“But no matter his reasons,” I said, “it’s problematic that Camulla didn’t tell us anything.”
“You think so?”
“Yes.”
I told the village chief exactly what I thought. Ever since I’d arrived in the village, I had decided to stop simply telling everyone what they wanted to hear. And if I owed anyone my true feelings, it was Alexandricia.
I mean, after Cassandra and Tanne d’Arc, of course. They were my wives, and family has to come first. After all, back in Japan, a person like me who went from one part-time job to another could never dream of being able to have a family. I prized them.
“And what do you think, Scalesplitter?”
“Can’t go wrong leavin’ stuff like that up to Shooter. I dunno much about Camulla, but this guy I know I can trust.”
Aw! I love it when Nishka gets nice. At which point Nishka looked over at me, made eye contact, then shut her one eye. Then again, since Nishka wore an eyepatch as a fashion statement, maybe she’d tried for some kinda ironic wink that nobody could see.
“Which means that Camulla is now a person of interest,” I concluded.
“I suppose so.”
“But then we have to ask, why would this barbarian Camulla do something like that?” Elegantly cutting away the last bits of meat still clinging to the bone on her plate, Tanne d’Arc slid into our conversation.
“Easy! He hushed it up ’cause it would make him look bad,” Nishka answered blithely. “He’s probably workin’ with someone. Man, this boar is tasty!”
“And who would that ‘someone’ be? Who would be troubled by things going well for our barbarian chief? I don’t like the sound of this Camulla fellow, husband,” said Tanne d’Arc, scooping the last bits of meat up with her knife and fork. She had some pretty incisive observations, this little sister of the bull-kin chieftain.
“Your second wife is a sharp one, Shooter,” the village chief said, her eyes wide but intrigued. “As far as my rivals go, there are the governors of the surrounding territories and the earl of Bulka, I suppose. And the earl of Bulka has the most to lose from my success so nearby.”
Tanne d’Arc nodded. “Those parties would be best served by someone infiltrating the settlers. It’s possible that there may be someone among the migrants, the goblin laborers, the enslaved criminals, or the adventurers acting suspiciously.”
“So it’s possible that Camulla is a plant for Bulka’s commander or one of the nearby lords,” I said.
The village chief sniffed. “Obviously we can’t say for certain whether Camulla is directly attached to one of my rivals. He might be linked to a third party acting as a proxy.”
At that, I looked over at Elpaco.
Elpaco paused with a spoonful of vegetable soup to his mouth. He looked so broken up. “D-do you think I’m part of it?”
Of course he got the wrong idea. I wasn’t suspicious of him in the least. It was just that since he was a hunter from Bulka, he had spent a lot of time with the migrants and slaves on the journey to the village. I wondered if he might know something.
I hurried to explain myself. “No, no! That’s not what I meant. I was just wondering if you’d seen any suspicious activity in the newcomers.”
“What do you mean, ‘suspicious activity’?”
“Well, you’re a foxling, right? Those ears of yours can pick up sounds a long way away. And whether it’s because you’re a hunter or because you’re a beastman, you’re good at detecting other people’s movements, right?” I said, trying to patch things up. Elpaco looked a little embarrassed, but was otherwise as unreadable as always.
As soon as I opened my mouth to add something more, Elpaco started to say something, too, and as soon as I shut my mouth to hear what he had to say, someone jumped in with their own contribution.
It was Alexandricia.
“You’re a foxling? Shooter—did Elpaco tell you that?”
“Oh, uh, yes. What’s wrong?”
“That girl’s no foxling. Why would you think that?”
“Huh?”
“Um, boy?”
“Not important. Who told you that you’re a foxling? I doubt very much that your parents were.”
The village chief was practically interrogating Fuzzball, her tone a little harsher than before. She was leaning forward slightly over the table, staring hard at Elpaco, to all appearances indifferent about whether he was a boy or a girl.
Fuzzball drooped and curled in on himself. He glanced furtively up at me as if begging for help. “I-I was an orphan. A goblin family took me in and raised me as their own. They thought I was a foxling,” Elpaco confessed, almost apologetically.
He was an orphan? And raised by goblins? We really did have no idea what he was, then.
I’d no sooner thought that than a loud knocking resounded through the hall, followed by the sound of ragged breathing. Heavy footsteps pounded over the floor and two adventurers burst into the dining room.
Alexandricia glared. “What’s wrong with you two? We’re in the middle of dinner.”
It was Electra and Dyson.
“We’ve got a problem, ma’am. The sky over the lake has turned red!”
“There’s a fire at the worksite. Someone set the whole place on fire!”
At that, the room burst into a confused uproar.
It felt as if a stack of carefully placed toy blocks had been knocked over.
When I was a kid, I liked to play with blocks when my parents were out. My little sisters would always try to get me to pay attention to them, and sometimes they blew up my block castle to get me to.
I stared at the charred skeleton of the lakeside settlement, reduced to cinders in a single night. Atop the hill, the early stages of the castle were now black with soot. The stones we had stacked were knocked to the ground.
Someone had toppled Alexandricia’s toy castle.