Chapter 172

CHAPTER 13 His Attendant’s Name On the morning of the infiltration, Monica boarded a carriage with Bridget and took it to a room at an inn near Duke Clockford’s estate. That would be their staging area for the mission. Monica took some clothes she’d bought at a used clothing store out of her bag and changed into them. When Bridget saw her, she scowled. “Haven’t you ever seen a gardener before?” “Huh? What?” Monica reassessed her outfit: pants with suspenders, a well-worn shirt, and a hat. She thought she looked every bit a gardener, but Bridget was unrelenting. “In what world would a gardener have such pasty skin?” “…Oh.” She was right. It would be weird for a gardener not to be baked by the sun. Monica thought of Raul, their co-conspirator on this mission. He certainly had a healthy tan. As this belated realization sent Monica into a fluster, Bridget took several bottles out of her own luggage. They contained face powder worked into a paste—the kind used by stage actors—meant to replicate the color of tan skin. “Spread this on your skin first. And not just your face, but your neck and hands, too. Everywhere that will be exposed.” “Um, yes, ma’am!” Monica did as she was told and spread some of the paste on the back of her hand. When she’d worked up a thick enough coat, her skin, which was so white it had a blue undertone, began to appear reddish-brown, as if she were tanned. As Monica kept spreading the paste, Bridget changed out of her beautiful dress and into a well-worn shirt and pants. She also switched her boots to a pair covered in mud. She was nothing if not thorough. She pulled her gorgeous blond hair into a tight bun, which she tucked away in her hat. Then she spread the reddish-brown color all over her exposed fair skin before using a thin pencil to dot freckles onto her face. She was impressively meticulous, but even more shocking was her technique. She’d changed her clothes, bundled up her hair, and applied the makeup all by herself. Monica wondered if she’d practiced. Perhaps she’d done it over and over again in preparation. She’s really amazing… But… No matter how much she tried to hide her beautiful hair, change the color of her skin, and give herself freckles, she was outstandingly gorgeous—a fact she couldn’t completely hide. Monica privately wondered if Bridget could really pull off this infiltration. Then, as Monica watched, Bridget took a handful of cotton out of her bag, ripped it up, and put it in her mouth. Finally, she took out an unfashionable pair of glasses and put them on, changing her impression completely. Around the mouthful of cotton, Bridget said, “How’s I look?” Monica was dumbfounded. Not only was her voice muffled by the cotton, but she even had a unique downtown accent. “…Um… That’s…still you, right, Lady Bridget?” asked Monica. Bridget gave an exasperated sniff. “Aren’t you an intelligence agent hired by Count Kerbeck? If this is enough to astonish you, you can’t be very good at your job.” “Oh, I’m sorry… It’s just the way you were speaking…” “One of my family’s servants talks like that. I listened to her and eventually picked it up.” Monica felt sure that wasn’t a skill someone could simply “pick up” in a day or two. And it wasn’t just her accent, either—it was the detailed disguise, and all the little items she’d brought that made her look like a gardener. She’d prepared for this for so long, all by herself. All to see Felix again. Bridget took out two pairs of gardening gloves and thrust one at Monica. “Make sure you never take off your gloves. It won’t matter how much you’ve changed your skin color if someone sees your dainty hands. They’ll realize at once that you’re from a different class.” Now Monica felt ashamed for doubting Bridget’s abilities. While Isabelle Norton was a skilled actress who could play a perfect villainess, Bridget Greyham was quite dedicated herself. Raul was waiting a short distance away from the duke’s mansion; he would be helping the two girls with their investigation. When he saw Monica and Bridget arrive disguised as gardeners, he broke into a full smile and welcomed them. “Hey there! Perfect day for some gardening, wouldn’t you say?” His crimson curls and deep green eyes made him look like a fairy prince, and when he smiled, his white teeth were practically blinding. Raul, every bit as attractive as Felix or Bridget, was once again dressed for fieldwork. He held a shovel in one muscular arm. Bridget stopped for a moment and whispered into Monica’s ear. “Is that man…Raul Roseburg, the Witch of Thorns?” Raul wasn’t wearing