“But,” she said, her expression twisting, “I’m warning you for your own good: I don’t know why you’re doing this, but don’t think you can waltz into the world of hidden literature and walk out unscathed.” Perhaps that was the conclusion this greedy merchant, one who had dealt in all sorts of merchandise over her career, had come to after crossing a great deal of dangerous bridges. Books were filled with ideas, and ideas could be either poison or panacea. That was precisely the reason why the Church had banned the technology that would allow ideas to propagate endlessly. Col knew well the dangers that came with this, as did Hyland and Canaan. What kind of face would Eve make if she found out they wanted to revive the technology that would allow them to make infinite copies of such literature? Myuri, too, was likely picturing that very outcome. Instead, Col said as quietly as he could, “I just want to ask him about bookmaking.” “……” Not once did he think he could fool her. But Eve understood that the weight of information was shared once it was given to another. And considering her default attitude toward others was generally suspicion, she doubted he was hiding something from her out of spite. Col genuinely had no intention of causing Eve any trouble. After weighing the dangers of knowing against the dangers of ignorance, Eve ultimately decided the latter was riskier. “I’ll contact Le Roi. If he says it isn’t dangerous, then I’ll have him help you. But if it is, I’m going to pretend like this conversation never happened. Understand?” It was a warning, but in a way, it was also her way of trusting them. “Of…of course,” Col replied. Eve stared at him for a moment longer, then scratched the back of her head again. “You’re starting to remind me a lot of that old traveling merchant. He sure acted like a sheep, but he was fearless when it came to the strangest things.” With a strained smile, he decided to take that as a compliment. “Le Roi is very popular with the most eccentric nobles. Someone must know where he is. I’ll get a hold of him pretty quickly; three days at the quickest. A week at worst.” “Thank you so much.” With a weary look, Eve gave a heavy sigh. “And? Are you staying for dinner?” “Oh, um, Heir Hyland was actually—” “Thought so. Heard someone was out at the markets buying high-quality mutton and expensive candies. Thought it might be Hyland, but I heard rumors that some important bigwig’s come to town. I laughed.” “Well, she’s going to need all that to reward a hardworking knight, after all,” Myuri boasted, never losing her nerve and puffing out her chest with pride. “Heard you did put in good work back in Raponell,” Eve said. It sounded as though Az, who sat patiently beside her, had filled her in on what had happened. “But only heaven knows how long anyone’s good luck will last. If you somehow find yourself stumbling in this next little job of yours”—Eve reached out, quill still in hand, to gently lift Col’s chin—“you can come work for me.” Myuri lightly took Eve’s hand. “Give us lots of honey and dates, and we’ll think about it.” “Heh. Then you’ll jump ship and join me right now if I throw in lemon ice candy?” “Lemon? What’s that? Sounds tasty.” “Ah-ha. Poor thing, living life not knowing that delectable sourness.” Please don’t feed Myuri any unnecessary information, Col thought; but at the same time, he was relieved to know that Eve could get in contact with Le Roi, the book merchant. Col felt like speaking with the man about dangerous matters might even make him feel safer. That was because Le Roi dealt with dangerous literature, the kind that could not be discussed publicly, just as Eve said. “Brother, Brother! I want to try lemon ice candy!” Myuri, now armed with knowledge of a new treat, tugged on Col’s sleeve; the witch who was constantly a terrible influence on the romantic girl grinned in delight. “Heir Hyland will be holding a feast for us soon.” “But she’s not going to have lemons! Miss Eve said the peel has a really powerful scent, and the inside is stuffed full of really sour fruit, and when you mix it with honey and sprinkle it over ice shavings, it’s really good!” Col felt like he had heard of something similar from a very rich noble back at the Nyohhira bathhouse. As he thought about how much food there was out there that he had yet to lay eyes on, he began to wonder just how much knowledge and technology was yet to be discovered out there in the world. And since the world of banned books, too, was something even Eve warned against, he began to feel vaguely apprehensive of what new perspective he would discover once he gained that knowledge. The alchemist who had lived with Nordstone had mostly likely been looking at the world from that unique angle. She had discovered a kind of fertilizer for wheat that no one else had thought of, she held conviction in the existence of land at the edge of the western sea, and what was more, she— “Brother?” Myuri’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Oh…Sorry.” “I knew you should’ve napped with me.” She thought he was dazed from the exhaustion of travel, but if he said aloud that he was thinking about the possibility of the world being round, she would certainly brush it off as sleep talk. “Okay, let’s go back and eat dinner, then, Brother!” He admired how she could constantly keep him on his toes. That said, they would be searching for an artisan in this wide, wide kingdom whom even the inquisitors let slip, so her mental agility would be a reliable ally. But as they stepped out of Eve’s manor, he wished she would stop pulling on his sleeve to make him go faster. There were rumors a bigwig had come to town after people had seen how suddenly someone had been buying a great deal of expensive meats from the butchers and sugar from the apothecaries, but Col was not entirely surprised to hear it was all for one girl who had come from a mountain bathhouse. But Hyland, who had put together this luxurious supper, seemed genuinely pleased with Myuri’s reaction. “Your mission took you far away, but it was for a great cause.” Though Hyland typically spoke in a relatively informal manner, she sounded like a proper noble when she said that. It was, of course, to please the wild Myuri—who insisted that a supper like this required a knight to be dressed in their most formal, which naturally meant wearing her sword at her waist. With manners she had just learned from a real knight, she removed her sword and fell to one knee to show her fealty. It was impressive posturing, but the moment she dropped her head in a bow, she began to drool—the delicious scent of freshly grilled mutton on the table beside her wafted forth, accompanied by the sound of fat crackling under the heat. When Col saw her frantically wipe at her mouth with her sleeve, he sighed. “I bet all your food on the ship was cold. Come—eat up.” Myuri, satisfied with playing knight for the time being, handed off her sword to a maid, rolled her shoulders, sat at her spot, gripped her knife tightly, and stabbed it into a hunk of meat. “Honestly, Myuri…” Her table manners were atrocious, but Hyland, who was essentially head of the household in this situation, was delighted, so Col could say no more. And though it was slight, he got the sense that Myuri, too, was acting in a slightly more boorish way for Hyland’s entertainment, so he quickly reached out to cut the meat into smaller pieces so that she would not bite directly into it. “I heard you did a fantastic