hot black bread, and his nose turned red from the cold. He wiped his nose with his hand, took two more breaths of cold air, and said:
"Gotham University will resume classes today. Just look at those pampered teachers and professors who can drive to work, and you know that good times are coming soon."
"Thank God!" The bakery owner sneezed, rubbed his nose, and said angrily:
"Since the traffic has been paralyzed for the past few days, I can't sell any bread. If it weren't for you little guys who could help me deliver goods to those regular customers, I would have closed down long ago."
"Oh, right!" The bakery owner suddenly remembered something. He stretched out a hand, shook his finger, patted his forehead, turned around, and hurried back to the shop. He was startled again.
Many sparrows feeding.
After a while, he came out with a brown paper bag, and then said: "Professor Rodriguez's housekeeper called last night and ordered bread that was just baked this morning. You can help me deliver it. I will give it to you at noon today."
Please eat black rice cakes and sausages..."
The newsboy snapped his fingers to indicate that there was no problem. After taking the brown paper bag, he stuffed it into his arms, leaned forward, held the handle of the bicycle, pedaled hard, and the bicycle sped off quickly.
Seeing his figure disappearing into the street, the bakery owner shook his head and strode back to his shop. When he entered the counter and looked through the order records, he said to himself:
"It's really strange. Didn't that professor always like to eat alkaline bread? Why did he buy buttered toast instead?"
The flipped order form made a rustling sound, and the bakery owner shook his head and whispered: "...Probably there are guests."
"When, when, when, when, when..."
When the manor's bell rang, Schiller stood in front of the French window on the first floor, stretched and yawned, then walked to the dining table and picked up the water glass on it.
He held the water glass and walked around the hall on the first floor, and then stopped in the middle of the room in confusion, and began to think about a question - if he wanted to drink water, where should he find it?
In Marvel's Sanatorium, Schiller lives in a converted bank president's lounge. It is a one-bedroom apartment with a bedroom and a living room. There is an electric kettle on the table in the bedroom, and there is an automatic machine in the living room.
With a water dispenser, you can find drinkable water within 10 steps when you wake up every morning.
Schiller knew that it was now 1988, and he had experienced this era before traveling through time, but when he experienced this era, he had never owned a manor.
Now standing in the front hall of the manor of more than 600 square meters, Schiller thought a little confused, is this the life of an aristocrat?
Just as Schiller was standing at the top of the stairs holding a cup, hesitating whether to walk for 10 minutes to find the kitchen, Merkel hurriedly ran down the stairs.
It could be seen that he was really anxious. His suit jacket was not buttoned properly and his tie was not tied. Even his hair was simply combed twice, and there were still two strands of hair on the top of his head that were not tied down.
"Sorry, sir, why did you get up so early today?"
"Morning?" Schiller lowered his head and glanced at the watch. It was now 5:30 in the morning. Then he turned to look at the window. The sky outside the window was still dark.
Merkel wiped her eyes vigorously, trying to wake herself up, but she felt that her thoughts were still confused. He was deeply shocked by Schiller's unpredictable work and rest time.
Before coming here, what he learned at the Butler Academy was that housekeepers should adapt to their employers' work schedules as much as possible in order to provide them with timely services.
Therefore, after coming to work at Rodriguez Manor, Merkel worked hard to adjust her work and rest schedule to the same as Schiller.
Previously, Schiller's work and rest schedule was outrageous. In this era before electronic devices, he often stayed up until two or three in the middle of the night before going to bed. When there were classes, he would get up at 9 o'clock in the morning. When there were no classes, he would usually wake up at noon.
Get up and just have brunch.
Merkel finally adjusted her normal schedule to be exactly the same as Schiller's schedule in the underworld, but since Schiller came back from the metropolis, his schedule has become normal again, even a little too normal, every night at 8:00
Go to bed between ~9:00 and wake up between 5:00~6:00 in the morning...
Merkel stood on the steps, holding on to the armrests of the chair. He felt dizzy, but he still tried to cheer up. He took the water glass from Schiller's hand and said: "Sorry, sir, I didn't arrange anyone when I got up in the morning."
Boil water, I'll go right away, do you want breakfast?"
"Of course, didn't you order bread for me last night?"
