“And what sort of text could the Twilight Cardinal be after? Or”—Le Roi’s voice, which had been loud enough to scare away the moles in the ground, suddenly quieted into a whisper—“are you perhaps authoring a book of severe criticisms of the Church?” “What?” “It will sell, I tell you. There are a surprising number of nobles who hate the Church yet still hold on to their faith. For those who own dangerous text but lack in stimulation, such a book would fill them with vengeance! With faith! With the desire to get their hands on a copy! It would be the perfect book!” Though the man was shorter than him, Col felt like Le Roi was looming over him, crushing him. His face was twisted in a greedy grin, an expression he would never show even to Eve. He only backed off when Myuri, bewildered in Col’s shadow, put her hand on her sword. “Oh no, Mister Le Roi. I’m not—” “You’re not writing anything like that?” Col vigorously shook his head; Le Roi looked like a young boy whose friends never showed up to play. “Do you have any plans to write one?” he asked. “…No.” “Are you sure?” Col nodded. Le Roi sighed. “Well, if you ever decide you will, let me know.” When they first met, Le Roi had been the type to walk among suspicious-looking mercenaries to peddle copies of the scripture for them to pray while at battle. It seemed his belly was not the only thing that had gotten softer with age. That said, there was no doubt that what Col and Canaan were trying to accomplish would indeed be a severe criticism of the Church, so perhaps Le Roi had a keen nose in that regard. “Then what sort of business do we have today?” “I’m afraid it isn’t about buying or selling any books…” And that was why Col had been hoping to go to Le Roi himself after he made contact. Yet Le Roi had thought up a wild possibility of a book and rushed to him at the thought of making a pretty penny. If he had indeed come by night ship, then his journey would not have been a cheap one. “Oh, that’s all right. I know you must have your reasons if you decided to reach out to me and not any of the local businesses. Miss Eve sounded rather apologetic in her letter! That must mean what you have to ask me will be interesting.” Le Roi laughed out loud at the thought of Eve being apologetic. Eve herself had made the analogy of a beehive on her doorstep. In short, this bookseller was the bear that had been lured in by the scent of honey. “What I want to ask you is more about bookmaking…” “Oh?” The merchant at times dealt with books that could not be made public; his eyes widened. “I’ve heard there is a way to easily make more books—a method the Church banned.” Col had never seen so many expressions pass across a single person’s face in such a short time before. “…I know of this, yes.” Le Roi at last croaked out his answer, his expression twisted in a terrible frown. “I see…This is indeed not something you can ask the local papermaker.” He sighed, scratching his head as he pursed his lips. The sudden change in emotion was more intense than Myuri’s mood swings, which changed like the weather. “But where did you hear about this? That was discovered in the workshops of the Curia’s bookbinders many years ago. It was considered heretical, and all artisans were arrested before the methods could spread. Not many know that it even exists.” “Well, ah…” Col hesitated, unsure if he should name Canaan. Le Roi held up his hands. “No, my apologies. I have asked you too much.” There were books out there that owning a copy alone would draw the attention of the Church. Le Roi, who dealt almost exclusively in those types of texts, was adept enough to know not to tread too far over the line. “I will not ask why you are looking into that technology, Master Col.” Le Roi placed his hand over his heart, as though swearing to God, and continued. “But you must promise me one thing.” I promise not to cause you any trouble, Col was about to say, but Le Roi jumped in before he could. “If you ever pen a book that criticizes the Church, you must contact me first.” “Oh, um…” For a moment, Col was at a loss for words, his mind whirring in a panic as he was unsure how to respond. But the way Le Roi looked at him with an unflinching gaze until he said yes, reminded him how he did the same to Myuri while caring for her. Myuri remained hidden behind Col, gazing up at Le Roi, because she had at last come face-to-face with a stare more powerful than Col’s. “I…I will.” When Col finally spoke, he almost felt as though he was speaking his wedding vows. Clark was mindful enough to know that Col’s conversation with Le Roi was something he should not be listening in on. So after taking them to the main building, which he was using as his bedroom, he left to work outside, and Myuri followed him. There was the very interesting prospect of investigating the ruins versus talk about technology she was not interested in—and taking into consideration the personality combination of commanding yet docile that was Le Roi, exploring the ruins won out. “We are looking for one particular artisan who managed to escape the grasp of the inquisition.” Col poured glasses of the wine Hyland had sent with him, and Le Roi drank half his glass in one gulp. “Ah yes. No one has seen hide nor hair of them since they escaped to the kingdom, is that it?” Col was surprised he knew that much, and Le Roi mischievously rubbed his forehead. “I used to work in that maze of an archive at the Holy See. I have connections, and all booksellers like me kept a close eye on that whole development, you see.” Col was shocked to learn that the source of