job with regards to House Nordstone. Very well done.” Col had given Hyland the letter from Stephan and a detailed report of the incident before the meal. A number of secrets had come about during the incident, so as he drank his wine with Hyland’s toast, he could feel it catching in his throat. “It is hard to say the old Lord Nordstone is completely innocent, but I believe it’s more that he is…a unique individual. But his heir, Lord Stephan, is a devout man, so I doubt we will have to worry about their lands in the future.” “I see. I got that sense just from reading the letter. One’s writing reflects one’s character,” Hyland said, smiling as though recalling what she had read. Col could somewhat picture how Stephan’s overly eager personality shone through in his letter to Hyland. “But you can imagine my surprise to learn that all those rumors I thought were tall tales weren’t entirely false,” she continued. “Right?! Exactly! My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw that boat filled with bones!” Myuri exclaimed, filling her mouth with a piece of beef shoulder slathered with a strong-looking sauce made of a paste of grated garlic, pine nuts, and peppercorns. “The old lord lived through a turbulent age. He doesn’t really care what others think of him when he’s getting things done; maybe we could learn a thing or two from him.” “Yeah! He was really cool!” Hyland agreed with a smile; after watching Myuri dig into the fava bean soup, she turned to Col. “And after all those heroic efforts, you have Archivist Canaan to contend with. You’ll have to forgive me for putting so much on your plate.” “Of course.” Col was flustered for just a moment before Myuri laid her hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine. We’ll do whatever, so long as you keep feeding us like this.” “Myuri!” Myuri seem unbothered by the scolding; she plucked out one portion of lamb ribs before biting into the fatty meat. “Paying you in food is an easy ask for me. And I know this task with Archivist Canaan is truly going to make big waves over the entire world.” Though Hyland spoke with a smile, there was a slight hue of melancholy to her expression. Unlike Col, who simply had to do what he was told, Hyland stood between Canaan and the other archivists, and the kingdom. Even if things went well, the weight resting on her shoulders was far beyond what he could imagine. “Is he staying in the cathedral?” “No. The cathedral isn’t necessarily free of acquaintances from the opposing faction. We followed Eve Bolan’s lead and set him up in one of the old buildings in town.” A city with a long history would be no stranger to fierce battles. Old buildings that survived the fires of war often had underground tunnels and hidden rooms, so it was much safer for him to stay in a place like that if push came to shove. “In terms of safety,” Hyland continued, “I would have honestly preferred he didn’t step foot in the kingdom at all. But the high-ranking clergy who mediated for us told me that Archivist Canaan refused to proceed with his plan until he met you in person and figured out what sort of person you were.” What surprised Col most out of what Hyland had said was that he now saw Canaan not as a disposable pawn, but as a key figure in the plan. He was surprised more by his youth than the prestige of his name. Hyland continued, “He’s apparently very well known for being a child prodigy. I’ve heard he can take one look at a dense book on theology and have it memorized in a snap.” Col recalled Canaan’s calm that seemed far beyond his age, his poised air, and how intelligent he seemed as he spoke boldly about banned technology. He was not simply an individual of high standing—he had the talent to match his status. The girl beside Col was an equal match when it came to confidence alone; he turned to look at her, only to see her delightfully placing a slice of thick cheese on a slice of wheat bread. He could practically see her tail wagging happily. “Do you mean to say I’ve earned his favor?” Col asked. Hyland shrugged with a smile. “I think he was using a screening as an excuse to meet someone he truly admired and might not get the chance to see again.” “……” Though Col was unsure how to respond, Hyland seemed pleased, so he gave an ambiguous nod. “And when I dropped him off, he seemed beyond excited to read the complete version of your vernacular translation. Despite how tense he was during the meeting at the office.” Col had been desperately keeping himself afloat, in contrast with Canaan’s cool demeanor. Hearing how he was behind the scenes, that both of them had been conscious about staying composed for each other, struck him as funny. “I could tell right away,” Myuri said. After putting away her bread, the wolf girl grinned, baring her sharp canines, and narrowed her eyes. “Also, I would have kicked him down after he kissed your hand if he were a girl.” Hyland, who had raised her cup of wine to her lips, burst out into laughter. “I’ll have to be careful, too.” Please don’t make jokes like that, Col thought as he turned to look at Myuri. And as he did, Myuri opened wide and tore into a new piece of meat. “Ugh…I can’t move…” Col thought the sight looked familiar, and he realized it was because Myuri was the spitting image of her mother, Holo the Wisewolf. Even Holo, who had once been worshipped as a god, put on a similar disgraceful display whenever she drank too much. But from the outside, it was clear that her attitude did not come from debauchery, but because her beloved husband was always by her side, doting on her. And that meant Col was partially responsible for Myuri’s behavior because of the way he spoiled her. “Brother…It hurts…” After eating a whole mountain of food, Myuri did not have the strength to return to the room. So she had decided to lie down on a stone bench in the peristyle that faced the inner courtyard. “Are you sure I don’t have to call a doctor?” Hyland was fretting somewhat. “This always happens,” Col replied with a sigh. “She’ll be better in a little bit.” Her stomach would be grumbling the next morning anyway. He gave his thanks to a maid who hurriedly brought out a blanket, and laid it over her. “Gluttony is one of the deadly sins. I will have to lecture you later.” “Hnng…” Her groan was most certainly fake—it was her way of telling him that she was not listening. He poked the tricksy girl’s forehead and stood. “In any case. Heir Hyland?” “Hmm?” Hyland, who seemed fully intent on staying by Myuri’s side the entire night, looked up at Col. “Regarding the artisan—I’ve decided to reach out to an acquaintance bookseller first.” “You know someone like that?” “I met him on my travels from long ago—he dealt in manuals that were marked for destruction by the Church. He not only has knowledge and connections, but he can most certainly be trusted.” “I see, a bookseller who deals in rare books. I’m certain he must be particularly sensitive to the inquisitors’ movements due to his trade, so he might know something about that time period.” Hyland gave a deep nod and placed her hand to her chin in thought. “Is something the matter?” Col asked. Hyland’s expression remained clouded, however. It seemed as though she was hesitant to say what was on her mind. “Archivist Canaan’s proposal is most certainly God’s will in the eyes of the kingdom,” she said, her speech a bit stiff for how she thanked God for the stroke of good luck. “But I think there is one problem with helping him.” “A