his Sage’s robe or carrying his staff at the moment. He was just a young man with a shovel, dressed in work clothes. Still, he was from a renowned family and had made many appearances in high society. Bridget had probably seen him before. His attractive features were said to resemble the very first Witch of Thorns, and they made him easy to notice and difficult to forget. “…Your helper is one of the Seven Sages?” “Oh, um, yes. He’s the one who invited me on this investigation.” She couldn’t call him a colleague, so she kept things vague. Her expression serious, Bridget turned to Monica. “Your personal connections beggar belief…but I won’t press you for an explanation.” Monica had written to Raul in advance, saying that she was bringing Bridget along and asking him to keep her true identity as the Silent Witch a secret. Raul didn’t ask many questions about Bridget’s background. Instead, he just smiled and said casually, “It’s a pleasure!” Eight other servants from the Roseburg family had accompanied Raul—all likely skilled gardeners. Every one of them had skin that was cooked by the sun, and Monica once again realized that Bridget’s decision had been correct. Monica would have surely stood out had she been the only pale one. Raul’s party had brought a cart. He instructed the servants waiting in front of it to move, and the group started on their way. He, Monica, and Bridget kept a slight distance from the servants and whispered to each other. “Lemme give you the rundown,” Raul began. “Those working in the flower bed will be mainly planting seeds and transplanting seedlings, while those on the tree team will be pruning the trees. I’ll be in charge of both groups. You two will be on flower bed duty, but feel free to slip away when you can and go wherever you need to. That said, I think it’s best if you wait until afternoon to go snooping around inside the mansion.” “Umm, does something happen in the afternoon?” asked Monica. “The duke’s butler asked me about decorative flowers for inside the mansion, and I told him I wanted to personally see the rooms they’ll be placed in. He and I decided to have the tour later today, once we reach a stopping point outside. If you come with me, we can all look around together.” “Oh. Okay, then. We’ll go with you. Th-thank you.” “Sure thing! Just leave it to me!” Raul thumped his chest and then headed off, softly singing “Gaaardeniiing, gaaardeniiing,” as he walked, his strides long and energetic. As Bridget watched him go, she said, “I’ve seen him from afar at various events.” Monica wasn’t surprised. She’d figured that was why Bridget had recognized him. “His grandmother was with him then,” Bridget said suddenly. “He doesn’t seem like her at all.” “Huh?” “She never smiled. She was nigh unapproachable,” she replied before walking off. Societal functions must be really hard, thought Monica, following her. Duke Clockford was a prominent noble and one of the most influential people in the Kingdom of Ridill. Monica, who didn’t have much of an imagination, had assumed his mansion would be a magnificent structure of brilliant gold and just generally amazing. And when she saw it, it was even more sophisticated than she’d imagined. She could feel the weight of history behind it. Each of the building’s decorations was impressive and grand, giving the observer the sense it had been around for ages. It was overwhelming in a different way than if it had simply been dazzling or gorgeous. All this reminded Monica of the building’s owner, the duke himself. What’s more, the mansion sat on an extremely large plot of land; it made sense that they’d need so many people just to maintain its gardens. Once they arrived, Raul gave instructions to his servants. At first, Monica and Bridget helped with the flower beds, as planned. Other people more familiar with the work would be handling all the planting, so the two girls were on weed-pulling duty. Monica was grateful for the simple task. All she had to do was quietly pull weeds. I’m so glad I didn’t have to disguise myself as a maid or something… What a relief… Monica wasn’t exactly inept, but she’d led a rather careless life back in her mountain cabin, and she wasn’t very good at housework. Frankly, she was a mess. All I can do is make coffee, and split food up into nice, equal portions… Monica could slice a round cake neatly into three, five, or even thirteen slices just by looking at it. Her foster mother Hilda had praised her for this unique skill, but it would take a lot more than that to work as a maid. I’m sure Lady Bridget would have done a