Le Roi’s knowledge came from his experience working with the Curia. Perhaps he was acquainted with Canaan. “You did? Was it to save the artisans?” Technology that could easily make copies of books could easily be the object of envy for those who dealt in books. That was what Col was hoping for when he asked, but Le Roi did not smile. “Quite the opposite. It was mostly those like me who dealt in rare books who were reporting the scattered artisans’ whereabouts to the inquisitors.” When Col failed to find words in his shock, Le Roi quietly looked at him. “Because they could easily make more copies of books of which there is supposed to only be one copy.” “Oh.” When one party wins, the other loses. “Even before the technology was deemed heretical, the transcribers’ guild and the quill artisans harassed the printing workshop. In contrast, those who would make even more money from the increased number of books, such as the shepherds and the parchment-makers, the papermakers and illustrators—they all had high hopes for this new technology. And booksellers like myself who traded rare books fell into the former category.” A great number of people were involved in the process of making a book, but it was not necessarily true that all their interests aligned. “But ultimately, even though it was the Church themselves who asked them to find a way to make books quickly and cheaply, they suddenly changed their minds and deemed it heretical—and that was that.” This was the first Col had heard of the Church being the one to commission the technology. Perhaps it had been hard for Canaan to bring it up, but though it was unfair to the artisans, Canaan himself had said that the Church was not a monolith, and this was a good example of that. Perhaps they had at first supported the discovery of the technology to ease the burden of those involved in the bookmaking side of things, but it was the inquisitors who realized the disaster it could bring. “And though the artisans ran, they were at a terrible disadvantage. The only way they could feed themselves was with the technology they had developed, but there were only so many people who could read. It was only the nobles, or pious clergy, who entertained the idea of keeping books at home. Their clientele was very limited, so they naturally stood out.” Col recalled how the sale of sugared candies and high-quality mutton was enough to cause rumors among merchants that someone very important was visiting the city. Making books for cheap would be akin to lighting a fire in the dark. “And since the artisans continued to make books after they ran for their lives, most ended up captured anyway. Even those who successfully escaped at first and were granted refuge by alchemists and eccentric nobles ultimately followed the same pattern. The tragic nature of craftspeople is that they will cling to their art so long as they have the tools and technology, even if they know it is dangerous, which means they are easily found and caught.” “And the one who got away?” “A careful one, perhaps. Or a fearful one.” That he was being pursued by the inquisition was nothing but hearsay at this point. But the inquisition could appear anywhere—they were spoken of like shadows that could reach every corner of the globe. They were synonymous with the noose. Anyone being pursued by them would never be able to sleep soundly again. “But the most likely explanation is that this artisan never existed in the first place,” Le Roi said. “What?” Col could not believe the sudden revelation at first, but Le Roi’s expression was dead serious. “Even if all the artisans had been captured, there is a possibility that one of them could have shared their knowledge of the technology with someone else while they were in hiding. In that case, concocting a story to plant the idea that the inquisition is still actively seeking those who have this technology is a powerful deterrent.” Tenacity and cunning. That was how the faithful fought against the pagans and heretics and protected the proper teachings of the Church. “That said, I haven’t heard anything on this for a very long time. I was about to forget all about it until you brought it up, Master Col.” It was as though a bad dream had come back to him. “Do you not have even the faintest idea of where they might be?” It was out of his kindness that Col said that, knowing he should not so blithely touch on the subject. “Unfortunately, no.” Someone like Le Roi must have figured out by now where Col had learned of this information. “I understand how dangerous this technology is. But I have my reasons for wanting to find them.” Part of it was for Canaan and the archivists’ plan. The other was because he recalled the look on Clark’s face the night before. “Do you have any information you’d like to share with me?” This technology was a nightmare to many booksellers. Even if Le Roi knew, he had no obligation to tell Col. Yet the look on his face as he shook his head suggested he was not lying. Though Col did not assume Le Roi would know the artisan’s precise location, he did wonder if the man had a finger on the sort of information the inquisitors might, since they occupied the same spaces. But he had never even imagined that it was the booksellers themselves who volunteered information on the artisans and reported their whereabouts to the inquisition. In the eyes of the merchants, those who could operate the technology were not simple rivals in business—they had the power to uproot their profession entirely. And the booksellers, the shrewd people who traded in dangerous texts beyond