problem?” One could say that Canaan’s proposal itself was full of problems. They would be sticking their noses in the depths of the world of books, a place not even Eve dared venture, and spreading the vernacular scripture across the continent could easily be put to a stop on the king of Winfiel’s orders. That said, he had thought that the make-or-break decision had already been made. When Col began to wonder if Hyland was worried about the difficulty of finding the artisan, like Myuri was, she expressed a perspective on the problem he was not expecting. “Namely where we’ll be making these books.” There would be dozens, hundreds, even thousands of copies of the thick tome that was the scripture. The technology Canaan spoke of could apparently make that many copies only with a few workers. The cost of paper books that did not use parchment or leather bindings was mostly determined by how much the transcribers were paid. Col thought they only needed the technology, but it was as Myuri said—he had eyes for only half the world. “A place, hmm…A place…” The amount of paper alone would be staggering. And on top of that, they would have to transport it all. If they wanted to print a great number of books without anyone else noticing, they would have to work in a place far from civilization but not too remote that the transport of material became too difficult. Plus, carriages coming and going to the middle of nowhere, stuffed full of paper and ink, would stand out painfully. And the technology Canaan spoke of could only print words on a page, so even if they were to make simple books, they would still need a number of workers to cut the paper purchased from the papermaker, punch holes for bindings, and add covers. If they were to all crowd in the workshop to work, they would not only need the basic necessities to live, but also people to support them and for the materials necessary for all their activities to be constantly brought in. And that was not something they could do in secret in town. As he chided himself for lacking the foresight to see this, Hyland continued, voicing yet another thing that took him completely by surprise. “Which means I’m going to need your good word.” “My…my what?” He could not possibly understand why. Hyland’s shoulders dropped, and she sighed. “I know of the perfect place for this plan…You know, that new monastery we’re backing.” “Oh!” he exclaimed, before he realized he was speaking. Sharon and Clark’s new monastery was most certainly ideal for the job. “It’s a bit rural, big enough for many people to live in, and no one would question the frequency with which people came and went—I can’t think of a more suitable place.” “And constant orders of paper and ink would not be out of the ordinary for a monastery. I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Col said, and that was when the question hit him. “But, ah, why do you need my good word?” “Well, you know…” Hyland scratched her forehead, hesitant. “I’ve made arrangements for the monastery for Mister Clark and Miss Sharon. They must be very busy every day with preparations toward opening the monastery. For us to waltz in and use it for our own purposes is…” What shocked Col most was not the lack of conviction in Hyland’s speech. It was how distant Hyland actually was from the image of nobility he had in his mind. “Of course, it’s not as if we’re keeping it for ourselves. The moment the project is over, the monastery will be theirs, just as promised,” Hyland said, her tone defensive. Col could not help but smile. “Heir Hyland, my trust in you is more steadfast than it has ever been.” “What?” She blinked. He adjusted his posture, straightening himself. “You have the power to command Clark and the others to do whatever you like. Yet you feel hesitant to wield that authority, and you are as considerate of their situation as ever.” Hyland, standing before him, looked away, much like many a girl her age might. “I think it’s a wonderful thing,” he said. “I am proud that I get to walk beside y—” “C-Col—” “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I am genuinely impressed.” “No, I, ah…” Hyland’s nobility was the sort sung of in songs, and Col doubted anyone else could ever be more suited for royalty than her. Despite how flustered or embarrassed she seemed, he still wanted to convey just how moved he was by her disposition, so he reached to take her hand. “Grrr…” But then there came a growl, one that seemed to emanate from the depths of hell. “Col…” Hyland’s expression was one of defeat, as though to say, We are awaiting judgment, and she lifted her hands to her shoulders. Had she not the wit to notice, their hands would have been deeply entwined with each other. “Your knight’s defenses are impregnable,” she said, taking a step backward as she turned her attention to Myuri. At last, Myuri stopped growling. “I believe I need to remind this rambunctious girl exactly who our master is…” Col sighed. The knightly order she shared with Myuri was a privilege granted to them by none other than Hyland. And that meant their master was, ostensibly, Hyland, but that did not seem to matter much to the wolf girl, who observed the rules of the forest more than she did the rules of human society. “But more important, Heir Hyland, the monastery.” Hyland was not so much upset that she was not being respected as a master should be, but more afraid of losing her goodwill with Myuri, and she was jealous of Myuri’s sour mood. So when Col brought the conversation back on track, she looked at him with a smile colored by surprise and guilt. “I believe Clark and Sharon will understand. I will explain. Shall I tell them of the plan?” “Oh, yes. We should be able to trust them. And I’d like their help if possible—for checking the text once we have copies printed.” “Very well,” Col said, and continued with something he found a bit difficult to bring up. “But borrowing the future monastery’s plot of land will bring its own troubles.” “It will?” It was a bit funny that this was the opposite of what happened earlier, but what he was about to tell her was not all that funny. “The plot is more of a ruin than initially thought. Clark goes every day to work on restoring it, but it’s apparently in a very poor state. And the financing for the repairs does not seem to have very good prospects.” Hyland looked at him, slack-jawed, and took a brisk step toward him, no longer minding Myuri. “Is that true?!” “Er, yes.” It was Col’s turn to mind Myuri—though she still lay on the bench, she held her lips in a pout. “I know I heard that things might be worse than we thought, but…I see. I didn’t know it was that bad.” Hyland put a hand to her forehead, feeling the weight of responsibility land on her shoulders. “I have a bad habit of not thoroughly looking into things. Right. I understand. In that case, I’ll gather funds for the repairs. And I suppose in exchange, could you negotiate with them to see if we can borrow the plot for a little bit?” Hyland was powerful enough that if she were to unilaterally order them to vacate the premises, Clark and the rest would have no choice but to obey. Myuri was watching, so Col did not take Hyland’s hand, but it struck him again just how perfect a partner she was in their fight against the Church’s corruption. “Very well. I will let them know.” “Right. Thank you,” she said, and took another step backward, then began to think. Col took the opportunity to look at Myuri, who bared her canines at him. “Goodness. If