perfect job, though, even as a maid… As Monica squatted beside the flower bed and plucked out one weed after another, she cast a sidelong glance at Bridget. She, like Monica, was busy pulling weeds without a word. Someone like her, the daughter of a marquess, had probably never pulled weeds before, yet she never looked the least bit put off. Then, suddenly, she grimaced. Monica looked down and saw an earthworm slithering around near Bridget’s boots. The other girl went as stiff as a stone, then her lips started to tremble. Oh. Is she…? Monica reached over and picked the earthworm up, then set it back down a little ways away. “Um, I’m fine with bugs, so…” “…You have my gratitude.” Bridget was obviously relieved. Apparently, she didn’t like bugs very much. They continued to pull weeds for a while until Raul, who was pruning some branches, called out to them. “Hey, you two! Can you get the weeds on the west side, too? This place is big, so be sure not to get lost!” Oh, okay. He’s telling us to go to the west side of the estate. “There are fewer people over there,” whispered Bridget. “That will make it easier for us to move. Let’s go.” “O-okay!” Bridget took the lead, and the two of them moved through the gardens. Bridget’s goal was to find clues about the real Felix. Evidently, she already had an idea of where to start. “If the real Prince Felix is locked somewhere in the mansion,” she explained, “then he’s probably in a room on the second floor or above. Guests can freely enter the first floor, so it’s unlikely he’ll be there. We should start by making a loop around the outside of the mansion and checking the windows. Make a mental note of any room that looks suspicious, such as one with drawn curtains.” “Oh, okay…” Monica was hoping to learn more about the duke’s connection to Peter Summs, the principal offender in the cursed dragon incident. But she had no idea where to begin, so she decided to focus on Bridget’s goal. If I can, I’d like to question the servants in the mansion, but… Monica wasn’t very good at talking to people, and it would be difficult for her to ask servants she’d never met before about something like that. Privately, she groaned, wondering what she was going to do. “There’s a certain servant I want to make contact with,” said Bridget, looking up at a window. “If it goes well, we may gain a new ally.” “Who would that be?” “An attendant who waited on Prince Felix when he was young. He should be around the same age as me or a little older, with blond hair. He has a big scar over his right eye, and he used to hide it behind his bangs, so we should be able to recognize him at a glance.” Bridget stopped and closed her eyes, then slowly opened them again. “All the other adults in this mansion are on the duke’s side… That attendant was the prince’s only ally.” Many of the others had probably been kind to Felix, but ultimately, they were employed by the duke and couldn’t disobey him. If Felix had only one ally, it was no wonder he’d stuck in Bridget’s memory. “I don’t know if he’s still here…but if he is, then he likely knows something. If it’s for the prince’s sake, I believe he’ll be happy to help.” Bridget confidently strode on ahead. “L-Lady Bridget, you’re…kind of incredible…” She was much more skilled and a lot more thorough than Monica, in terms of both disguises and planning. Bridget stopped and turned back toward her. “How many years do you think I’ve been preparing for this?” The remark had weight to it. She’d probably been looking for her prince ever since she began having doubts about Felix… And she’d done it all alone, unable to ask anyone else for help. “If we don’t find any clues today, we’ll just have to think of another approach. That’s how I’ve been searching for him all this time.” Bridget began to walk again. I can’t believe how strong she is, thought Monica earnestly. She hoped Bridget was right and the real Felix was somewhere in the mansion. She wanted them to meet again. But if my hunch is correct… Bridget came to a halt. She was staring at a small shed ahead of them and to the right. It wasn’t brand-new, but compared to the rest of the historic mansion, it looked relatively modern. “I don’t remember that shed over there,” she said. “You don’t?” “Back when I visited the mansion, it was smaller and older, only a storage shed. It must be newly built.” The structure was small, but quite spacious for a shed. A small chimney poked up from the roof, implying a fireplace within and making it even less likely to be a building used only for storage. “…Very suspicious. Let’s