the watchful eyes of the Church, were still unable to snag the final artisan in their net, no matter how hard they searched. Both Sharon and Myuri had pointed out how difficult a mission this was going to be, and Col understood this, of course. But he did not think he would completely end up stranding them in the middle of nowhere, perhaps because of his overconfidence in how well things had gone thus far. But now he had discovered a ship even larger than his, one that had been at sea for far longer, that had been stranded on this journey, on this search for many years. The crew was even beginning to believe that there was no destination island to begin with. After speaking with Le Roi, Col sat in the entrance of the main building, wondering what to do. But all he could think of after letting his mind whir and whir was Canaan. Canaan should have known about the booksellers’ actions. And since he was in relative proximity to the inquisitors, he should have considered the possibility that the escaped artisan was a fable, a remnant left as a warning. And that would mean Canaan had proposed the project knowing full well that finding the artisan would be impossible in the first place. For a moment, he wondered if this was a trap, but it was hard to imagine Hyland failing to properly investigate, and Canaan’s passion did not seem to be faked. Or perhaps Canaan had simply failed to explain the pious clergyman’s assumption that they could beget a miracle, that they could make the impossible, possible, and refused to even consider any bad outcomes. But even Col knew that devout faith becoming power strong enough in the secular world to solve its problems was stuff of fairy tales, like in Myuri’s stories. If they did not find the artisan who knew how to operate the technology that Canaan spoke of, then Canaan’s project would be nothing more than a pie in the sky. “We have Canaan to think about, yes, but how are we supposed to find clues in a situation like this?” After Col asked himself the hundredth question to which he had no answer, Myuri dashed past him at full speed. “Myuri? What’s the ma—?” Before Col could finish his question, she returned leading the two horses. Behind them was Clark, clearly panicking. “Brother!” Myuri called. “You come, too!” “Hmm?” He had seen her act this way many times back in Nyohhira, when she played a prank (which she was free to do) but was unable to deal with the consequences that came afterward and came to him seeking help. Col followed, wondering what sort of problems she had caused this time, chasing them into the center of the grounds. They came to a spot thick with grasses and shrubbery, where he and Clark went pale in the face. “Mister Le Roi?!” “Ah…Master…Master Col!” For a moment, he was not sure what had happened. All the buildings on the property were connected by stone passageways. Flanking the passages were decorative pillars, spaced evenly along the path, but these pillars had gone neglected for many years, and some had fallen. And from the gaps between some of these pillars, which had fallen atop one another, Col could see Le Roi trapped underneath, upside down, his feet skyward. “Brother! Tie this line around the pillar! Clark, use a branch as a lever to lift it up!” Once Myuri shouted her orders, she leaped forward lightly, like a rabbit, to check up on Le Roi from above the fallen pillars. “Can you hold on a little longer? Can’t you get out from beneath?” “It’s such a narrow little passage, I don’t think I can…The walls are sturdy, so I doubt they will fall any more than they have. But…I feel the blood rushing to my head!” The pillars had not fallen on top of Le Roi, in fact, but he had somehow slipped and gotten caught between pillars that had already fallen. Or perhaps he attempted to enter an underground passage by slipping between the pillars, but his stomach had gotten caught, and he found himself with no way out. Either way, they would need to move the pillars in order to save him. They worked as Myuri commanded and had the horses carefully pull the pillars. They pulled off one, and then both pillars, and somehow saved him. “Phew…I felt like a carrot in there!” “Not a turnip?” Col and Clark nodded in agreement—he had definitely looked like a turnip. “How did you manage that?” Col asked. Le Roi, his face darkened with dirt, gave him a strained smile. “I find it hard to sit still in places like this.” “You almost frightened me to death. Are you hurt?” “I’m fine. Chafed my stomach, is all.” As Col stood there, astonished by the feeling that he was speaking to a second Myuri, Le Roi brushed off the dirt, and his eyes calmly roamed the area. He seemed to be searching for a way to go down again. “Noble manors come with cellars. Some are simply underground rooms for aging liquor, but some serve as hiding places for gold that cannot be left in the city. Some cellars are forgotten about when the manors change hands, and occasionally, they house dangerous texts that the owners didn’t know what to do with. And when I spotted that passage leading down between the pillars, I could not contain myself!” Le Roi was a different species of person altogether—at this realization, Col and Clark exchanged tired glances. “Ah, I do hear about those sorts of things in old abbeys as well,” Clark said. “Yes! That’s exactly it. Old abbeys, especially, originally served as places of refuge for merchants full of the adventurous spirit, or strongholds for knights who fought against the pagans. Sometimes you find a forgotten hidden room filled with very interesting and valuable things.” And