only they’d told me earlier…Oh, perhaps not.” As Hyland spoke aloud to herself, there was a touch of sadness to her smile. “Sharon used to be a tax collector. I have a feeling she has a good grasp on my financial position.” Sharon herself had said that no kindhearted noble was that rich. Travel money was one matter, but her circumstances were different from a noble who could build cathedrals with their own means. “How shameful of me as royalty to make them worry about their finances.” “That’s not true.” Col raised an objection before he realized what he was doing. Hyland drew her shoulders up slightly with a smile before turning her attention to Myuri. “I’ve heard your father was an extraordinary merchant. Could you tell him that I’d like his instruction someday?” Myuri huffed. “If I feel like it,” she mumbled. “Either way, our first order of business is to find the artisan. I’ll ask around to see if there are any records of inquisitor visits at any of the ports.” “O-oh, yes.” “This project will finally put an end to the conflict between us and the Church,” Hyland said, and rested her hand on Col’s shoulder, but in a panic, she turned to look at Myuri. “Geez, I’m not gonna get mad anymore!” The lie was incredibly transparent; she sat up, stood, wedged herself between Col and Hyland, then physically pushed the two of them apart. “Braid my hair, and I’ll forgive you,” she said to Col. “Give me figs drizzled in honey, and I’ll forgive you,” she said to Hyland. It was not moments earlier that she had been whining about eating too much, and how this vexed Col. Hyland agreed willingly, and Myuri gave a satisfied nod. Canaan’s project was not going to be easy. But perhaps it was going to go better than any of them thought. The night was quiet enough to lead Col to believe this. The night Myuri ate her fill to make up for the time they had been away from Rausbourne drew to a close, and in time, dawn broke. She woke up early to do her sword training, and Col attended morning mass at the manor’s chapel. When both of these things were finished, they made their way to Sharon to tell her of the plan. “You stink of garlic.” Sharon stood before them, the scowl she typically wore in Myuri’s company on her face, but this time she seemed genuinely displeased. Myuri, of course, was embarrassed. She had mentioned something smelling strongly of garlic when she woke up and had gone around their room to sniff, and that just made it worse. “And? What do you want?” Sharon asked. Col pushed down on Myuri’s head—she growled to hide her embarrassment—and informed Sharon of their business. She was shocked when he told her about Canaan and the banned technology, but she was rather intrigued to hear that the conflict between the kingdom and the Church might end peaceably. Though she did not seem to care all that much about the conflict, she likely wanted nothing more than peace for the sake of the children who toddled around behind her. “This conflict between the kingdom and the Church is beyond us,” she said. “But if it’s going to help us get these repairs done, then I’m honestly relieved. Clark is so stubborn about it.” “He is?” Sharon gave a shrug and a sigh. “Work is going much slower than planned. He stays there overnight to work because he says it’s his job. I tell him to come back sometimes, but he doesn’t listen to me. You Church people are like that sometimes.” Her expression was bitter. Myuri gave a knowing nod and peered up at Col. “I bet if you were the one to tell him to rest while you’re out there, he’d listen to you,” Sharon said. “A-all right,” Col stuttered. He could feel Myuri’s stinging gaze on his skin—it was as though she was telling him that he was the same way. “Still. Technology that can make as many copies of a document as we want?” Sharon folded her arms and sighed. “Can you imagine how easy things would’ve been if I’d had something like that when I was a tax collector?” “Huh?” Myuri looked up at Sharon. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to write set phrases like Per the request of God and the council on collection deeds? So many people would’ve been saved from that drudgery if we didn’t have to bother with that.” Myuri, who still did not quite grasp the power of printing, seemed genuinely impressed by the realistic problem Sharon once had. “But it’s a mixed blessing,” Sharon continued. “Imagine how much false information you could spread with something like that.” Those who dealt with documents understood both the technology’s advantages and dangers. She scoffed, then looked between Col and Myuri. “But are you really intent on finding a missing artisan? Do you understand how difficult it is to find an artisan who’s failed to pay their taxes and vanished into thin air?” “It’s fine. We’re smart enough to figure out the truth behind ghost ships, you know.” Myuri puffed out her chest in pride. Col could only offer a strained smile. Sharon found the contrast amusing; one corner of her mouth quirked upward. “Oh yeah, speaking of ghost ships,” she said, unfolding her arms to turn to Myuri. “Heard you bullied a seabird on the way back.” “What?! I wasn’t bully—” “Yes, you were,” Col interrupted. It had been the first time he had seen a seabird look so desperate. Myuri did not care about the cool stare from Sharon, but when she felt Col’s, she shrunk in on herself and stared up at him with wide eyes. “The least you can do…,” Sharon said, “…is go help Clark and make up for your wrongdoings, Dog.” “What did you say to me, you—?!” —Chicken, was what she was going to say, but the sword at her waist shifted when she leaned forward, drawing her back to reality. It did not matter who she was charged with protecting—she could not harass them. Though God’s teachings were not sticking with her, that chivalrous spirit had been a part of her since she was little. “…Apologize to the bird.” She would have received full marks had she been able to look Sharon in the eye and say it, but this itself was a big improvement. “And the next time you see a seabird at the harbor, give it a piece of bread.” “…Okay.” Had her ears and tail been out, they would have drooped. Col patted her on the head for a job well done, but she swatted his hand away in annoyance, then clung to him. It seemed she had genuinely felt no malice when she captured the unlucky bird. “Ha. The kids here are more grown-up than you,” Sharon teased, and Myuri stuck out her tongue at her. When it was settled that they were to go to the future monastery’s plot, Sharon gave them some extra clothes and food meant for Clark while they were there. Among the foods were biscuits, which would keep for a while, as well as cheese and salt-cured meats to give him strength. Clark typically avoided meat due to his pious nature. Many of the clothes they were given showed signs of mending, but the sheer difference in the skill of the mended areas led Col to picture Sharon and the children sewing together. With the happy circle of her and the kids doing needlework flashing in his mind’s eye, he was convinced that the monastery and orphanage they would soon live in would turn out to be a wonderful place. After Col and Myuri returned to the manor and reported to Hyland, they began to put together a plan for the repairs. First, they would hire gardeners and carpenters to get a grasp on the situation, then determine exactly what it was that they needed. It would take a few days to procure the workers, and since Sharon had asked them for