investigate.” Bridget approached the shed. Behind her fake glasses, her amber eyes glimmered. The building had windows to let in light, but they were high up on the walls, making it hard to peek inside. Monica could have used flight magecraft to see in, but that could easily blow their cover. “It doesn’t seem locked. Let’s go in,” said Bridget abruptly. Monica’s eyes widened. “Huh?! B-but what if someone’s inside…?” “If it’s the real prince, then that will resolve everything. If not, we can simply claim that we believed it was a storage shed.” Before Monica could stop her, Bridget opened the door. Just inside was a mat for stomping out the dirt on your shoes and a coat hanger. They were right—this place wasn’t used for storage. Someone lived here. But it certainly wasn’t the kind of space a noble, like the real Felix, would inhabit. It was significantly nicer than Monica’s mountain cabin, but that wasn’t saying much. Monica peeked around Bridget and observed the interior. On the left was a small kitchen and hearth. On the right, farther back, was a bed with someone sleeping on it. When Bridget saw the bulge in the bedclothes, her eyes lit up in anticipation. She probably wanted to cry out, “Prince!” But she forced her mouth closed and quietly walked toward the bed. The person lying there turned over and looked at her. “…Hmm? Is it mealtime?” he asked. As Monica had expected, it wasn’t the real Prince Felix. It was an elderly man with a head of white hair. “Are you two…new servants, perhaps?” The man, still lying down, looked up at Bridget and Monica, his eyes widening. Monica’s words caught in her throat, but Bridget spoke in her place. “Oh my, sir. ’Scuse us. We’re ’ere to take care o’ the gardens. We were after a grass sickle, and we thought they might be stored in ’ere.” Bridget fluidly rattled off an excuse in her downtown accent. Monica would never have been able to deal with this situation. The old man seemed to take Bridget’s words at face value. “Ah, yes, I see. And all because of my aching hips. I’m sorry, girls. There are grass sickles in that wooden box over there. All the other gardening implements, too. Take whatever you need.” “Thank you, sir,” said Bridget smartly before opening the box’s lid. Inside were a lot of tools, all used for gardening work. Monica found herself gazing at the old man. He was thin, but his skin was charred a reddish-brown. He was probably the mansion’s gardener. As Bridget pretended to rummage for sickles, she spoke to the old man. “Y’see, sir, it’s my first time at this mansion. Have you been workin’ ’ere for long?” “Oh, yes. I’ve been here for, oh, forty years or so.” “Really? That’s amazin’.” With attitude of a simple, honest girl from the countryside, Bridget casually started up a conversation with the old man. As they traded small talk, she eventually asked who he was. Apparently, he still maintained the mansion’s gardens. But his hips were bad because of his age, and when a lot of planting was needed, he relied on outside help. This shed served as both the gardener’s storeroom and his living space—it made sense now. The man timidly tried to sit up in bed, then looked at Monica. “Miss, would you mind bringing me the medicine over there? Yes, that paper envelope.” Monica did as she was told and picked up the envelope off a small table. There was writing on it specifying to take it after a meal and identifying the kind of medicine it was and the person who had prescribed it. And that person’s name came as quite a shock to Monica. Peter Summs—the man who had snuck into Duke Rehnberg’s estate and caused the cursed dragon incident, and who had betrayed her father. Monica’s heart began to pound almost audibly. As she stared at the envelope, the old man asked, “What’s the matter?” He was looking at her, confused. …I can’t let it show. She told herself again and again to smile, managing to awkwardly raise her cheeks. “I, um, actually owe Mr. Peter Summs a personal favor… So, uh, I’d like to say hello to him. Is he still at the mansion?” It was the best lie Monica could manage. “Ah,” the old man sighed sadly. “He found employment elsewhere a short while back… I have so little medicine remaining, too. I’m in a bit of a bind.” “Was he making your medicine, sir?” “Well, yes, he was a doctor… Hmm? Or maybe not. Was he a researcher in the master’s employ? …Well, he was something like a doctor, at least.” Peter was a shaman who had apprenticed with the Albrights, the Abyss Shaman’s family. It was likely that Peter had pretended to be a doctor at Duke Clockford’s estate, all the while