"Well, but the newsboys in the West District can't come over until 7:30 at the earliest. The newspaper offices and bakeries are not open at this time."
Schiller glanced at the street outside through the floor-to-ceiling window on the right. It was still dark there, not even a human figure.
Although Gotham can be considered an international metropolis, it is still around the 1990s, and the pace of life is not that fast yet. Moreover, the West Side is originally an old city, and only old-school rich people live here. There are very few people.
Will get up so early.
Schiller sighed and said, "Okay, call me when breakfast is ready."
After saying that, he went upstairs and returned to the bedroom. Merkel, who was standing on the stairs, looked at Schiller's back going upstairs and became more and more confused.
If this happened normally, Schiller would definitely make a joke with him with cold humor, such as "I hope you can call and order bread faster than the sparrows in front of the bakery next time."
, then gave up breakfast and drove directly to Gotham University for classes.
Of course, Merkel has not forgotten the strange dream she had.
At that time, he took advantage of Schiller's absence and wanted to find some clues in the manor. Then he found that the doors of all important rooms were locked, and then set up a series of puzzles. He spent a lot of effort to solve these puzzles.
After solving the problem, he touched a bottle of wine on the shelf and entered Schiller's dream.
At that time, Merkel had no choice but to ask Schiller to help him protect the mysterious East Coast agent and protect the list. Schiller did not answer him directly, and Merkel had no way of knowing what happened on that day of the banquet.
What.
For him, the mysterious agent is still missing, and the whereabouts of the list are unknown. The only good thing is that he is sure that his employer does not mind that he is actually a Soviet agent. As long as he does his job well, maybe this will
Become a stable disguised identity.
But now, his biggest trouble is that since Schiller came back from the Metropolitan Charity Dinner, he seems to have changed into a different person. From his work and rest time, living habits to the way he speaks, everything is completely different.
From the first day Merkel came here, he wanted to collect enough information about his employer. This would not only help him work more smoothly, but also be part of his secret agent work. After getting along with him for a period of time,
Merkel felt she had figured out Schiller's temper.
As a result, his efforts were now in vain.
The boiling kettle made a sharp chirp. Merkel quickly walked across the corridor and took the kettle off the stove. He took a towel from the wall hook next to him, wrapped it around the handle of the kettle, and then came out carrying the kettle.
In the front hall of the manor, after filling up the water, he carried the tray upstairs.
Arriving in the bedroom, Schiller was leaning on the bedside reading a book. Merkel put the water on the bedside table and paused hesitantly.
Schiller put down the book and looked up. He asked, "What's wrong? Didn't the breakfast preparation go well?"
"Well, no, sir, I just want to say... that is... why have you been a bit... um... recently?"
"Oh, I have an anxiety disorder, so my behavior will be a little different from before. Don't mind it, maybe it will get better soon."
"Anxiety disorder?" Merkel murmured to himself with some doubts, but thinking of Schiller's unusual temper before, he felt that this explanation barely made sense.
Just when he wanted to ask more carefully, suddenly, the mailbox bell rang softly downstairs. He turned back and looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It was just 6 o'clock now.
Merkel quickly left the room, put down the tray, put on her coat, and walked out of the gate of the manor. Sure enough, the newsboy was standing in front of the mailbox outside the door, waving to him.
"Why are you here so early today?"
Merkel greeted him very familiarly. There were very few newsboys who came and went in the West End, and Merkel knew almost all of them. The one who came today was the one he knew best. The small freckles on his face made it easy to identify him.
.
"The traffic at the East District Pier has been completely restored, didn't you know? After delivering the newspapers here, I still have to go over there to get some work."
"Has traffic at the terminal resumed?" Merkel took the newspaper and a bag of bread handed over by the newsboy. Then he took out a few coins from his pocket and put them into the newsboy's hand. The newsboy with small freckles picked
Raising her eyebrows, Merkel said before he could ask:
"You came too early today. The bread hasn't been baked yet. The cold bread is too hard and will chip your teeth. You'd better go buy something to eat by yourself."
The newsboy stretched out his hand, stuffed the coins into his pocket, squinted his eyes and smiled, looking naughty and cute, and said:
"Say hello to Professor Rodriguez for me! He's a great guy, always has been!"