a specific favor, Col decided that he and Myuri would go ahead and see Clark alone. The only issues they had were over the sword that Myuri whined about keeping on her and how Hyland stubbornly insisted they not walk to the monastery’s plot. She urged them to take a horse, likely because she was taking their condition into consideration—they had just returned from a long journey, after all—but more important, she wanted to send over wine and fresh fruit as an apology to Clark for not paying enough attention to him after finding them the plot of land. And so Col and Myuri borrowed one of the manor’s horses and one of their carts. “Wait…You can drive a cart?” When it was clear they would be traveling in good weather on a cart, Myuri, her sword at her hip, rushed out of the room with sheaves of paper and ink. When she looked at Col sitting on the driver’s perch, her eyes went wide. “You may not know this, but I lived on the road for a long time.” “I don’t know about this…” Hyland smiled, amused that Myuri scarcely trusted her brother in anything, and offered a good word. “I’ve seen how he handles horses in Nyohhira. It was impressive.” “Whaaat? Are you calling my brother impressive? He always struggled to kill the chickens for dinner!” Please don’t compare me to the wolf girl—her glare alone can kill a chicken, he thought. “Come on. Hop on.” “Fine.” Col sighed as she clambered onto the cart bed, and turned to look at Hyland. “I suppose this will be ours for the time being. I hope to be back tomorrow. And if not, the day after.” “Of course. No need to rush yourselves.” A maid packed food into the cart bed, and another servant laid a blanket over the driver’s perch; Col and Myuri both waved as they left. Despite what he said to Myuri, Col was also a bit nervous about driving the cart, so he had practiced a bit in the courtyard. They proceeded along Rausbourne’s roads without much trouble, but he was certain it was not because of his own skill; it was the horse that had been so carefully cared for at the noble’s residence that was making him look good. “Heh-heh, this is funny.” “Hmm?” As the horse plodded along toward the city gates, Myuri kneeled at the edge of the cart bed and leaned over the driver’s perch. “You look so out of place when you’re doing anything besides reading books, Brother.” “……” He was not wearing the clergy garb he wore when he left Nyohhira, nor was it any of the young, sophisticated merchant’s outfits he would borrow from the manor. He wore clothes of thick jute, the type that gardening apprentices wore when they came to work at the manor, mostly in anticipation of being put to work at the monastery’s plot. He could not exactly find comfort in it, even being the one wearing it. “And I hate that I didn’t know you could drive a cart.” She only decided to talk with him because she was discontent in that regard. “We rarely ever needed to use a cart in Nyohhira, and when we are in a rush on this particular journey, we have you.” He had ridden on wolf-Myuri’s back a number of times now. Though he always felt like he only hung on to life by a thread every time, he was certain that any wild horse would be easy to control if he got used to that sensation. “…Uh-huh.” Perhaps she meant to look cool and composed, but her delight was evident in the way her lips curled. She sat up and began rummaging around the cart bed, looking for something, then leaped onto the driver’s perch. “You’re probably lonely up here. I’ll keep you company,” she said, but she held paper, her quill, and an inkpot in hand. She was fully intent on writing those absurd knight stories again. Col knew she would not listen and would get cranky if he told her to write in the back because there was not much room at the front, so he simply remained silent. “Didn’t Mother and Father travel like this?” The cart arrived at the city gates; Col showed the travel papers Hyland had given him to the guard, and they passed through. They had an abundance of provisions with them, so they would have been taxed without the papers. “I heard Mother always had trouble at these inspections because she couldn’t hide her tail.” “According to Mister Lawrence, the experience always made her grumpy.” “It did? Why?” “Because they would treat it as a lap warmer, and some referred to her tail as cheap wolf fur.” Col thought Myuri might pout when she heard that, but she instead grinned with delight. “I wish I could see Mother look so upset!” What a terrible daughter, Col thought with a tense smile. “Hmm, but…I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.” “What wouldn’t be?” As they began their venture down the highway, the scenery around them became fields and plains. Myuri stirred, let out her ears and tail, held her fluffy tail between her knees, spread out her paper, and dipped the quill into the ink. Col wondered if she would get upset if she spilled any ink on her silver tail, but unlike her mother, she was rather indifferent about it. “A beautiful knight survives a terrible battle in the snowy mountains. The other knights are dressed in fancy ermine furs to keep themselves warm, but she’s the only one wrapped in plain silver wolf furs.” She stumbled over a beautiful knight, but her pen glided smoothly across the page. “Everyone else around her wonders why she wears something so shabby, but only the priest who leads the knights understands how wonderful it is.” Myuri, full of herself, quietly giggled as she spoke. She had originally begun writing because she had not been satisfied with how the confrontation with the priest who wanted to arrest Nordstone had unfolded, yet here she was, now speaking of a great battle on snowy peaks that an entire handful of knights were participating in; Col did not know how she reached this point. And as he followed the story, Myuri had somehow grown at least five fists in height, and the shape of her face had become more sculpted and slimmer in her knighthood. Considering her mother, Col doubted she would ever look like that, but Myuri was taking this seriously. “And then you start thinking about my tail because you really, really want to touch it, but you know people are watching, so you pretend you don’t.” Though she had mentioned an ambiguous “priest” at first, this person, at some point, became specifically Col. And so, as her older brother, he had a thing or two to say about that. “The only time I think about your tail is when you go gallivanting off into the woods and return with rubbish clinging to your fur. Do you know how much trouble it is to clean up after you?” “Shut up!” Col held his tongue as she shouted, and then he sighed. Though she stopped showering him with absurd requests to get married, her straightforward feelings of romantic affection had begun barreling forward in a strange direction. “Your parents’ journey was a lot like this,” Col said. He recalled the scenery he had witnessed from the back of the cart as a child. Though it was not specifically the same as what Myuri mentioned, a strange feeling settled in his chest. This felt exactly the same as things were back then, yet somehow completely different. “But what you really love isn’t my tail—it’s my beautiful hair and how lustrous…Hey, Brother? How do you spell lustrous?” Myuri tugged at his sleeve, so Col took the quill and wrote the word in the corner for her. The sentence that came after that word was about the honest and blockheaded priest feeling his heart reel and bearing through anguish at the sight