secretly doing research on cursecraft. Mister Bartholomeus was right. Peter Summs really is connected to the duke. If she could, she wanted to get a little more information about Peter. Bridget flashed her a dubious glance but didn’t hurry her along or interrupt. Monica put a hand to her chest to keep her heart from leaping right out of it and managed to get her breathing under control. She was bad at gambles like these, making up lies on the spot and prodding for more information. But regardless of how awkward she felt, she wanted to learn whatever she could. “Um, Mr. Peter worked here for a long time, right, sir? How many years was it?” “He arrived around a decade ago, I’d say. When Arthur, our old doctor, left, he stepped in to fill the gap.” Arthur was a common name, but Monica had heard it just a little while ago. That night in Rehnberg, Peter Summs had said it right before he died. “Ahhh, hah, ha-ha, ha-ha-ha! I won’t be like Arthur! I… I’ll… His Excellency will acknowledge me, and… Hee… Hee-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Peter’s eyes had been bloodshot as he shouted. Then this Arthur person must have worked as a doctor at Duke Clockford’s mansion before Peter did…right? Before dying, Peter had rambled about not wanting to suffer the same fate as Arthur. And that meant something had happened to the doctor. As Monica sank into thought, Bridget engaged the old man in more conversation to fill the space. “And you’ve been workin’ ’ere a long time, eh, sir? Did you ever see Prince Felix when he was little? I’m a big fan o’ the prince, y’see!” “Ah, yes. Prince Felix stayed here for a while when he was young… He was sickly, you know. He couldn’t go outside very much, so I didn’t get the chance to see him that often. And besides…” The old man paused, and his gaze became distant. “When the incident happened and he got sick again, the prince stopped leaving the mansion at all for a while.” Monica saw Bridget’s eyes flash behind her glasses. She leaned forward, full of interest. “Oh? An incident?” The old man didn’t answer immediately. He took the powdered medicine out of the envelope and put it into his mouth, washing it down with some water from a pitcher. Then he set the envelope beside his pillow and looked around the room. “At the time, I lived in the servants’ wing, and this place was just a regular storage shed.” The man’s face, full of deep wrinkles, took on a sad cast. “The shed caught fire, and two servants died trying to put it out.” Monica felt her spine tingle. She had a terrible feeling. Felix had been sick as a child, and around the same time, there had been a fire. And two people had died because of it. In spite of herself, Monica leaned forward and asked a question. “Um, um, who, um, who passed away?” “Doctor Arthur, whom I mentioned, and a boy—the prince’s attendant.” Monica almost cried out. It seemed her worst fears might turn out to be true. “The head maid at the time—her name was Marcie—was so shocked by the incident that she joined a convent. Prince Felix was very close to both her and his deceased attendant. I heard he was so depressed that he shut himself away.” Monica felt all the blood drain from her body. So that person… Her hands were terribly cold. She brought them to her chest and clenched them into fists, and her voice trembled as she asked her next question. “…What, um, was the name of that servant?” The wrinkles at the corners of the old man’s eyes deepened. It was the face of someone recalling memories that were gentle, yet sad. “Isaac Walker. Such a kind boy. He often helped me, and he always had the prince’s best interests at heart.” After leaving the gardener’s shed, Bridget looked pained. “I never expected that his attendant had died so long ago.” To Bridget, Isaac Walker would have been an invaluable source of information, given all he knew about Felix. To hear he’d already passed had her in a fluster. “…Um, what kind of person was Isaac?” asked Monica. Bridget frowned. “He was infuriatingly talented. The prince treated him like a dear elder brother… He adored him much more than he adored me, though it pains me to admit it.” She spoke through clenched teeth; it must have really frustrated her. Deep wrinkles appeared on her brow as she quickly continued. “And to be honest, he would have been the best person to help us find the prince. He’d have done anything for Felix—he was loyal to a fault. He would never have sat by and let an impostor take the prince’s place.” Bridget removed her false glasses and kneaded her brow. “Perhaps they killed him for