Chapter 466 Is Schiller Sick?

In the dead of winter, on the dry branches, little sparrows lined up and combed their feathers. One of them spread its wings and flew to the ground, jumping in the snow, looking for possible food.

A hand dropped a piece of bread crumbs, and many sparrows gathered around. The bakery owner, wearing a cotton hat and an apron, straightened up and patted the remaining bread crumbs on his hand.

With a "squeak", the sound of bicycle brakes came, and the tightly wrapped newsboy took off his gloves and knocked the bell with his fingers.

The bakery owner, wearing thick cotton boots, stepped on the snow on the ground, startled the sparrows that had just landed and flew up in groups. He strode across the sidewalk, came to the street, and took the newspaper from the newsboy.

"It's you again, clever little brat! You must know that the gentlemen here are the easiest to talk to, so you always get the jobs here."

The newspaper boy is a little boy with freckles all over his face. Like most children in Gotham, he is lively, wild and rebellious.

These children shuttle through the streets and alleys of Gotham, fearless of wind, frost, rain and snow, always full of energy, just like sparrows crossing the streets to find food in winter, they are the most vibrant scenery in Gotham, the city of sin.

The bakery stuffed a small piece of toasted black bread into the boy's mouth, and he asked, "Are there any gossips recently?"

The boy took a bite of the bread and gasped because of the heat. He said intermittently, "The situation is not bad."

"I heard that the charity dinner at the Metropolitan was very successful. The rich old people donated a lot of money to solve the traffic problems caused by the snowstorm."

"I heard that our mayor bought several large snowplows after receiving the donations. Now the central roundabout and the dock in the east district have been cleared. Otherwise, traffic would not be restored today."

The boy took another bite of the hot black bread. His nose was red from the cold. He wiped his nose with his hand and sniffed again. After taking two puffs of cold air, he said:

"Gotham University will resume classes today. Just look at those spoiled teachers and professors who can drive to work, and you will know that good days are coming soon."

"Thank God!" The bakery owner sneezed, rubbed his nose, and said in a muffled voice:

"Since the traffic was paralyzed in the past few days, I can't sell my bread. If it weren't for you little guys who could help me deliver things to those old customers, I'm afraid I would have closed down long ago."

"Oh, right!" The bakery owner suddenly remembered something. He stretched out a hand, shook his fingers, patted his forehead, turned around, and hurried back to the store, startling many sparrows that were looking for food.

After a while, he came out with a brown paper bag and said, "Professor Rodriguez's housekeeper called last night and ordered bread that was just baked this morning. Please deliver it to me. I will treat you to black rice cakes and sausages for lunch today..."

The newsboy snapped his fingers, indicating that it was okay. After taking the brown paper bag, he stuffed it into his arms, leaned forward, held the handlebars of the bicycle, and stepped hard on the pedals. The bicycle flew out quickly.

Seeing his back disappearing on the street, the bakery owner shook his head and strode back to his shop. When he entered the counter to look through the order records, he said to himself:

"It's really strange. Didn't the professor always like to eat alkaline bread? Why did he change to buying butter toast?"

The order form being turned over made a "rustling" sound. The bakery owner shook his head and whispered: "... Maybe a customer is coming."

"Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding..."

When the clock of the manor rang, Schiller stood in front of the French window on the first floor, stretched, yawned, then walked to the dining table and picked up the water cup on it.

He took the water cup and walked around the hall on the first floor, 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 renovated former 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 water dispenser in the living room. Every morning, he can find drinkable water within 10 steps.

Schiller knows that it is 1988. Before crossing, he also experienced this era, but when he experienced this era, he did not own a manor.

Now standing in the lobby of the manor of more than 600 square meters, Schiller is a little confused, is this the life of the nobility?

Just when Schiller was standing at the stairs with a cup, hesitating whether to walk for 10 minutes to find the kitchen, Merkel hurried down the stairs.

It can be seen that he is indeed very anxious. The buttons of his suit jacket are not buttoned, the tie is not tied, and even his hair is simply combed twice, and there are still two strands of hair on the top of his head that are not docile.

"Excuse me, sir, why are you up so early today?"

"Early?" Schiller looked down at the clock. It was 5:30 in the morning. Then he turned his head and looked at the window. It was still dark outside.

Merkel wiped his eyes vigorously, trying to wake himself up, but he felt that his mind was still confused. He was deeply shocked by Schiller's unpredictable schedule.

