Side Colors III Page 16

  Hearing it a second time ought to have made it easier to grasp, but I still could not understand it. My master seemed to be in the same predicament. But she was past even panic and merely looked back at Ars with questioning eyes.

  “The town is in a bad place,” said Ars, spitting the words out and averting her gaze, turning her head aside. Then her eyes alone refocused on my master. “The town of Rezul is trying to take us over.”

  “…Take you over?”

  “You…when you came to my workshop, you saw, didn’t you? There aren’t any proper materials left in this town. Everything of value was sold at a deep discount to reckless merchants. No one who we can sell anything to is coming here anymore, the price of wheat has risen, likewise meat, and we’re all of us utterly without money. Rezul is trying to take advantage of that.”

  A wounded animal—even a bear—would not escape being hunted by other beasts. Though they might fight desperately, they would always end up as food.

  It seemed that law did not apply only in the forests and fields.

  “Our town is in a desperate position, but if we had materials, there are craftsmen here who can work and merchants who will sell. But without the materials, nothing can be done. So the town of Rezul came and offered us a loan.”

  It was not at all uncommon for the ship that seemed to be offering rescue to instead be heading to hell. One only had to consider how hated Johan was to see that much.

  “But…why make me a deacon?” asked my master, her eyes upturned.

  “Well, obviously we can’t accept their offer. Ever. If we accept it, our town will be swallowed up. We would have to pay back all the money and with plenty of interest, too.”

  The visitor that had come to Ars’s workshop when my master had been there was none other than Johan. Most of the town was probably deep in debt already. The only people growing fat were those like Johan, who were devouring the wounded. That was the way of things.

  But that did not answer my master’s question.

  Ars realized that herself and scratched her nose uncomfortably. She took a deep breath and continued.

  “We want you to bargain with Rezul. As our deacon.”

  The girl had still not made her point. She had no gift for speech certainly. Of course, my master’s capacity for such things was not much bigger than her chest, so perhaps this dribble of information was for the best.

  “To bargain…”

  “Yes. If a proper merchant went, we’d probably lose. If they let slip that one town was refusing to sell to another town, there would surely be a fight. Maybe even a war. But if the church goes and tells them we won’t trade with unbelievers like them, that’s quite different. Nobody wants to risk a war with the church. We might be able to avoid a crisis.”

  I finally understood and glanced at Giuseppe on the bed. I saw why he would’ve put my master up as deacon, and furthermore, why Ars was the one explaining.

  “And so, if you’re the deacon, then…well, look at the bishop. Someone has to act in his stead. Of course, we asked why we couldn’t just use someone from the Kuskov, but he knows better than we do how things are in other towns,” said Ars with a sigh.

  She seemed exhausted, and I was certain I didn’t misread her—she was exhausted. I thought back to moments earlier, when so many people had left the room. No doubt all of them, like Ars, held important positions in the town.

  And also like Ars, many of them should not have had those positions. Some of them were elderly and should have long since retired; others, like Ars, were far too young.

  In other words, there were no more substitutes left for the town.

  “And of course, Rezul knows we’ll probably try to use the Church as a shield, which makes people from the town even less useful. ‘You’re not from the Church!’ they’d say. Ugh, those Rezul bastards are awful. Have you heard the rumors? Barbarous pagans, the lot of them. They wear arrowheads around their necks!”

  As Ars spat out her words, I was suddenly struck by a shock that felt almost like a physical blow to my head.

  In that moment, how many memories were finally tied together with a single thread?

  The raging plague meant that the once-busy road was now deserted—the pagan bandits attacking the travelers, the bishop’s brave party.

  And above all, the strangely grand welcome we’d received upon arriving in the village.

  The town had been desperate to avoid the trap Rezul was setting and had exhausted every option. And then despite Giuseppe’s favorable reply, he’d arrived gravely wounded.

  And then they had hit upon this plan, even if my master was poorly suited to it.

  Ars’s eyes went wide, and she looked at Giuseppe with a little gasp. Given her reaction, Giuseppe must never have explained who attacked him. A moment’s thought made it clear why.

  If the townspeople knew that the pagans had attacked Giuseppe for their own profit, no matter how exhausted they were, they would’ve taken weapons in hand and risen up, like a cornered rat turning to face a mouse.

  And if it came to battle, this town would surely lose.

  “And so we needed a traveler, and one who seems like they could be working for the Church—and so we chose you.”

