Myuri behaved and sat still as the wife sewed her clothes. The old woman had immediately headed off to the church after she finished putting away the pots and pans.
The crackling fire in the hearth was awfully loud.
“It was a day just like this.”
She shortened the sleeves just a bit and measured the length as Myuri raised her arm. It seemed perfect. She nodded, satisfied, and began work on the other sleeve.
“It was so sudden. That day, we ate together as normal, and we were just about to go to sleep.”
She finished stitching the other side, and it was perfect once more. Myuri did not say anything in thanks and could only stare at the wife.
The wife continued to smile as she talked about her memories and dabbed the edge of her eyes again. She sniffled, and Myuri placed her hand on her shoulder, as though it was natural for her to do so. Though she was surprised at first, the wife thanked her and placed her hand on top of Myuri’s.
It was clear what happened to her daughter.
He already knew that such a thing was a common occurrence.
“She must be working her hardest in a distant town now. Knowing that is enough for me to be happy.”
She had been sold as a slave.
And it would have been just as the wife doubled over and suffered in sadness. Like an arrow had been shot through his head, a flash lit up in his mind.
Of course, that is why he never noticed.
It was not that the island had enough goods for all the money the large company had rushed over.
And it would solve both the island’s and the company’s problems.
Regular goods would be sold, and that was that. But slavery was different.
Families would worry about their loved ones even after they were taken far away and they would pray for their happiness.
Therefore, by buying slaves, the Ruvik Alliance was, in a way, taking the islanders hostage. That was because if the islanders angered the slavers, then their friends and family who were sold off might meet terrible ends.
On the other hand, it was worth paying mountains of gold as the workers, even merchants, on the island could be bought.
If that were the case, then where did the archbishop fit into all of this?
A bitter taste filled his mouth as he felt nauseous from something sour swelling up inside of him.
Perhaps the archbishop had gotten wind of Autumn, learning that the islands were very serious about their faith. So he had come along to bestow the proceedings with the authorization of an archbishop, in order to make sure that nothing would obstruct the buying of slaves—and securing them as hostages.
The merchants would obtain goods, the islanders would receive money, and the archbishop would secure power on the cusp of war breaking out.
It was brilliant—three birds with one stone. Whoever thought it up was an evil genius.
Col felt nauseous because it was nothing more than the logic of the powerful—entirely bereft of mercy, no compassion. The rulers’ arrogance was obvious: They must be satisfied if we give them money, right?
The Church, which was meant to be the house of peace for the people, had already fallen too far to be saved.
That much was clear to Col after he had seen the archbishop riding in the palanquin. That was the behavior of nothing less than a king.
This could not be forgiven. It could not be overlooked.
It was not simply for the Kingdom of Winfiel.
Even more fundamentally than flaunting the teachings of the Church, it went against his own conscience.
“If she lives in a town far away, we’ll let you know if we come across her on our travels,” Myuri said to the wife, who kept wiping at the tears while continually thanking her.
Being sold as a slave and departing on a journey were two completely different things. A thousand flowery words and purple prose could not justify something that brought about so much unhappiness in households like this or the house of that fisherman at the beach.
Then, what was there to do? he pondered, and the first thing that came to mind was Autumn.
Because he was the one solely responsible for the faith on the islands, they had no choice but to persuade him in order to have a realistic chance in stopping this revolting scheme. As he reached that conclusion, Yosef returned.
“Oof, it’s cold. The snow is coming down even harder.”
The wife suddenly grew embarrassed, seeing that he had returned. She hurriedly released Myuri from her embrace and smiled reassuringly.
“Oh dear, I’m getting old.”
“I think you’re still pretty young!”
Yosef stared blankly at the two, who had grown so close in such a short time.
Col approached him.
“Mr. Yosef, there’s something I wish to ask.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“Before you said that you would be able to put out a boat immediately.”
Tension crept into the man’s bearded face.
“Yes, I can. Is something wrong?”
“I wish to go see Lord Autumn.”
He had to reject the archbishop’s intentions. This scheme would deal a heavy blow to the Kingdom of Winfiel if it came to pass, so once the kingdom learned of the situation, they would undoubtedly think up their own offer. It would not be as terrible as buying a large amount of slaves. Once there was a viable alternative, Autumn should be more receptive of what they had to say.
He recalled Autumn’s solitude on that gray-colored beach. There was an air about him that made it seem he would make destructive decisions on a whim, even though he should have been searching for salvation.
After the archbishop stuffed his ship full of slaves, what would be left on this island besides unhappiness?
“I have my mission, and there is something that I must discuss with Lord Autumn.”
“That’s…No, I won’t ask. You are someone that Master Stefan took the time to write about. But there is no need to send out a boat.”
“Huh?”
“Lord Autumn is already in the church. His Grace and the others must have stopped by the monastery before coming into port.”