those like Le Roi would sniff around for the treasure. As surprising as it was to find him like that, as though he were about to be sacrificed for a demonic ritual, Col was glad he was safe regardless; it was then that he realized how oddly quiet it was. “Hmm? Where did Myuri go?” The one girl he would think would be most enraptured by this conversation was nowhere to be seen. When one particular thought came to mind, he crouched by the collapsed stone path and peered into the dark hole. “Myuri!” It was hard to tell if the hole itself was a tunnel, and it would be a very tight fit for most fully grown adults, not just Le Roi. But that was not the case for Myuri, who was small enough to feel relaxed in the smallest of washtubs. At the edge of the reach of light, Col spotted the bottom of her shoes and her little rear. “Come back here this instant!” He could feel his breath growing short at the simple thought of the tunnel collapsing on her, but Myuri had already begun shimmying backward before he could tell her to, and it was not long before she arrived at the hole and remained on all fours. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” The air in the tunnel must have been stale—the moment she lifted her head out of the hole, she began to rub at her nose and gave a sneeze-like cough. And when she was unsteady in getting to her feet, Col grabbed both her armpits and pulled her out like a cat. “Oh, look! Look what you’ve done to your clothes!” Myuri was wearing her fine squire’s clothes, which she also wore to Raponell; Hyland had them specially made for her. Col had no idea how much literal gold the outfit had cost to purchase, and now it was thoroughly dirtied. Myuri plopped to the ground, gave one last big sneeze, and then got to her feet. “Ugh, shut up.” “—!” Col was unable to find the words to scold her; as he stood in silence, Le Roi wandered the area. “What did you find inside?” he asked, as though trying to keep himself from laughing. He turned to Col, who still was trying to think of a way to scold her, and winked at him in an attempt to calm him. It was enough to make him believe he was trying to get them to get along. “Nothing. It didn’t look like a secret passage, either. It smelled like animals, though, and I found some fox kits at the far end. I think it’s a hiding place for a family of them,” Myuri said, scarcely containing her annoyance as Col attempted to brush the dirt from her clothes. “Ah-ha-ha, I thought so. Had you been a little late in saving me, I think they might have bitten my nose!” Col pictured the curious fox kits shocked by the sudden appearance of Le Roi’s round face, yet bashfully approaching to investigate. “This isn’t a passageway—it’s a waterway. I found an outdoor bath buried in weeds over there.” “A bath?!” Myuri exclaimed with hope; that reaction was only natural, since she was born in Nyohhira, but it would be months before she would be able to use it at the earliest. “I believe the water would be boiled in the north annex, then come through these waterways and fill the bath.” Le Roi pointed as he explained. A look of understanding crossed Clark’s face. “Then the rustling I hear at night is of the fox family?” Perhaps the reason he looked somewhat disappointed was because he was hoping for an angel or other holy being, which were often said to appear to holy people staying in ruined buildings. “But an outdoor bath means this is a very old building. Miss Eve told me—you’ll be turning this into a monastery?” “Oh yes,” Clark replied. “Do you know Heir Hyland? She’s a very faithful member of the royal family, and she was the one who offered this to us.” Le Roi nodded with a smile and slowly scanned the area. “This must be very, very old. It may have been built before the kingdom was founded, when soldiers of the ancient empire invaded this island.” The man seemed peaceful yet somehow enraptured by the sight; the jovial air he carried around him earlier was gone. Now he wore the face of a scholar who adored history. “Have you looked into its history? I believe it may be a selling point for your monastery.” But he quickly returned to the flippant look Col knew all too well. “Oh! Are you talking about the people who were the origin of the kingdom’s knight orders?” Myuri, who was brimming with more curiosity than a kit herself, immediately locked onto what Le Roi said; she leaned forward, wanting to get closer. “Are you interested in knight history?” he asked. Her eyes widening, she nodded vigorously. “Very well. Then I shall offer you a lecture on the subject.” Le Roi had encountered a great number of texts. He would be able to tell her so much more in-depth information than the street vendors who were selling unused knights’ crests as charms on the steps of the Rausbourne cathedral. Even Col had to admit he was a bit curious. But there was something regarding the missing artisan he still wanted to discuss with Le Roi. “Mister Le Roi, there is still something I would like to ask you—” “Oh?” “No!” Myuri interrupted. “You’re just going to talk about boring God stuff again!” Her grip was tight on Le Roi’s sleeve, as though to show that this was her prey. Le Roi, caught between Col and Myuri, rubbed his stomach with delight. And Clark, who had undoubtedly seen a similar sight countless times at the orphanage, gave a tired smile and said, “Why don’t we take a little break for now?” That was enough to soothe the child and the childlike adult. Col and Myuri ended up staying another night at the ruins, and on the following morning, they convinced Clark to return to