He thought about how she always did as she liked; her actions did suggest she was a little angry. After tomorrow, he had to find some time to spend with her.
When the idea crossed his mind, he was astonished at his own mollycoddling, but it was like an unbreakable habit now.
He imagined that if they were to part, not only would that mean he would no longer work at the bathhouse, but also that there would be a small hole in his heart.
It did not take until morning for Col to finish copying the rest of the translation, and he did so around the time when the town had fallen completely silent.
He could not be yawning in the middle of serving as Hyland’s companion, so Col slept, warmed by the heat of Myuri’s tail. He woke up at sunrise anyway. Myuri, who only stirred when the sun had risen well above the horizon, was completely exasperated when she heard about his early rising. But even Col realized it was all because he was too excited.
The scribes eventually came, and Col handed them a copy of the remaining translation. Once that was finished, he told them to give the copies to anyone who wanted them. He would take the original translation with him and Hyland to the church.
“And why are you wearing that?”
Myuri was dressed in her clothes from when they left Nyohhira, and her cape rested on her shoulders. Though it had only been a few days, she seemed more grown-up when she dressed femininely.
Perhaps because she had been working in town.
“Why? Because if I went to the church dressed like a company errand boy, it wouldn’t be good for the business, would it? We talked about it yesterday.”
Even if the Debau Company wanted to support Hyland, Stefan, who ran this trading house, did not want to oppose the Church. In addition, people were wondering if the crude commotion was as a result of the fighting from the territory annexation.
Myuri’s judgment was indeed correct, but he had to question her use of it as a premise.
“Is waiting in the room like a good girl not an option?”
“No! I already read the scripture. I don’t think I’d learn anything new if I kept working.”
“Is it because I can only see a fourth of the world?” he said, and after Myuri stared at him blankly, she laughed, tickled.
“Yep.”
“Honestly…I don’t know what Heir Hyland will say.”
There was slight hope in his words, but when they went to Hyland’s room, it went over surprisingly well.
“That look is not quite acceptable, but if you take off the corset and wear the errand boy trousers, then wrap the sash around your waist, yes. You would pass for the apprentice of a court official. I can get a hat with a quill ready while we’re at it. You have a well-groomed and open face. Any sort of look would fit you.”
Hyland only seemed slightly amused by this, but when she actually wore the clothes and tied her hair roughly at the nape of her neck, Col agreed that it would not be odd if she truly did work under a noble.
“Looks are important.”
“Exactly.”
When Hyland agreed with her, Myuri snorted proudly.
“Then let us go. The morning prayers have finished, and people will be exiting the church and heading to work at the stores or workshops.”
Hyland and his attendants had a carriage prepared for them, but Col and Myuri would follow on foot. The roads were always crowded, and if they were unlucky, then it would actually be faster to walk. Besides, they would also get a better feel for the atmosphere in town.
There was nothing left of the rough scene they had witnessed last night, and the town of Atiph was shimmering under the light of the sun. When Col looked out across these sights, he almost wanted to believe it was all a bad dream he’d seen in the darkness.
It was poor etiquette for a carriage to stop in front of the church if there was no official event, so Hyland had swung around to the back. There were young assistant priests, their sleeves rolled up and hands red from washing.
They were scrubbing the walls of the church with worn rags.
“Good morning. Is the archbishop in?” Hyland called, and one assistant priest, who seemed a little older than Myuri with a beard that had not quite grown in yet, wiped his hands and reticently opened the back door. It was a rough, steel gate that could stop the advances of enemies when the time called for it.
“Pardon us.”
As Hyland passed them, the assistant priests lowered their gazes, but when his attendants and Col himself followed, they glared openly. The group entered the dim church, and the back door shut with a heavy thud behind them. Myuri whispered to him.
“They really don’t want us here.”
“They must be irritated that they have to do extra work this morning.”
Hyland was the one that answered.
“Is cleaning not good practice, though?” Col asked.
“It depends on what they’re cleaning up.”
Col tilted his head at the answer, and Myuri whispered in his ear. “Rotten eggs.”
His gaze unwittingly snapped back to her. There were no shops on the streets behind the church, and few people were around during the night. He could easily imagine unsatisfied individuals bringing in rotten eggs. From the perspective of the Church, Hyland was the one stirring those people up, so of course he and his hangers-on were not welcome.
They briskly strode straight through the church. It was not a form of insolence or audacity, but rather due to the risk of being thrown out if they did not, or possibly being forced to wait indefinitely in a room somewhere if they politely asked for directions.
The church felt bigger than it looked from the outside, and the stone buildings were indeed impressive. Huge, imposing scarlet tapestries hung from the wall, and stone-carved candlestands formed neat rows—it was the epitome of luxury. The lights at night were most likely beeswax instead of tallow.
When they finally reached the office, Hyland swung open the double door without hesitation.
Then, he took a step forward and spoke.