that very reason—to keep him quiet. Though I don’t know about the man who died with him—the doctor named Arthur.” Monica looked down at her feet and didn’t reply. A single prediction now occupied her mind. …But I still don’t have enough pieces to link everything together. After that, Monica and Bridget continued their loop around the mansion. Neither of them spoke as they searched for any rooms that seemed suspicious from the outside. Unfortunately, they didn’t find any with the curtains closed like Bridget had suggested. Once they’d returned to the gardens at the front of the property, Raul called out to them. “Hey! Heeey!” He waved his hand and ran over. “The butler’s about to give me a tour of the inside. Let’s go!” Neither Monica nor Bridget had any reason to refuse. “R-right, okay!” Monica nodded. “Take these, then.” Raul gave a bucket full of cut flowers to Monica and another to Bridget. Then, picking up a flower-laden bucket of his own, he said, “This way,” and led them to the front entrance. An elderly butler was waiting for them. Despite their massive age gap, Raul spoke to him casually. “We’re going to be picking out flower decorations for the mansion, right? I figured it might be nice to have the girls’ opinions, too.” If Raul had been any old gardener, his attitude would have been considered very rude. But because he was a Sage, it was tolerated. The butler nodded reverently. “I see, sir. Very well, then. Please come this way.” He opened the door and beckoned for the three of them to go inside. Just like the outside, the interior of the mansion was filled with gorgeous, sophisticated decorations. A closer look at the scarlet carpeting revealed intricate patterns of different-colored threads, and the reliefs on the pillars seemed to shift entirely when you got up close. But despite the detail of each individual part, everything was linked together to form a single, perfect harmony. And the job of picking out flowers that would suit such a beautiful and precisely calculated space had evidently fallen to Raul. Monica had wondered, quite rudely, if the man was really capable of the task, but he gave clear, confident instructions to the butler. “For the front entrance, I think double-blossom roses would be good. We managed to crossbreed them recently. They have a strong scent, but the size of this space should thin it out quite nicely. Brilliant flowers, if you ask me. They’ll look very good here. And they’re rare, too, so guests will be impressed.” “Yes, I see… Then what about this room, sir?” “This is the one that had the purple foxgloves, right? Oh, you changed the color of the curtains. In that case, I think it’s best to go with a flower that gives a softer impression. Maybe you can use apricot-colored flowers as the main draw, with some white orlayas added in. That would go well with the curtains.” To Monica’s great surprise, Raul readily suggested flower after flower. He seemed to be used to this. Monica didn’t understand half the words he said, but at one point, she heard Bridget mutter, “He sure knows his flowers,” so she figured his instructions must have been spot on. After finishing the first floor, the butler led the group up a flight of stairs. Once they reached the second story, Bridget’s gaze sharpened visibly. According to her, the real Felix would be locked away somewhere up here. In general, servants’ quarters were located in the basement of a mansion, while the first story contained a wealth of rooms for entertaining guests. The higher you climbed, the more private the space. The Duke’s estate was no different. What’s more, Bridget seemed to have a clear picture of where each of the rooms was located. When the butler stopped in front of a certain door, Monica noticed her grimace slightly. “This is the room Prince Felix used as a child,” said the butler, stepping inside. When Monica heard this, she had envisioned a normal child’s room, but all of the furniture inside was clearly made for adults. Raul scanned the room and asked, “Does His Highness still use this room? I forget.” “Yes, sir. He uses it whenever he stays here.” Even now, Felix occasionally came back; they’d probably replaced the furniture with something more suited to his size. Monica got the feeling that almost nothing remained from his childhood. Nevertheless, Bridget gazed at the furniture, loneliness and yearning in her eyes. She seemed to be painting a picture in her mind of the Felix she’d known as a child. “The prince’s room always looks so classy,” said Raul. “What flowers were you using when he last came to