Before coming here, he learned from the Butler Academy that butlers should adapt to the employer's schedule as much as possible in order to provide services for them in a timely manner.

So, after coming to work at Rodriguez Manor, Merkel tried to adjust his schedule to be the same as Schiller's.

Before, Schiller's schedule was outrageous. In this era when there were no electronic devices, he often stayed up until two or three in the middle of the night before going to bed. When he had classes, he got up at 9 in the morning. When he didn't have classes, he usually got up at noon and only had brunch.

Merkel had finally adjusted his normal schedule to be exactly the same as Schiller's in the underworld, but since Schiller came back from the Metropolis, his schedule has returned to normal, even a little too normal, going to bed between 8:00 and 9:00 every night and getting up between 5:00 and 6:00 in the morning...

Merkel stood on the steps, holding the armrest of the chair, feeling dizzy, but he still tried to cheer up. He took the water cup from Schiller's hand and said, "Sorry, sir, I didn't arrange for someone to boil water this morning. I'll go now. Do you want breakfast?"

"Of course, didn't you order bread for me last night?"

"Uh, but the newsboy in the West District can't come until 7:30 at the earliest. At this time, the newspaper office and bakery are closed."

Schiller looked at the street outside through the French window on the right. It was still dark there, without even a shadow of a person.

Although Gotham is an international metropolis, it is the 1990s after all, and the pace of life is not that fast. Moreover, the West District is an old city, where old-fashioned rich people live, and few people get up so early.

Schiller sighed and said, "Okay, call me when breakfast is ready."

After that, he went upstairs and returned to the bedroom. Merkel, who was standing on the stairs, looked at Schiller's back and became more and more confused.

If this happened in the past, Schiller would definitely make a joke with him with cold humor, such as "I hope you can call to order bread faster than the sparrows in front of the bakery next time", and then give up breakfast and drive to Gotham University for class.

Of course, Merkel did not forget the strange dream she had.

At that time, he wanted to find some clues in the manor while Schiller was away, and then he found that the doors of all the important rooms were locked, and then a series of puzzles were set. After he spent a lot of effort to solve these puzzles, he entered Schiller's dream because he touched a bottle of wine on the shelf.

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 the day of the banquet.

For him, the mysterious agent is still missing and the list is unknown. The only benefit 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, perhaps this will become a stable disguise identity.

But now, his biggest trouble is that since Schiller came back from the charity dinner at the Metropolitan, he seems to have become a different person, from his schedule, living habits to the way of speaking, everything is completely different.

From the first day Merkel came here, he wanted to collect enough information about his employer. This not only helped him work more smoothly, but was also part of his job as an agent. After a period of getting along, Merkel felt that he had figured out Schiller's temper.

As a result, now all his efforts have been in vain.

The boiling kettle made a sharp sound. Merkel walked quickly through the corridor and took the kettle off the stove. He took a towel from the wall hook next to him, wrapped the handle of the kettle, and then carried the kettle to the front hall of the manor. After filling the water, he carried the tray upstairs.

When he came to the bedroom, Schiller was leaning against 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 little... um..."

"Oh, my anxiety disorder has come on, so my behavior will be a little different from before. Don't mind, maybe it will be better soon."

"Anxiety disorder?" Merkel murmured to himself in some confusion, but thinking of Schiller's unusual temper before, he felt that this explanation was barely reasonable.

Just when he wanted to ask more carefully, suddenly, there was a slight ring of the mailbox bell downstairs. He looked back at the clock hanging on the wall. It was only 6 o'clock now.

Merkel quickly left the room, put down the tray, put on his 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 at him.

"Why are you here so early today?"

Merkel greeted him very familiarly. There were few newspaper boys traveling to and from the West District, and Merkel knew almost all of them. The one who came today was the one he was most familiar with. The freckles on his face made it easy to recognize him.

"The traffic at the East District dock has been completely restored. Don't you know? After delivering the newspapers here, I have to go there to grab work."

"Has the traffic at the dock been restored?" Merkel took the newspaper and a bag of bread handed over by the newspaper boy, then he took out a few coins from his pocket and put them in the newspaper boy's palm. The newspaper boy with freckles raised his eyebrows, and before he asked, Merkel said:

"You came too early today, the bread is not baked yet, and the cold bread is too hard, it will knock out your teeth, you should buy something to eat yourself."

The newspaper boy reached out and put the coin into his pocket, squinted his eyes and smiled, looking naughty and cute, and said:

"Say hello to Professor Rodriguez for me! He is a good man, always has been!"

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