of the beautiful knight’s silver hair. I won’t say anything, he thought, readjusting his grip on the reins. Myuri stared hard at the word, wrote down her new vocabulary for herself, and looked very pleased. When Col was a child, he remembered how much fun the two adults had been having on their journey. But he and Myuri were about evenly matched in how carefree they were, he thought. The cart rumbled onward as that thought rolled around in his head. As they ventured along the road, they at last came to a cairn, built by travelers to pray for safety on their journeys, and turned left; it was not long afterward that they came to a little bridge over a stream. After crossing it, they eventually spotted a forest that stood out among the fields. The building in question would be in the deep woods. Though those were the directions given, the girl who was born and raised within the deep woods in the remote mountains saw the little thicket and said, “That’s a forest?” “Sir Col!” And so Clark, who had been working on the grounds, immediately noticed the approaching cart, and once he realized who it was, he leaped to his feet. He immediately ran toward them on the grassy path leading to the building. “What’s the matter?! Is Sharon causing more problems?!” Col had been under the impression that between the two, it was Sharon who held control over the unreliable Clark, but what the boy said made him reconsider his initial impression. Myuri, at the very least, had a wolfish look on her face—she was excited by the prospect of possibly finding one of Sharon’s weaknesses. “Um, well, Miss Sharon has asked us to bring all this over for you,” Myuri said. Though she typically called Sharon “Chicken,” she addressed her politely and showed Clark all the things Sharon had left with them. “Oh goodness…” “You have to thank her, okay! People as reliable and hardworking as her are hard to come by!” Clark was not the only one who blinked in surprise—Col did, too. Clark did not even consider that Myuri might be plotting something; a smile creased his mud-caked face. “Heh-heh. Well, she shows off for you, so I’m certain it comes across that way.” “Wait, what? She looks really trustworthy and everything to me.” Despite what Myuri said, Col could see the glint in her eye, one of a naughty cat that had stolen her dinner, and poked her in the head. “We’ve actually come to speak with you about the repairs on the building,” he interrupted. Myuri, unhappy that Col had butted in, stamped on his foot. Clark was somewhat perplexed, not fully understanding the meaning of their exchange, but showed them priestly consideration. “Of course, but not here. And…I see you’ve brought things that are not from Sharon.” “Oh, yes. Heir Hyland gave us many things to supply you with as well.” When Clark realized that all the cargo in the cart bed was food and other necessities, he grasped the crest of the Church hanging around his neck with a rough hand and began to pray in thanks. There were several stone buildings spread over the wide plot of land, with the main building in the center and the annexes in each cardinal direction. Each were connected by stone-paved corridors, but the decorative pillars lining the colonnades were covered in vines and tangles of weeds. The path from the main road to the manor itself had become but a grassy plain, and the only reason it looked traversable was because Clark had cut a path himself. “You’ve been doing this all alone?” “Things aren’t going as well as I expected, and it’s rather embarrassing…” Col stopped the cart before the manor; Myuri, who had hopped off and waded through the grasses to get a better look at the gardens around the building, came back and shrugged. “No one can deal with this alone.” Col agreed, and Clark gave them a thin, tired smile. “It isn’t as bad inside.” The door at the entrance hung crooked, its hinges rusted, but since the floor was paved with stone, it was not overrun with foliage. It seemed Clark typically slept in the great hall right inside the entrance—Col could see his things and a serviceable blanket on the floor. Without the candle and scripture by his pillow, one might easily mistake it for a bandit camp. “The main building is made of stone, so it is relatively intact, but the wooden buildings are derelict, and the building to the north currently seems to be home to some animals…I hear them rustling around out there at night.” Though they were ruins, there was still a real possibility of getting caught up in trouble by straying too close to a noble’s property, so the villagers from the nearby towns likely stayed away. There was no doubt that it was a perfect little hideaway for the neighborhood critters. “The animals will probably leave once people move in,” Myuri piped up. “But your problem is the yard. It’s so big.” The garden was not among the biggest, but having hailed from a little town squeezed in among the mountains, Myuri thought it looked like a vast plain. “And I’m almost certain the well has been completely filled in. You have a big job ahead of you,” Col remarked. When he thought of monasteries, he pictured cobblestone paths, clear streams, herb gardens, and perfectly mowed lawns in which to get lost in thought, but due to the present state of things, that was a distant prospect. “I cut the grass myself, but by the time I made it around the building, the place I began to cut started to grow again. I don’t think I’ll ever manage to get around to repairing the buildings themselves.” Clark was one dense concentration of responsibility, yes, but something else occurred to Col when he saw the plot. Clark had likely been looking forward to this hardship, thinking of it as a trial from God. And that was likely why Sharon had so bitterly called him stubborn. Good members of the clergy were oddly fond of hardship. Col understood how Clark felt, and he also understood Sharon’s frustration; she wished she could tell him to prioritize efficiency over simply enduring trials. But when Col pictured the two of them squabbling over these things, he could also easily see how close they were, and that brought a smile to his face. But if they were to let Clark carry on this work alone, the prospect that he may never finish was very real. Though Col felt bad knowing they would be intruding on his delectable hardship, he had a strict minder named Myuri, so he plainly stated their business. “We’ve spoken with Miss Sharon about this already, but we would like to employ Heir Hyland’s help in repairing the monastery buildings all at once.” “What?” Clark was shocked; due to his background as assistant priest in a small diocese in a tough part of town, the first thing he thought of when he heard those words was nothing positive. “Oh, no, please don’t worry. We will ensure that you can continue to use the building for your faith, but once we’ve repaired it, we would like to borrow it for a short while for our own purposes.” “O-oh, I see.” Clark was still somewhat bewildered, so Myuri spoke up. “We have a secret project,” she said suggestively. Col sighed and told Clark exactly what they told Sharon. After the sun set and they finished eating their dinner around the fire, Myuri found herself inspired by life in the ruins, and her quill rushed over her paper as she sat before the fire. Though it would be a waste of firewood to use it for such an activity in town, but they had a literal mountain of things they could use for fuel out here. Clark, after hearing about Canaan’s