Rausbourne for the time being, despite how much he wanted to remain and continue working. This would be a good chance for him to recuperate. They arrived before noon, and when they dropped him off at the orphanage, where Sharon was waiting for him, she immediately began scolding him, and the children, in their delight, came to drag him into the building. “So you are useful sometimes,” Sharon said, a wicked little smile on her face. Myuri bared her canines and growled at her. This only confirmed to Col that they were indeed close. Le Roi was apparently planning on staying in Eve’s manor, and they ran into her just as she was sending off some of her goods when they went to drop him off. They got to see Eve’s nerves wear thin in Le Roi’s overwhelming presence, so Col considered the excursion worth it. And when they finally returned to the manor, Hyland, who had been there all day, came out to greet them, and she blinked in shock when she saw how dirty Myuri was. “So the booksellers were chasing after the artisans, too.” While Myuri cleaned up in the room, Col and Hyland remained in the peristyle around the inner courtyard while he told her about his conversation with Le Roi. He told her that the booksellers had been pursuing the craftspeople in order to protect their business. And when they could find neither hide nor hair of the final artisan, they wondered if it was a trick devised by the inquisition. “I see…I hadn’t thought of something with such guile, but it sounds plausible,” Hyland remarked. “What do you think?” Col, of course, was fully intent on continuing to search for the artisan, but to be frank, they had too little in the way of clues. Not only that, but booksellers like Le Roi had been keeping a close eye out for this last artisan and still could not find his mark, so perhaps Col truly had no business trying himself. In addition, he had been wondering this entire time if Canaan had been aware of this possibility. If so, then what was he thinking when he proposed the project? Even if Canaan was good and honest, Col wondered if he should begin to question the motives of the people who backed him. Just as that thought crossed his mind, Hyland spoke up. “Archivist Canaan may have known about this.” Col’s head snapped upward; there was a gentle smile on Hyland’s face. “But he came all this way, putting himself at risk of being labeled a traitor to the Church. He must have strong motives for doing so. It’s hard to think he did so out of simple faith, to tell us about a project that has no hopes of completion.” “……” Col was not sure where she was going with this. She shrugged. “The technology he told us about is indeed nothing short of a miracle, but it isn’t magic. We could easily replicate it with our own skills.” She mischievously made her hand into a claw, just like Myuri once did. “We can carry forward with the plan with enough scribes. This might be Archivist Canaan’s real objective.” Considering how long he spent by Myuri’s side, reviving a technology considered so dangerous it was effectively sealed away did not sound all that far-fetched to him. But perhaps Hyland’s calm and composed eye had foreseen this all from the beginning. “Merchants don’t usually agree to anything if they can’t profit from it. If Canaan and the other archivists were normal high-ranking clergy, then they would round up personnel from the cathedrals and abbeys under their control or use whatever privileges they have as remuneration for the scribes. But they are acting to eradicate those very types of people who have an unfair amount of power. Even if they were to enlist the aid of a secular noble, the landed gentry and the Church’s interests are much too entangled, and it’s hard to tell who would be on their side or not. And that’s why they approached us, because we are clearly enemies of the Church…Or something along those lines.” Though Hyland was an illegitimate child, she was still considered royalty. That was why Col and Myuri never had to worry about having enough money for travel and why this manor they were renting was of very fine make. So even if they were unable to revive this mythical technology, they might be able to procure the funding to make enough copies to spread over the mainland. It would not be all that far-fetched to think that was what Canaan and the archivists were after. Canaan, after all, had brought up the funding problem right at the beginning of their conversation. “And it isn’t as though we have to make thousands of copies. I think the most important thing is whether we can create the very situation that inspired fear in the inquisitors.” Though she spoke in what sounded like a riddle, Col understood what she wanted to say immediately. “Do you mean if those copies can spread over the mainland faster than they can be confiscated?” “Yes. Once someone learns how incredible the vernacular scripture is, they make one copy, and whoever gets that copy does the same. That takes a lot of work off our hands. It will take time, of course, and it isn’t the most reliable method. The technology Archivist Canaan told us about would be a much surer bet. But I think he saw there was considerable value in working with us, even if it does not necessarily result in an outright victory.” Roasting something over a weak flame would only burn it, not set fire to it. They would need considerable kindling in order to set it alight. But Col, unsure, began to open his mouth. It was a terribly rude thing to say to a member of the royal family. How are things in terms of money? Sharon had been hesitant to rely on Hyland for