  Ruvinheigen was known as the Church City, but if people knew what sorts of things really happened there, they’d think it worse than any other place—and my master had escaped only to find that no matter the town similar things were always happening.

  The sad reality was sinking in, but suddenly she realized something and looked up.

  If I could’ve, I would have raised my paw to cover my face, the way a human could.

  “E-er!”

  “Hmm?”

  “I understand now. But…um…so…why did you tell me to…er…give up on being a seamstress?”

  My master, for her part, still had some lingering attachment to the idea of becoming a seamstress.

  It was unlike her to press the issue like this, but just as I wanted to hide my face, the question seemed to pain Ars as well. That she could go on at such a rapidly rambling length without ever getting to the point was because she wasn’t actually such an ill-mannered girl.

  She was merely awkward and was actually rather kind.

  “…Because you’ll have to go act as our town’s deacon and negotiate with them.”

  “Right.”

  “And after that…if you were to start working as a seamstress as though nothing had happened…”

  Don’t you see? Ars’s upturned eyes begged.

  In matters like these, my master could be as dense as a sheep. After a moment of baffled staring, the lines finally connected in her mind. “Ah!” she cried out.

  “You see? It would be strange. So that’s why.”

  That’s why Giuseppe had Ars deliver this message.

  My master had wanted to become a seamstress so badly, she’d ignored the danger and come to this town. No doubt Giuseppe himself had felt badly for her. But sometimes to save the flock, a single lamb had to be left to die, and the situation in this town had called for a similar decision.

  So at the very least, he decided to have the clothiers’ guild chief be the one to deliver the news.

  A heavy silence fell between the two girls.

  Neither of them was at fault. It was just ill-fated, and that was all.

  “L-look…”

  It was Ars who first broke the silence. “About yesterday…I’m sorry.”

  My master was caught off guard by the sudden words. She waved her hands meaninglessly, then finally managed a reply. “Oh n-no, um…I was only thinking of myself, so…” She spoke apologetically with her face downcast, and it seemed to pain Ars to see her so.

  “Johan got so angry at me, too; I couldn’t believe it…I really felt like I was to blame.”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean…it’s hard to explain, but you risked your life to come here, didn’t you? You wanted to be a seamstress. That was your goal. You risked your life an
d came to this town for that, and that’s when I finally realized—what I’d done. During the plague, when everyone was dying, I just cried and cried and didn’t…”

  Her words were halting, but that only made it clearer that they were coming from her heart. Seeing her like this, Ars truly was a normal, kindhearted girl. The doubt in her eyes came from the worry that cursed her heart.

  “So that’s how I realized…we can’t go on like this.” Ars took a deep breath, looked up, and straightened her back. Then she looked my master right in the face, with all the dignity due anyone with the title of guild chief. “So I’ll ask you again. I’m well aware that I smashed your dream. You won’t have to be our deacon forever. But just for now, will you help save this town?”

  Ars put her right hand to her chest and pressed her heels smartly together. And then she bowed her head.

  In Ruvinheigen, town merchants would make a similar gesture to curry favor with the Church. It was a strange feeling to understand that this was the situation that truly called for such a gesture, which was meant as a sign of deep respect.

  And what of my master?

  A bit worried, I looked over at her beside me, then immediately realized I was wrong to have doubted her.

  Even as the dream she’d thought was so close went winging forever out of her reach, her back was straight and her expression kind and smiling.

  “This, too, must be the will of God.”

  “S-so, you’ll—!”

  “Yes. I’ll do whatever I can.”

  In this world, it often seems kindness is rewarded with loss. But for my part, I have no interest in serving a master who would think only of herself.

  Ars had tears at the corners of her eyes as she shook my master’s hand, either from deep emotion or simple relief. My master, meanwhile, continued to smile.

  She seemed truly saintly in that moment, as though coming to the aid of another was the greatest happiness to which she might aspire.

  Though I was a mere dog, I still found my master’s actions moving. My master, meanwhile, embraced the sobbing Ars, then gave me a slightly awkward smile.

  “I did it again,” her expression said.

  But I merely wagged my tail, because I loved my master when she was like this.

  Talk is cheap. Action is difficult.

  It’s an obvious principle, particularly when the action in question is becoming a deacon.

  Perhaps that was what occupied my master’s mind.

  Once the hour grew late, we finally returned to the inn, and illuminated by the candlelight, she looked like a dried-out herring.

  “…Ungh…I’m so tired,” she said, collapsing down onto the bed without paying any mind at all to the fact that I was already curled up on it.