A feeling that stole away the strength in his knees overcame him. They were prepared.
But that did not mean everything had been decided.
And they had a way.
“I see.”
He took a deep breath, then turned his gaze to the corner of the room.
“Myuri.”
The prank-loving girl, whose silver hair had been braided in pigtails by the wife, looked over to him like a puppy.
“I have a favor to ask of you.”
On the way to the church, they met up with the other women who all carried pots and pans and food on their back. It seemed that not only would they receive an allowance for cooking but they would also be buying ingredients with the great amount of money they had, so Col could hear their excited voices as they walked.
The women stepped lightly as the snow danced around them in the wind, even though it was dark and they did not particularly pay any attention to where their feet landed.
Only the church was hazily visible in the darkness, perhaps because they had lit a large fire in the courtyard.
“Will this really be all right?”
Col dropped his voice as low as he could and asked Myuri, and she, carrying a hatchet-like blade wrapped in cloth on her back, looked at him with a mischievous smile.
“It’s fiiine. See, there are plenty of people the same height as you.”
The women walking along the path all certainly seemed the kind who could beat him in any test of strength.
“But I’m a bit sad.”
“About what?”
As Myuri brushed the snow off her hood, she spoke.
“I finally have a big sister, but she doesn’t smile very much.”
“…”
Yosef’s joke had become reality, and though Myuri seemed like she could just run about in happiness, someth
ing was still awkward about her. Perhaps she was being considerate toward him in her own way.
Col had only told Myuri about what he realized of the archbishop’s plan and what they would be doing after. Though irritated that he never knew when to give up, Myuri had grabbed a comb and smiled for him.
She even told him to call her name if he got lost because she would come find him.
“If the plan goes well, I’ll smile as much as you like.”
“Really? Then will you spend a day in town in Atiph dressed like that?”
She had loosened his hair, brushed it out well, then fixed it up with the oil she brought from Nyohhira. She lightly powdered his rough skin with a mixture of shell and zinc powder.
He wore clothes borrowed from the wife, paired with gloves and a kerchief. It was perfect.
“I’ll think about it,” he responded with a wry smile, and Myuri smiled, too.
The church seemed a bit like it was a festival. Or perhaps it was shelter in a castle for the townspeople to escape from war.
There was no particular examination at the gates, but the guard did indeed notice Col immediately.
There, the wife whispered something to him. They exchanged a couple of words, after which the guard drew his mouth taut and withdrew slightly; he must owe her something. It was a small island after all.
As the guard let him through, Col lowered his head in apology.
But Myuri, skirt fluttering, looked at the guard and grinned.
“Didn’t I say there were perks to dressing as a girl?”
The guard smiled wryly and shrugged.
After passing through the gate, they found a large bonfire lit in the courtyard, and it was as bright as day. It seemed that the dining hall kitchen was not enough to make food for everyone, so there were pots here and there, cooking. It seemed that the Ruvik Alliance had the foresight to bring enough wood for fuel, and the smell of burning firewood comforted him.
“Please quickly take whatever is finished inside!”
Worn-out assistant priests walked among the boiling pots and heated griddles.
But they still seemed rather skilled, and maybe it was just as lively and busy during the peak fishing season.
All the women around them seemed to know one another, but perhaps because the inside of the church felt like a different world in their own land, no one seemed to notice that there were two strangers among them.
“See? No one can tell.”
She sounded proud for some reason, and Col simply shrugged before he lowered the luggage on his back.
Next, they had to find out where Autumn was. The courtyard was filled with women cooking and men who had not eaten enough warm food on their long voyage at sea.
He likely would not arouse suspicion wandering around here, but it would be different inside the building.
Just as he wished he had some sort of tool, he noticed that Myuri had disappeared from his side.
He looked around in a panic when someone poked him in the back.
“Sister?”
There stood Myuri, holding a draining basket. He was surprised to see two large shrimps, boiled to a bright red and still billowing steam, inside of it.
“We can just bring these in and say, Hello, we’ve brought these for Sir Beard, right?”
She loved pranks, and she even surpassed her mother, once called the wisewolf, in telling plausible lies.
He took the basket gratefully and began to walk off, Myuri in tow.
“Sister, people won’t move out of the way for you if you talk in such a quiet voice.”
She winked mischievously.
“That’s the liveliest building.”
What she pointed to as they walked was the building in which they first met Reicher. It seemed there was a large hall and furnace there—ideal for a banquet.
He realized how odd it was for him to wonder if Reicher was having a good time drinking. And when Col imagined what anguish the troubled priest would feel when he learned of the archbishop’s plans, his chest ached. At the entrance of the building, there was a young knight of the Church, walking in place in an attempt to ward off the cold, so this must be where all the high-ranking members were. Myuri jogged over to the knight, who was looking out at the fires in the courtyard with round, wanting eyes.