“Good morning. I thank God for the privilege of seeing you again today.”
The space was large and the ceiling was high. The room was longer than it was wide, and the longest table Cold had ever seen, one that could easily fit twenty people, sat in the middle of the room. Along the walls were wooden shelves and oblong chests with elaborate designs, and on the plastered walls above them were pictures of angels, twelve in total, all bigger than the one he had seen in the Debau Company. Even the drawing rooms in the largest companies were not this luxurious.
There were seven pastors sitting at the table, all wearing purple robes with striking needlework, and two secretaries with parchment spread out before them. At the head of the table, sitting beneath the large crest of the Church painted on the wall, was the archbishop wearing robes embroidered with gold.
Behind them stood two or three chamberlains, each waiting. They were either assistant priests who did odd tasks as they studied God’s teachings or secular secretaries who worked in administration for the Church’s council. Surely, if all of them yelled together, any argument no matter how sound would be snuffed out.
“Glory be to God,” the archbishop chanted, but his expression was sour. “You’ve brought quite the entourage.”
He immediately began with a jab, but Hyland smiled delicately as he sat down in the chair a servant had pulled out for him.
“The more people, the warmer this room will be.”
The archbishop, still frowning, exhaled loudly through his nose.
“By the way, the translation of the scripture finally reached the seventh chapter today. I would like to give this manuscript to you.”
Hyland gave a signal, and a waiting servant took the parchment and brought it over to the priests.
There was not a single friendly countenance among any of the priests, but the waiting chamberlains politely presented the document to the archbishop.
“Perhaps reading it for yourself will convince you
that it is not an essay of revolt rather than simply hearing it from me. Of course, God does not like conflict, and we are advocating harmony.”
The archbishop turned a page of the parchment before him and looked up.
“May I read this?”
“Of course.”
Hyland’s voice sounded slightly animated. Col was a little surprised as well. He was sure the archbishop would not even spare a glance. He quickly read the first page, carefully reading every word, then turned to the second page. He read cautiously and silently.
As he did so, not a single word came out of the thirty or so people in the large office. Occasionally, someone’s idle stirring or coughing would make a sound. The archbishop’s gaze was fixed onto the parchment, and he did not look up.
Col thought something was strange, as he was spending an abnormal amount of time on the second page.
“Is something the matter?”
When Hyland spoke, the archbishop turned the page and proceeded to the third. What a coincidence that he had finally finished reading it just then. Again, he spent an abnormal amount of time on the third page.
Col looked at Hyland and noticed his profile had stiffened in anger.
He finally realized that they had been tricked.
The archbishop suspected that the translation of the scripture was literature to incite a revolt, and to prove their innocence, they had him read it. Therefore, he should read it to the end, but to him, there was no need. The one with something to lose if the discussions failed was Hyland.
It would be no use for them to request he read faster, and it would be just as he wanted if they grew angry at his slow pace.
For him, it would be cause for celebration if they got up from their chairs in defeat. This was no longer a negotiation, because the archbishop would not listen in the first place. Hyland’s words were much too accurate—they were not sitting in those seats thanks to the teachings of God, but by navigating secular society.
The office was simply quiet, but the atmosphere was oppressive. Hyland’s noble dignity did not waver, and with one arm on the table, he stared at the archbishop. It was as though he was staring at a rat that would escape the moment he averted his gaze.
However, Col did not know what they would do about this stalemate. He could not imagine that the archbishop would finish reading. They could not request that he do so. They could not stand up. They were completely trapped.
He recalled the story of the failure in Lenos. The archbishop there must have done the same thing to Hyland. The young man was Col’s equal when it came to theological debates but, also like himself, unused to the spite of society.
He thought about this and yet was ashamed and irritated that there was nothing he could do.
When he began to wonder how much time had passed, he heard the ringing of a bell coming from outside the office. It sounded like the one in the church’s bell tower, signaling midday. That made him realize that no matter how deadlocked the situation inside the office might be, outside, people were living their lives normally, and time was flowing. He wondered if Hyland was betting on that flow.
As the night went on, that vulgar and violent time would come once again. Drunk men would dress dogs in priests’ clothes and ridicule their authority. Meanwhile, rational-seeming merchants, holding chicken thighs and scraps of the scripture translation, would spout insults at the Church as they ate their meat.
And still, the scribes were copying the translation back at the Debau Company trading house and distributing it. Those with good sense would read it and immediately understand that there was no righteousness in the Church’s tyranny. Those people might then throw eggs not at the back door, but at the church’s front gates. Once the people stood up to correct the Church’s evil ways, Hyland would wait for the right time to brandish his sword for the negotiations.
Then, when he thought about it that way, Col began to see the archbishop’s plan. It was possible he was betting on the complete opposite.