even the repair expenses for the monastery. Or perhaps she was thinking about relying on the Debau Company, another one of their backers, or Eve for funding. And Hyland seemed to have noticed that Col swallowed his words. She smiled bashfully and said, “All we need is a good handful of scribes. The monastery would be the perfect place. It’s not a problem.” She nodded, as though telling Col not to worry and that he could leave it in her hands, so she must have had her own means. Though unsure as he was, inquiring any further would only come across as distrust for her, so he remained silent. “Heh-heh,” she chuckled. “I thought I knew why you looked so serious…but your knight is still bathing upstairs,” she said in a rather deliberate manner, signaling the end of the conversation. Col, too, gave a reluctant smile and let the conversation flow. “We have the artisan, of course, but when I gave Archivist Canaan the translation of the scripture, he returned with all sorts of questions about it. Do you think you could look them over?” “Oh, yes. Of course. I am a bit scared to look, though…” “I think he’s a bit scared to ask, which is why he’s written them down.” Col had been so desperately trying not to drown in Canaan’s presence when they had spoken in the office, but Canaan, too, had apparently felt the same way. Recalling that fact alone was enough to lighten Col’s mood. “Ah, that’s right.” Just as they set off to make their way to Hyland’s office to retrieve Canaan’s letter, a thought came back to Col. “Does the building on the monastery plot have much history? I have heard it is of an old style that dates to before the kingdom.” “It could be, but…why?” “Mister Le Roi, the bookseller who agreed to help us, mentioned that could be a selling point for the monastery.” When he said that, she gave an uncomfortable smile. “I would not have caused everyone so much trouble if I were a noble better with money.” She was sincere and so hard on herself—the noblest of nobles. “If nothing else, I have gotten to where I am today because of who you are, Heir Hyland.” Col smiled in return. “I thought I might tell you how I feel while Myuri isn’t here,” he added, a slight joking tone to his voice. Hyland lifted her hands, as though signaling her defeat. “I’ll look into the monastery,” she said with delight, and turned to look at Col. “I think everything will go well with your help.” It was a groundless statement, but the reason Col could agree with a smile was simply because of the kind of person Hyland was. By the time Col parted ways with Hyland and returned to the room, Myuri was finished bathing. He let the girl fuss with her hair by herself while he took a seat at the desk and unfurled the letter from Canaan. He had been unable to contain himself the moment he took the letter and had opened it along the way, but when he took the time to read it over again, he found his cheeks flushing as he did so. “A love letter?” Myuri peeked over his shoulder; the flush had been so pronounced that she felt the need to stare hard at him and speak up about it. “N-no,” he stuttered. But only because the letter was filled with such passionate praise, he could clearly see Canaan’s face beyond the words on the page. “It smells so happy.” Myuri leaned in close to the letter, sniffing with displeasure. “Are you sure he wasn’t actually a girl?” With a strained smile, Col dodged the jealous wolf’s question. “There are only so many with whom one can discuss theology in this way. It’s like meeting an old friend from one’s hometown in a distant land.” “No one understands what you guys talk about.” Myuri whipped her damp tail, essentially declaring that any topic she could not participate in was boring and worthless. “And who was it who was so engrossed in conversation with Mister Le Roi?” The two of them chatted on and on atop the carriage cart bed. Though Col and Clark had discussed interpretations of the scripture on the driver’s perch, they were no match for the lively conversation going on behind them. As one who knew well how passionate Myuri could be when she was engrossed in a conversation, he became aware once again of simply how great Le Roi was, considering he spoke with her long enough to the point her throat went dry. “He promised me he’d take me to the city library after this. We have to research the monastery, you know.” The city council collected all sorts of information, including regional annals, noble crests, and records of notable battles. A girl like Myuri would consider the place like heaven, especially when accompanied by Le Roi. “Don’t cause him too much trouble.” She would ignore him if he told her she could not go, and in light of Hyland’s financial standing, they should honestly take more seriously what they could consider the monastery’s selling points. If Myuri could find one for them, it could, in a roundabout way, be of help to Hyland. When that thought crossed his mind, he gave her a slight scolding, and Myuri gave him a cross look. But the reason she looked so displeased was due to reasons he was not expecting. “You sure you’re okay with this? I’m going out with a man.” “……” For a few moments, Col did not understand what she wanted to say. The moment he realized what she was trying to tell him, he almost burst out in laughter. Every single time she managed to get two or three steps ahead of him, she would relentlessly make a fool of him—he had no idea she was capable of speaking in such an obviously feminine manner. And of course, picturing her side by side with Le Roi brought him no unease. “And if you told me