stay?” “Illuses, sir.” “‘Illuses’?” Raul frowned, confused by the term. I guess even a botanical expert doesn’t know every flower… thought Monica. But then Bridget murmured something. “…Irises.” The butler seemed startled and corrected himself. “My apologies. Yes, sir, they were irises. The man who worked here before always called them illuses…” “Oh!” Raul exclaimed cheerfully. “Irises! Illuses—that’s, um, the Imperial word, right?” “Yes, sir. I’m terribly sorry.” The butler nodded awkwardly. Monica was suddenly reminded of a man who had nothing to do with this situation—Bartholomeus Baal, a craftsman who lived for love. “My name’s Bartholomeus. Basically the same name as Bartholomew here in Ridill. Pretty cool, huh?” Bartholomeus and Bartholomew. Illuses and irises. Words meaning the same thing—one in the Imperial tongue, and the other in Ridillian. Suddenly, Monica made a connection. Wait, maybe… As Monica fell into thought, Raul called to her. “Heeey, on to the next room!” She looked up to find the others already in the hallway. Flustered, Monica headed out the door. After that, they looked at two guest rooms, then skipped a door and headed for another room. The door they’d passed over intrigued her. Monica lowered her voice to a whisper. “What about that room?” “I hear that’s where the duke keeps his collection of magical items,” replied Raul. Some magical items could easily be kept on one’s person, while others were more difficult to store. The duke’s collection likely involved the latter kind, explaining the restrictions on who could enter. As Monica stared at the door, they heard a low voice from behind them. “I wouldn’t mind showing you inside, Lord Witch of Thorns.” The voice sent a shiver down Monica’s spine. It wasn’t loud, per se, but it was intimidating, penetrating deep into the mind. And Monica knew who it belonged to. It was the owner of the mansion: Darius Nightray, also known as Duke Clockford. I can’t turn around. I can’t let him see my face…! As Monica’s lips began to tremble, Bridget tugged her sleeve and brought her over to the wall, then gave a deep bow. Oh, right. We’re servants of the Roseburg family right now. Monica mimicked Bridget and lowered her head. The duke had met her as the Silent Witch after the New Year’s banquet at the castle. If he saw her face, things would go very badly. I was wearing a veil over my mouth and a hood low over my eyes, but still… Her hands started to sweat from the tension. The duke’s presence was overwhelming. He could command everyone’s attention simply by existing in the same space. And with a mere word or a trivial gesture, he could make almost anyone do his bidding. Very few people had power like that, and the duke had it seeping from every pore. It reminded Monica of when Felix would occasionally use intimidation to bring someone under his command—a skill he’d probably learned from the duke. Ignoring Bridget and the frozen Monica, Raul maintained his normal cheeriness and grinned at the duke. “Good day, Your Excellency. We’re nearly finished replanting the gardens. We’re currently picking out flowers to decorate the mansion. Would you like us to take a look at your collection room as well?” “I leave it to you.” Raul’s tone was more polite now, and the duke seemed to be treating him courteously, as a guest. It was an intimidating conversation—one between the Roseburg family’s current count of magic and Duke Clockford, one of the most important nobles in the country. The duke removed a key from an inside pocket and used it to open the collection room’s door. Monica lifted her head ever so slightly and shifted her gaze to see inside the room. It wasn’t very big. A few glass cases lined the walls, done up with seals. Inside, various accessories that looked like magic items were on display. Right now, Monica needed to play the perfect servant. She probably wouldn’t be allowed into the room at all. But just then, Raul stepped inside and beckoned to her and Bridget. “Heeey! Come on in, you two!” Whaaat…? W-won’t he get mad…? Monica’s face froze up with nerves. As expected, the duke leveled a cold stare at Raul. “I did not give permission for you to bring servants inside.” “These two are working for my family as apprentices. This room will make a great case study on how to use flowers to decorate.” To the Roseburgs, apprentices and servants were basically synonymous. The duke fixed his stare on Monica and Bridget. His gaze was so overwhelming that it felt as if he had taken their hearts in his cold hands and was deciding whether to crush them. But Raul