According to all the stories Myuri had heard as she did menial work for the company, the rowdy workers were simply lashing out because they could. It had nothing to do with the righteousness of faith or because the heavy tithes were weighing them down. Their troublemaking was nothing but a temporary fad, and if nothing came of it, then it was easy to imagine that their attention would simply go elsewhere.
The season was changing from winter to spring, and the busiest season of the year quickly approached. That much was obvious given the number of people visiting the Debau Company to petition. Soon the calendar would be full of spring festivals and religious ceremonies, so the archbishop would be running many of these things as his religious duty and would not lack excuses for pushing Hyland’s negotiations back.
Religious work was like salt—the Church’s presence was indispensable in daily life, especially during the change of seasons and important events throughout one’s life. If Hyland’s goals somehow hindered this work, then those who bore him ill will would undoubtedly appear. The very reason the people of the Winfiel Kingdom were suffering in the first place was because of that cessation of religious rites.
Would the people first raise their voices in anger, or would their interests return to their day-to-day?
Col thought silently in the nervous, oppressive atmosphere. This was a fight for how he should believe in the world. The people would see what was right and stand up for it. At the very least, that was what he and Hyland believed.
Oh God, he prayed.
But he did not know if it was correct to pray that the archbishop, a servant of God himself, was wrong. Heaven and earth had switched, and he was dizzy. Like the boat captain had said, the river did not flow in a straight line.
Though one could claim that such was the way of the world, his simple life in Nyohhira still felt so far away.
Time passed so slowly and painfully it seemed to chip away at him. Neither Hyland nor the archbishop spoke, so nobody suggested lunch. Time continued to pass, and the light shining through the skylight near the top of the high ceiling was now on the other side of the room from when they entered.
His legs and lower back were in pain, and it was likely that everyone there felt the same way. Not just the ones standing, but those sitting as well. Simply sitting in a chair was just as bad for the body. The older priests were noticeably exhausted. On the other hand, Hyland’s side was all young people, including himself. The chamberlains behind the priests were also young, but it appeared Hyland’s side had the advantage in this contest of endurance.
The one Col was worried about was Myuri, but she had the strength to run around in the mountains, so she was somehow enduring this. But when it crossed his mind that she may not come the next day, it almost made him smile.
Eventually, the light coming through the skylight began lengthening, and the color deepened. As he surmised that everyone must be thinking about the approaching end of the day, a loud sound echoed throughout the room. An elderly priest had collapsed face-first onto the table.
“Father!”
The chamberlains gathered around him and carried him out. The door to the office opened, and like the collapse of a dam blocking a river’s flow, the tension washed away.
The archbishop watched this turn of events and raised his eyes from the parchment, then spoke.
“We cannot hold a meeting like this. I have not finished reading this translation, so let us reconvene tomorrow.”
It was not only the priests who felt relieved. Hyland’s attendants, including Col, exhaled the breaths they had been holding.
But then—
“The night is long, so I will wait until you finish,” Hyland declared resolutely. The archbishop’s expression tensed, and his words caught in his throat. His fellow priests, almost instinctively, looked to him for guidance.
Admiration overwhelmed Col. Hyland was most certainly no fanciful noble.
He had been waiting this entire time for his opponent’s tension to ease.
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Hyland stared at the archbishop, as though declaring his intention to follow through all the way to hell, unwilling to back off. Realizing this, the archbishop was dumbstruck.
However, the priests under him had showed they were at their limit, both physically and mentally. More than anything, they had relaxed for a moment in relief that the day was over. It was virtually impossible for them to gather themselves once again. The tables had turned.
It was possible that the archbishop had underestimated Hyland. After all, he was a weak noble, brought up in a manor. His delicate features even made him look feminine, and there was certainly nothing crude about him. But he had the perseverance that a hunter could appreciate, as well as a hint of mischief about him like a merchant outwitting an opponent.
“Urgh…Guh…”
The archbishop broke into a heavy sweat and groaned, but he was also a man who deserved his place in a seat of power.
“Yes…Indeed. We mustn’t leave this unfinished.”
He fixed Hyland with a biting gaze, not to be outdone. Perhaps this was the look of one pulling another into the grave with them. The priests’ expressions were all hopeless, but they did not go against the archbishop’s word.
Then, after carefully considering the situation, Hyland spoke.
“But first, why don’t we have a bite to eat?”
Col thought for a moment that this would just refresh their opponents, but when he saw the expressions on their faces, he understood.
Their feelings were clearly leaning in favor of Hyland. They would see him as a savior.
The archbishop, realizing he had been beaten to the punch, nodded painfully.
“Urgh…Then, bring us bread and drink. The stalls should still be open in town.”
The chamberlains bowed their heads, and they all left the office. Hyland turned back toward Col and spoke with a refreshing smile.
“You go and help them, too.”
It was clear that he was not treating them as servants, but offering a chance to stretch and get some relief, disguised as a command.
Wolf & Parchment, Volume 1 Page 14