plan, optimistically agreed to cooperate, hoping for a peaceful world, much like Sharon. He was eager to help when they would be printing copies of the scripture. Once their business was concluded, Col found himself with plenty of light, time, and expensive wine from Hyland. And as a bonus, the typically loud Myuri had gone quiet, so he and Clark were free to discuss theology all they liked. “I see. Your interpretation is impressive, Sir Col.” “Oh, no. All I did was follow the text and attempt to reword the smattering of knowledge I’d come to obtain in my own words. On the contrary, I believe I can learn much more from you—the interpretation you’ve come to based on your practice as a priest has a much greater depth, Mister Clark.” The scripture Clark had brought with him all this way was not one properly bound, of course. He had copied it himself onto tattered paper, but considering his position as an assistant priest in a city, one whose benefices tended to stagnate, Col could easily see how much trouble it would have been to access bundles of paper and quill pens. When Col considered how many fervently pious people out in the world did not necessarily stand out, he began to wonder if there was someone else out there who was more suited for translating the scripture than he was. Perhaps he should be asking for more people to look over it carefully before spreading it all across the mainland. He voiced his concerns in the brief interlude of their conversation. Clark stared at him for a moment before a faintly warm smile like candlelight crossed his face. “It’s strange,” he said, reaching for the handmade scripture that sat between them, and flipped through it. “This is written in the script of the Church, and I have read it so many times that I have it memorized. I’m almost certain I could communicate with a priest from a distant land using the script of the Church if we were to speak of the scripture.” He was rather talkative, likely owing to the fine wine Hyland had given him. “But it’s different when it comes to explaining what is written in the scripture to regular townsfolk who cannot read, who most certainly have never read the scripture for themselves.” The firewood, excessively smoky, likely due to remaining moisture in the fiber, gave a loud crack. “I thought I understood it well, but the moment I attempt to speak about it in plain language, my tongue turns to stone. Words that represent piety, for example—their meanings are so complex in the script of the Church, and I was completely lost as to how to render them into everyday speech. It would be like trying to fit a square peg into a triangular hole. Something would be lost in the process, but I couldn’t figure out what that might be. I did not know which branches of the lush and varied words I would have to trim off. But…” Clark looked at Col. There was a flash of envy in his eyes. “…there were some places in your translated narratives that were worded with such sharp clarity, it shocked me. When I first read your translation, Sir Col, for a moment I did not realize I was reading in the common language.” He quietly sipped from his cup, which was almost empty. “I am not sure how you’re able to pull off such a thing.” Either due to the alcohol or due to the exhaustion from work, there was a slight glaze over Clark’s eyes. “Sir Col, you have been blessed with a rare and God-given talent. I believe you should be spreading this all over the world.” Clark paused to hiccup, then continued. “You have nothing to fear. Wake the corrupt Church with those words of yours.” Though Clark was clearly drunk, when he turned to look at Col, only his eyes glinted with sharp clarity. As an assistant priest in a poorer diocese within Rausbourne, he had seen with his own eyes just how unfair the world was and had felt just how corrupt the Church was, just how powerless he was as a priest himself. But there was nothing a lowly assistant priest could do about the situation, so his only choice had been to accept his fate. Col was certain there were plenty of people out there like him. It was in that moment that he realized that he could be hope not only for higher-ranking clergy like Canaan and the archivists, but those like Clark as well. But the reason he could not fully accept that he needed to spread his own translation of the scripture around the world was not exactly due to his lack of confidence, but something akin to guilt. Clark had asked why he had been able to translate in such a precise manner, and he knew the answer. If he did indeed have any talent for translating, he knew very well where it came from. “If my talent was indeed God-given, then I would have more self-confidence.” “…?” Clark, eyes heavy-lidded, hands unsteady as he poured the wine for them, looked to him. Col took a swig of his drink and used the tipsiness it gave him to keep talking. “The reason I can put the scripture into such easy-to-understand language is because of her.” Clark followed Col’s finger to look at Myuri, doubled over the page as she wrote. “She honestly…shows no interest in faith at all. She is a rambunctious girl—if she has a spare moment, she’s running freely around the mountains, and she’ll maybe hear a word or three of what I have to say. And as you can see, I would have to be precise with my language. Short and simple enough that I can quickly hammer it into her head when she comes to me, covered in mud, to show me the big frog she’s found.” Perhaps she would have noticed them talking about her if her wolf ears were out, but she remained engrossed in her writing. Clark kept his eyes on her for a moment before a faint smile crossed his face. “Ah-ha-ha. I see. I see…” He trailed off. “That’s love.” He brought his fist to his mouth, giving another laugh along with a drunken hiccup, and continued with a sigh. “It is love that has fostered your faith, Sir Col.” “……” Col did not answer, though not because he was embarrassed. It was the first time anyone had seen him that way, but he did not feel the evaluation was off. Myuri never listened to his lectures, but her ears were always pointed in his direction when he spoke. And the most vexing thing was how quick-witted she was—if there was a single fault in his lectures, she would immediately latch on to it. Yet the reason he could never keep his eyes off her, the reason they were here together, and after all was said and done, the reason they shared a crest that only the two of them could use—it was all because he continually prayed for Myuri’s happiness. There was, indeed, no other way to describe that than love. “…But I can’t say I’m completely happy with that,” Col said. For some reason, the only way he could properly express his feelings was with words that suggested the exact opposite. Clark, too, understood the complicated feelings that came with being a sibling, and he smiled like any other young person. “My words did not come to me after careful thought. It was truly only because I was yelling.” “But that, too, is love. That means your desire to convey faith to people you love was enough to change the world,” Clark said in a terribly honest fashion, then gave a carefree laugh. Myuri, by now, had noticed something was going on between them but did not hear what it was they were talking about, and she wore a doubtful expression. Col, too, began to laugh because Clark was right. If Canaan’s plan went well and his translated scripture spread all over the mainland, that would mean all the