But Cohen didn't expose him – after finally making such a long journey, letting him stretch his legs a bit was just fine.
The small wooden boat glided calmly across the lake. If you ignored the peculiar mist that hadn't dispersed even in the afternoon and the island's graveyard-like silence, it actually felt quite like a holiday spot.
"Please be careful when disembarking, don't fall in," Mr. Raven reminded them. "I don't swim."
"Is it because I haven't paid much attention to the entertainment industry lately?" The old man in the suit frowned and whispered to his son. "I don't understand why this person's mask blinks... and moves its mouth."
"Maybe from a circus?" The young man answered casually, his attention completely fixed on the two sisters. Beatrice and her sister, with their brilliant light blonde hair, lively and playful personalities, and delicate faces, were certainly quite attractive to young men his age.
Meanwhile, the two sisters' gazes were fixed on Mr. Raven.
"What a cheesy love triangle," Cohen automatically stood with "Mr. Burton," clicking his tongue. "Did you fancy anyone here? Those two sisters actually look alright, and I doubt Mr. Raven would agree to their dating requests..."
"'Love triangle' is something you learned at school too?" Mr. Burton's mouth twitched.
"The white-bearded old man who taught me has always been quite eccentric, and he likes to follow students around," Cohen vowed, smearing Dumbledore's name. "He even stole his predecessor's—"
"I don't believe it," Mr. Burton said flatly.
"Then you're definitely missing out on a lot of interesting things in life," Cohen sighed regretfully. "Spreading rumours and joining in on gossip is a habit ingrained in people's bones. Seeing others in an awkward spot gives you a wicked pleasure, a release of your true nature – as long as you're not the target of the rumour or gossip yourself."
There wasn't much time for chatting, as the guide had already discussed the subsequent arrangements with Mr. Raven. "Come with me," the guide beckoned to them. "I've already booked your rooms in advance."
Not far from them was the entrance to the Last Inn.
The middle-aged father and son were the first to follow the guide. The old man in the suit just wanted to find a decent room to rest, while the young man was racking his brain trying to distract the Beatrice sisters from that annoying Raven waiter.
And the Beatrice sisters successfully took the first step:
"My working hours are from 8 AM to 6 PM," Mr. Raven said. "I live in Room 103. The cost of living is quite high."
"He's selling, isn't he? This is clearly selling!"
Cohen's eyes widened as he looked at Mr. Raven.
"Huh?" Mr. Burton's eyes widened as he looked at Cohen.
Mr. Burton had been about to reach out and give the misbehaving Cohen a smack – but then he thought about his current identity and retracted his hand.
Everyone passed through the wrought-iron gate outside the inn, overgrown with vines, and entered the inn's double wooden doors.
From the outside, the inn didn't look very tall, only four stories – but since it practically occupied the entire island, the actual usable area was far more than a lake inn could ever need.
The entrance led into the lobby, where a strong Victorian retro style hit them, rather overly elaborate and fussy with decorations, but it certainly had a "high-class" feel.
Abstract portraits that didn't move hung on the dark brown wooden walls, crystal chandeliers hung from the carved ceiling, and the bright light made the dark red carpet on the floor seem less gloomy.
The front desk in the lobby was empty – but it was soon occupied. Mr. Raven walked over, and without even needing to change clothes, he switched professions to become the front desk attendant.
"You wouldn't happen to be the owner of this inn, would you?" The old man in the suit seemed dissatisfied with the service here.
Even the staff had to take on multiple roles, which spoke volumes about the economic situation here and the quality of service they could provide.
"I'm just the boatman and the waiter," Mr. Raven said.
"Dad, the newspaper said the service at this inn is pretty good, don't be so critical..." The young man quickly advised.
"Here are the tickets," the guide pulled out a stack of green tickets from his bag. "In total..."
As he spoke, the guide counted the number of people – fully demonstrating the British characteristic of being bad at maths.
"One, two, three, four... four occupants in total—"
"And you," the Beatrice sisters said with a giggle. "You forgot to count yourself."
"Five people... Then what about you?" Cohen suddenly turned to Mr. Burton, putting on a suspicious expression.
"I just joined the group today, I haven't bought my ticket yet... haven't bought my ticket yet..." Mr. Burton quickly pulled money from his pocket and exchanged it for a ticket with Mr. Raven.
"You need a ticket to check in, ten pounds a night," Mr. Raven looked directly at Cohen.
"Pounds?" Cohen suddenly remembered—
He seemed to have forgotten to bring Muggle money.
Blast it, did the Silver Key really need to make it this realistic? What was the point of collecting Muggle money...
"Are you a foreigner?" The old man in the suit looked at Cohen with a confused expression. "No money?"
"I'll pay for you..." Mr. Burton said reluctantly. "How many nights are you staying? You can just have your mother pay me back later..."
Oh, you, Edward, keeping a secret stash, are you?!
And making Rose pay him back? Cohen's ears were buzzing with the sound of his calculating mind.
"This kid just wants to freeload, doesn't he?" The old man in the suit said angrily. "Don't be fooled by him – travelling alone, without a guardian, he's probably a repeat offender—"
Cohen ignored the huffing old man and expertly held out his hand to Mr. Burton:
"Give me seventy pounds. Remember, 'give,' not 'lend.' I'm not that easy to deal with."
After buying the tickets, Cohen and the Earl checked into Room 207 – while Mr. Burton specifically chose Room 206, which was very close to Cohen's.
The inn room was simply decorated: a dark red four-poster bed, a cedar wood drawer table against the wall, and a small round table facing the window.
A grandfather clock stood in the corner; the time was now three twelve – still some time before dinner.
"You're taking and taking, aren't you..." The Earl grumbled. "If people knew Mr. Burton was paying, they'd think you were lending him the money..."
"I'm probing this obviously, can't you tell yet?" Cohen took out the basket containing Frandor from his pocket again, answering the Earl's question while checking on the location of Frandor's soul.
"Probing what?" The Earl asked. "He is a bit strange – do you think he could be with the Silver Key?"
"Silver Key, my foot," Cohen's mouth twitched. "He's Edward."
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