you were going out to dinner with Mister Le Roi, I would be more worried that you would eat too much.” Over the past couple of days, Col came to learn that Le Roi needed to eat an astonishing amount of food—an amount that shocked even Myuri—in order to preserve his round shape. Col did not want her forming an appetite that big. “That’s…not what I mean,” she grumbled. Col, of course, knew precisely what she meant. It was not all that long ago that Myuri kept pestering him for marriage; her tactics had not vanished but simply changed direction. “We have this. Isn’t that enough?” He pointed to the embroidered crest of the wolf looking away in a huff on her sash. There were only two people in the entire world who could use this crest. Myuri dropped her gaze to her sash, sighed, and looked up again. “I will forgive you for lashing out at me.” Perhaps she simply wanted to fawn over him a little bit after getting jealous about Canaan’s letter. But if Col had the same nose as Myuri, he would most certainly be able to easily sniff out the same scent from all the fiction she had been so busy writing. If they handed the sheaf of papers over to her mother the wisewolf, then she would certainly grin and say, This is quite a long love letter. “I want you to show self-restraint even in the face of a cut of lamb,” he added. Myuri frowned deeply and smacked his shoulder. “You’re so mean, Brother.” It was a line he had heard many times; he gave a cough-like laugh, and she smacked him again. “And I know you are getting information about the artisan from Mister Le Roi in your own manner, aren’t you?” Though he was a foolish lamb, he could still learn. Myuri pursed her frown into a pout and flared her nostrils. Perhaps she did not expect him to notice. “Hmph…Fine, so long as you get it.” Col pretended not to see how she wagged her tail, and simply dipped his head in reverence. “Thank you,” he said. She shrugged, then brought over another chair to sit next to him. After slamming her comb onto the table, she turned the back of the chair toward him. “But he’s so smart,” she said. “Even if he really does know about the artisan, getting the information out of him isn’t going to be easy.” Labor deserves compensation. With a sigh, Col took the comb in hand and gently sunk the teeth into her hair. At last, she broke into a satisfied smile. “What did Blondie say about the artisan, by the way? You went to tell her about that, right?” “When I told her they may not exist, she agreed it was likely. I think she may have been thinking that from the very beginning.” Myuri’s hair, still damp and somewhat cool, had a strange texture to it. He could understand how one might become absorbed in caring for something so beautiful. But she asked him an odd question, interrupting his thoughts. “Blondie wasn’t all that upset about it, was she?” she asked, even turning to glance at him over her shoulder. Col was perplexed. “Oh, I suppose not. But I understand why.” He tapped her shoulder as his way of asking her to face forward again, and she did so, but still minding him. “The plan Canaan proposed is replicable in principle, even without the technology he spoke about.” If they absolutely needed to revive the lost technology in order to accomplish this, then she would have felt much stronger despair over the situation. This was a once-in-a-lifetime situation, one that would not only peaceably resolve the conflict between the kingdom and the Church, but would also remove the corruption lurking within the Church—she would have been much more desperate to make the project a reality. “If this were simply a question of funds for hiring the artisans to make the books, then things aren’t all that bleak. The sheer amount of money needed for the project is a problem, yes, but Heir Hyland seemed to have some ideas. I get the feeling she is determined to proceed forward, even if we do not find the artisan.” He guided the comb lightly through Myuri’s hair, but he suddenly felt as though she had shrunk before him. By the time he realized she had given a big sigh, she turned around and looked at him with eyes colder than her damp hair. “You really are useless without me.” “…And what is this about now?” Myuri did not immediately answer; she gestured with her hand, bidding him to continue combing her hair before facing forward again. Col could sense, from the way she sat, that the fawning air about her had vanished. “Let’s say there’s a problem standing in the way of something you want to make a reality and Blondie has the key to solving that problem. Which means, considering what she’s like, she’d never look upset about it. She’d probably appear relieved instead and say something like…” She paused, putting on a haughty air. “…Sacrificing myself to solve this problem is an easy ask.” The comb in her hair paused, and Myuri glanced back over her shoulder. “And she’d say it with a smile, too, wouldn’t she?” Col was dumbstruck—he could picture it in his mind with shocking ease. “I don’t know if she’d actually do that, but I bet she’ll do something outrageous to get the money, so you should be careful.” Sharon, too, had been wary about talking to Hyland about their funding; she had been apprehensive about Hyland’s strong sense of responsibility. And it was because of that strong sense of responsibility that Col trusted Hyland so fiercely. He recalled the expression she wore when he asked about the monastery’s history, when he mentioned it might be a bonus to the business. “I would not have caused everyone so much trouble if I were a noble better with money,” she had