yelling he had done at Myuri in Nyohhira would echo across the entire world. And the idea that the world’s heart would move before Myuri’s did also made him laugh. It was like a nursery tale, one with a sprinkling of irony. Myuri was stubborn, single-minded, and would not budge once her mind was made up. Col had no idea how many times she had given him trouble and the number of times she had given him ulcers. But there was one good reason he could not forsake her. And that was because he loved her. It was not the romantic love Myuri herself was hoping for, of course. But how he could not keep his eyes off her, how he always minded her every movement, how he always wrote off her havoc when she gave him that smile could not be more accurately described than with the word love. When that thought crossed his mind, his smile faded into something wearier and eventually manifested as a strange sigh of defeat. Myuri, who knew she was being spoken of but did not know precisely what, frowned at him. “And so love does not always go the way we want,” he said—not to Myuri, of course, and neither to Clark. But he could not think of anything else to say. Myuri, who was looking at him, ready to pounce, felt a certain charm to what he said. She sat up straight, blinked, and then feverishly jotted it down on her page. Clark, in contrast, looked as though rain finally began to fall on a cracked earth, and he gave a deep nod. “About the strange technology you brought up earlier,” he said, suddenly changing the subject. “I hope you find the artisan.” Col did not ask why he decided to change the subject so suddenly—he knew Clark did not think the Church banned the printing technology simply because they thought it would cause the spread of heretical ideas. It was because the world was full of stories similar to the one they just exchanged that could be shared with smiles across the entire world. Col could see the conviction in his profile. The question was about how the world would adopt the technology; the Church did not trust society, so they sealed it away. But Clark held an optimistic view of the world. The precedent sat within the Twilight Cardinal and the silver-haired girl beside him. Clark closed his eyes and gave an even louder hiccup. “Ahhh, I want to go home to Sharon and the kids…” The fine wine had quite the effect on the other man, who was exhausted from his work. Or perhaps it was because he had been witness to a love powerful enough to shake the world. Clark began nodding off on the spot, so Col draped a blanket over his shoulders. Myuri, who had her nose practically pressed to the paper in her writing, now peered, alert, over the edge of the paper. They sat in a ruin, surrounded by a thin copse of trees; the only ones coming and going were likely the foxes. With a small smile, Col extended his right arm, and Myuri sidled toward him with a faint frown and snuggled into his arm. But when she closed her eyes, she took the sheath of her blade, the proof of her knighthood, and turned it over to hide the crest of the wolf. Col was fairly confident in his ability to get up early, but by the time he opened his eyes, Clark had already begun working. He was fighting a fierce battle to transform the place into the beautiful monastery it was meant to be—he peeled away vines from the pillars, uprooted shrubs. Despite how big the grounds were, despite how the first weeds would be overgrown by the time he pulled up the last weed, he still did not give up. “Myuri, it’s time for you to put your sword to use.” Col looked at Clark, who stood before a row of trees that had grown too much to be uprooted, then turned to speak to the sleepy Myuri. As the wild girl took a bread roll from their bag, she looked at him with a glare. “A knight’s blade is not for mowing the lawn.” “Then use your hands.” Col stood and strode over to Clark. Myuri, the only one left behind at the camp, pouted, stuffed the bread into her mouth, and rushed after him. “All right, we’re pulling on three! One, two…three!” Despite all her grumbling, Myuri had an incredible talent for enjoying whatever work she was involved in once she got started. She barked orders at the two clumsy sheep as she took the initiative. Before long, they had a mound of uprooted grasses and shrubs, and by the time they decided to stop for a rest, the air around them smelled like earth. “We could probably get most of this done if we had a week,” Myuri mused. They all sat around eating their lunch, watching the grasshoppers hop about in confusion, having been evicted from their homes. Myuri then suddenly extended her slim neck and peered beyond the trees of the copse. “Hey, someone’s coming. I hear horse hooves,” she said, reaching for her sword. It was likely an extension of how she played knight. “Is it Heir Hyland?” Col asked. He had the impression that she was kind enough to offer help with hard labor, but Myuri only tilted her head in puzzlement. Beyond the trees, they, too, could see the man atop the horse, and Col soon understood why. “Mister Le Roi?” The man on the horse, like a round mound of dough, soon spotted them, and gave a bright smile and a big wave. When Col was a child, he traveled with this man for a little while. It was not the two of them alone, however—they had been with others they met on the road, but it was while he spent time with this man that he truly understood the definition of what it meant to be learned. But he soon recalled that the bigger impression he had of Le Roi in his memory was not his erudition, but his open-mindedness. “Eve reached out to me, you see! To think the one moving the world, the Twilight Cardinal, is little mister Col! I simply could not sit still, you see, so I took an overnight ship to cross straightaway!” There was plenty of gray in his short-cropped hair now, but his voice and the way he spoke was exactly as it was all those years ago. And though he had grown considerably rounder, it was simply to show that he had only grown stronger over the years. “It has been quite a while, Mister Le Roi.” “Not since Lawrence’s wedding! Oh, and here we have the girl I’ve so often heard of!” When Myuri had seen Huskins, the avatar of the golden sheep, she had trembled before his overwhelming presence. And now it seemed her list of people she did not mesh well with had been updated. “You look just like your mother!” “……” She flinched as she and Le Roi exchanged a handshake. And when it was over, she slunk behind Col as though to hide. “And, ah, there was something I wanted to ask you…” “Oh, you flatter me! I heard you had a question for me about books. Every book you come across is a chance encounter, you know! I cannot even count how many books I will never see for the rest of my life because I was just a fraction of a moment too late!” Though many may imagine a bookseller who deals in tomes worth more than their weight in gold to be like nobility, clad in white gloves, Le Roi was apparently not an exception or an eccentric among those types of booksellers. He was always on the move in search of valuable books, and apparently, it was at times a job in which one could not hope to contend without a loud voice and a degree of aggression. “Ah, pardon my manners! My name is Le Roi, a wandering bookseller. Please give me a shout if you ever need any books relating to the word of God!” Le Roi at last introduced himself to Clark, whose eyes were rounded more than Myuri’s, and they exchanged a handshake.
Chapter 91
55 min read