“Excuse me, we’ve been told to deliver the village’s specialty shrimp.”
“Shrimp? Ooh, that looks excellent.”
“We were told to deliver it to Lord Autumn in thanks. Do you happen to know where he might be?”
“Autumn…Sorry, I don’t know who that is.”
“A really old brother with an insane beard?”
“Oh yes, he went into the chapel. The smell of grilling meat must be painful for him. He must be an amazing person who does nothing but severe training, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to have some shrimp.”
It sounded like the banquet had not quite started yet.
Just as they were about to head off to the chapel in a rush, the knight stopped them.
“Wait a minute.”
His voice was hard. The sword hanging at his waist rang with a kachink sound.
Facing away from the knight, Myuri and Col exchanged glances.
Had they been found out?
Myuri was much more decisive in times like these. She twirled around.
“Yes?”
“That woman.”
He had ignored Myuri and looked straight at Col as he talked.
At that moment, she bit her bottom lip and brought her hands to her chest.
If he snuck in dressed as a woman, then there was no helping it if he were to be deemed a spy.
There was no one to help them here, on this island surrounded by freezing seas.
It was just when she was about to pull out her pouch of wheat.
“I have a favor to ask.”
Huh? had almost escaped his lips. He coughed it off and looked at Myuri.
“My sister is ill and can’t talk very well. What is it?”
“Um, right. Uh, well…”
The knight looked around, then spoke with a guilty expression.
“Could I have some of that? Please? Even if it’s just the legs.”
Begging for food was unbecoming for a knight of the Church.
But no one could win against the icy cold and an empty stomach.
Col and Myuri exchanged glances again before she reached into the basket and handed the knight an entire shrimp.
“‘We must give all that we can.’”
Though she never seemed to be listening to his lecturing, she always was.
“These are going to get cold, so we’ll be off.”
Myuri shoved Col’s back and walked off. The knight glanced back and forth between them and the shrimp, and his expression finally softened. The only ones who indulged in luxury and drowned themselves in the logic of the powerful were their masters. The ones serving under them were simple and endured poverty like the rest of the masses of the world.
Overturning the archbishop’s plot would save people like them.
Newfound resolve bubbled in him as the knight suddenly waved to them. Col could not help but wave back to the happy and somewhat shy man.
Myuri laughed at him, and Col regained his usual senses.
“You’re a nice lady.”
She was hoping he’d snap back, so he said nothing.
The chapel was next to the library, in front of the garden that now housed rows of dried fish.
No one would come to a bastion of abstinence and silence at a time of singing and drinking and celebration.
When they opened the door and entered the chapel, they were greeted with air colder than the outside.
“…He’s here.”
Myuri sniffed and wiggled her wolf ears and whispered as quietly as the snow falling to the ground. Col nodded silently and entered, then closed the door. It was pitch-dark for only a few moments, and once his eyes adjusted, he could faintly see the outline of
the building.
They passed through the corridor, ascended a short staircase, and there was an open door. There was one long aisle in the middle of rows of long pews that faced the altar.
And there he was.
There was Autumn, crouching down like a black beast.
“This is a place of prayer.”
He did not speak particularly loudly, but his voice reached Col’s ears in a way that made it sound like he was right next to him.
Col passed the basket of shrimp to Myuri and walked forward, unafraid.
“Lord Autumn.”
Autumn did not move, but it seemed he knew immediately who it was, and he may have even guessed what his business was. Col stopped in the middle of the aisle and spoke.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Did I not say this is a place of prayer?”
“I apologize. I pray thee.”
Autumn did not answer or turn around, but he did straighten his rounded back.
“It may be just my misunderstanding. I shall accept if you laugh, grow irritated, or censure me. However, there is a chance my conjectures might sadly be true, Lord Autumn. As a servant of God, I must speak on it.”
Autumn’s shadow seemed to swell, perhaps because he was angry they interrupted his prayer or perhaps because he had inhaled to sigh deeply.
Regardless, he turned around and met Col’s gaze straight on.
“That archbishop and merchant have come to this island to buy slaves. Is that not correct?”
His eyes must have fully adjusted to the darkness as he could see Autumn clearly.
It seemed there was a window of treated glass on the ceiling of the chapel. The light reflected faintly off the snow and filtered inside.
“I thought you were a foolish spy.”
There was no happiness in being right. He only made clear that there were a great number of worthless people in the world that occupied seats of power.
“Then, Lord Autumn, you understand what I wish to say.”
Col leaned forward, hoping his words would reach further inward.
But not a single hair on Autumn’s beard moved. As though bound by the rule of silence, he did not speak. Col understood then that the holy man was well aware of the archbishop’s plan and had already made up his mind.
Even though he should have known it was a destructive choice, those emotionless eyes were like those of a hopeless goat.
Wolf & Parchment, Volume 2 Page 19