didn’t seem particularly bothered and went on as though nothing was wrong. “Not every mansion is so rewarding to decorate, Your Excellency.” “I believe it’s a little too much for mere trainees.” “The older ladies in my family always told me that it’s best to use first-rate teaching materials.” “I see. Coming from one of the greatest mages of the kingdom, your words certainly carry weight.” Monica couldn’t tell if Raul was telling the truth or not. But when he laughed, the duke’s resolve weakened. Apparently, they were now allowed inside. Monica and Bridget set foot into the collection room, careful not to make eye contact with the duke. The glass cases all displayed high-end magical items. The price of just one of them was probably enough to buy a mansion. But Monica wasn’t interested in any of that right now. I need to figure out the room’s dimensions… She took a quick look around, memorizing the numbers that made up the space. If Felix was imprisoned somewhere in this mansion, then it was always possible that he was locked up in a hidden room. While checking the building’s exterior, she’d memorized its measurements; ever since getting inside, she’d been checking to make sure everything matched. While Monica compared the numbers in her head, Raul and the duke continued to speak. “This is incredible. There are so many magical items, and they’re of such high quality. Is this one Emanuel’s work?” “Indeed. I frequently employ the Gem Mage for such things. I have him perform periodic inspections, as well.” Monica’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the Gem Mage. Not long ago, they’d confronted him in Kelielinden Forest. It seemed he’d fled after the incident. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. As she thought, Raul decided on some flowers for the space. He made several suggestions. The duke’s response was plain and simple: “Use flowers that symbolize the technology and wealth of this kingdom.” Selective breeding took a lot of time and capital—a new and unique kind of flower was its own sort of fortune. The duke wanted to flaunt his authority by decorating his mansion with Ridillian flowers that were the result of such breeding. Flaunting his authority was probably his only goal, too. Monica doubted he had any desire to satisfy a sense of self-importance or anything like that. For first-rate nobles, showing off one’s influence was simply a way of maintaining the dignity of one’s family. Requesting things of the Seven Sages, such as asking Raul to provide flowers or having Emanuel care for his magical items, was all a charade. The duke wanted to give others the impression that he and the Sages were on good terms. House Roseburg is politically neutral… The duke must want to win them over to his side, too. Just like he tried to with me, when he made that request after the New Year’s banquet. Once they’d left the collection room and locked the door behind them, the duke addressed Raul again. “Unfortunately, the older ladies in your family have turned down many a dinner invitation. Tell them that I’m hoping for a more favorable answer next time.” The older ladies in Raul’s family apparently held the real power in House Roseburg, hence why the duke invited them to such gatherings instead of Raul. I wonder how he’ll strike back… If he carelessly accepted, he might find himself in the duke’s camp. But if he simply rejected the offer, he’d cause offense. “Hmmm. Well, they’re all quite elderly, so…” He folded his arms, looking troubled. Then he gave a start, as if he’d thought of something. “Oh! I think my elder sister would gladly come if you invited her!” The air in the room froze. “…In that case, I will take my leave,” said the duke. “I’ve had tea prepared—it’s in the parlor. You may relax there, if you wish.” With that, the duke left. He clearly wanted to end the conversation there. Monica wondered what Raul’s elder sister—the fourth Witch of Thorns—was like, if she could make even the duke run away like that. Monica wasn’t very familiar with any of the former Sages, though, so she couldn’t do anything but wonder. I get the feeling…that the duke really doesn’t want to be involved with her… In any case, it seemed this was how House Roseburg was keeping its distance from the duke. No doubt complicated political bargains and stratagems were at play. Monica looked up at Raul reverently. “All I have to do is mention her,” said Raul, sounding impressed, “and everyone scampers away. She’s like a charm against evil spirits!” The butler waiting beside them looked quite troubled by the comment.