said. “It’s annoying that you get so worked up about her, though,” Myuri said flippantly, shrugging. “But I’m not sure what I’d do if she stopped giving me sweets.” Myuri was still turned away from Col, and Col wondered what her face looked like when she said that. He, of course, could easily see her doing such a thing, and though Myuri was prideful, her heart was full of even more kindness. “I had no idea.” One day, Hyland would have spent an unbelievable amount of money to successfully find and hire scribes, and Col would have not even blinked. He would have believed her smile to be simply a smile, and he would not have questioned it. The forest was littered with dangerous pitfalls, but the wolf walked several paces ahead to find the path and make sure her pack did not stray. When he moved the comb through her hair again, he did it gentler, with more care than he had before. “I am thankful to have you as my knight,” he said as he drew the comb through her hair, flecks of silver in ash. Though Myuri did not look back at him, her wolf ears and tail moved in a way that told him exactly what sort of face she was making. After combing her hair, Col braided it—he knew she was going to pester him to do so—and then Myuri donned her still slightly dirtied uniform that marked her as a knight-in-training. She was ready to make her way to Le Roi. The reason he could not stop her from arming herself with her sword was not because he felt indebted to her for making him realize something very important, but because her outing overlapped with Hyland’s attendance at a lunch in the city council hall. Hyland was essentially their master, considering she was the one who gave their knightly order the privilege to exist in the first place, and it was a knight’s duty to safeguard their master’s safety whenever they went out. Hyland was delighted to have the little knight’s protection and gestured for her to join her in the carriage. And so Col and the other servants saw them off as the carriage rambled away over the flagstone streets. Hyland wore her usual smile, and the way she enjoyed the banter with Myuri did not seem to be an act. But if what Myuri said was true, that would mean Hyland was hiding dangerous decisions beneath that smile. There was no doubt, of course, that Canaan’s proposal was immensely important and could greatly influence the relationship between the kingdom and the Church, and Col sympathized with her desire to make it a reality. But he did not want her to do anything reckless, nor did he want her to do so in silence. Even if she was already doing so with her sturdy sense of responsibility and considerable dignity as royalty. “Though God determines our birth…” It was never a comfortable thing. Perhaps the only one who could do anything about that from head-on was the rambunctious girl with strange hair of flecks of silver in ash. “Is something the matter, Master Col?” said the old servant. He peered at Col curiously, as though wondering how long he was planning to stand there. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking—a bad habit of mine.” A smile cracked over the old servant’s face, revealing several missing teeth, and he placed a hand on the steel gate. As he was about to close it, he lifted his gaze toward the end of the street. Col followed suit, and the one who was walking in their direction froze in place. “Is that…Rhodes?” Col hesitated, not entirely confident in his observation. Because the first time they met, he looked to be nothing more than a muddied body discarded by the roadside, and his position as knight-in-training was extremely precarious. But the person he saw standing, perplexed, at the end of the road was clad as a proud knight, his plain cloak fluttering behind him in the wind. “A guest?” The servant paused and turned to ask Col. Rhodes was a knight of the order of Saint Kruza, so it was unlikely he just happened to be on a stroll in the neighborhood. Rhodes, too, seemed to steel himself as he squared his shoulders and strode toward the manor. Perhaps he did indeed have business here, but he had made eye contact with his acquaintance much earlier than he had been ready for and felt embarrassed. Yet Rhodes approached and offered a formal greeting, as though telling himself that a knight of Saint Kruza could not let such embarrassment get to him. “It is a pleasure to see you, Master Col.” He placed his hand over his chest, but Col, of course, stopped him from getting on his knee. “It’s been a while,” Col replied. “Please, be at ease.” Rhodes wore a cape over his shoulders and a leather cuirass, with a longsword at his hip and tall leather travel boots that almost reached his knees. It was a stellar traveling outfit, but there were clear signs of snowmelt on his shoes. “It seems you’ve just arrived from travel,” Col remarked. “Why not come inside and rest?” “…Your kindness is touching.” His words were indeed that of a knight, but they did not seem natural coming from him, simply due to his age. The servant took them to a sunny room that looked over the street with stained glass windows depicting angels. “You just missed Heir Hyland.” Col retrieved the drinks the maids brought outside the room and served Rhodes himself. Rhodes was gazing up, eyes squinting in the light, as he observed the colored pieces of glass that made up the angels, and Col mused about how much more grown-up he looked, even though it had not been that long ago that they saw each other. If Myuri saw him, she may get frustrated to see how much more of a knight he had become over her.
Chapter 92
41 min read