  I barely managed to avoid a direct impact, but the more tired my master became, the worse her disposition. No, not worse, exactly—perhaps childish would be a better term.

  In either case, she stretched her arms out and gathered me aimlessly up. “Enek, I’m so tired…”

  She embraced me without so much as asking, with such force that I worried she might rub my fur right off.

  It was frankly uncomfortable, but as my master buried her face in the soft fur around my throat, I caught the sharp scent of ink.

  Though she’d claimed to have done odd jobs for the Church in Ruvinheigen, all she really knew were a few prayers. When she confessed as much, Ars and the women taking care of Giuseppe had looked at each other, then nodded.

  I could only understand fragments of what happened next.

  Town merchants and craftsmen all had various saints they venerated, and daily prayer rites were performed by each guild, with the guild chief acting in the priest’s stead.

  Thus, until Giuseppe awoke, they summoned the various guild chiefs, and together they pounded the basics of the prayer services into my master’s head.

  My master could read, but her writing was not as strong. I was in no position to boast since I couldn’t read at all, but it seemed that even as flattery her writing could hardly be praised. When she gave it a try, even Aman, who’d come from the Rowen Trade Guild to cheer her on, couldn’t help but grimace.

  My master had occasionally practiced writing with her shepherd’s staff in the dirt, but it seemed she was far from adequate—she was quite adept at pictures of dogs and sheep, though.

  So it happened that my master had the writing and prayers she would need to act as an impromptu deacon drilled into her, right there in the church’s sanctuary. I stayed by her side for a while, but eventually she began looking to me for help, which ruined her concentration, and I was shooed out. Her face in that moment was the very image of worldly suffering. I was uneasy leaving my master alone, but there was nothing for it. I hardened my heart as I was carried away and returned to the inn.

  Which brought us to this moment.

  Finally she raised her head up from my chest, flopped over on the bed, and stretched. There came a sound like the cracking of dry twigs underfoot.

  I sniffed her hand, and in addition to the wax from the writing tablet, there was another, sweeter scent.

  “You’re lucky, Enek, not having to work so hard,” she said as I licked at her hand after a few more sniffs. My master was always nastier when she was tired. “Tomorrow they’re going to teach me the basics of contract negotiation, and they said I have to recite the replies I’ll need to prove I’m really of the Church, if asked…I hope I can do it. I can barely remember what I learned today…”

  My tail drooped from the ill treatment I’d suffered at the hands of my master, but seeing her worry so, I couldn’t very well ignore her. If I was her knight, I had to support my master.

  “Mmm…hee-hee. You’re right. I’ll be fine.”

  She may have been covered in ink and wax, but when I stuck my snout in her hair, the same old scent was still there. I snuffled a little bit on purpose, and she answered me with a childish giggle.

  We played as we had played countless times before. And after giving as good as she got, her hand suddenly stopped, like it always did. Her face was clear and calm, as though she’d thrown all her troublesome thoughts right out of the window.

  “I suppose my dream’s run off again. I’ll have to do my best to help these people,” said my master, looking steadily at me. Her eyes were kind and strong. Shepherd’s eyes. “And anyway, they’ve apologized so much and thanked me even more. I’ve barely had any time at all to feel sad.”

  She laughed ticklishly, then lightly took hold of my right front paw. She didn’t do anything special with it, though, just held it in her hand.

  “Mr. Aman even asked me if I would come work for his guild. He said they have connections in all sorts of town and could work something out. He said if I did that, other people would be helping me.”

  As she spoke, my master’s eyelids got lower and lower. She spoke as though each one of her words was brushing against her cheek, like drops of summer rain on a hot day.

  My master’s will was weak in the face of the needs of others. Especially when they asked favors of her.

  So far as I could see, she was in no position to be helping anyone. Given her position as a girl with no money, no status, no education, no power, there was nothing to be done about it; not even the strength she’d gained as a shepherd changed that status very much.

  The bargain she’d struck with the merchant and the wolf had been little different. My master had been well aware of the dangers she was risking, but couldn’t help being affected by how much the merchant had needed her.

  It was only when her own gain was in the balance that she was able to turn away.

  Of course, she had been swayed by the large amount of money involved, which far from saddening me came as something of a relief.

  “They even said if everything goes well, I could just continue on as a proper deacon here.”

  I looked sharply up at my master, unable to simply let those words pass by.

  “I don’t kn
ow if I should do that, though…Apparently there’s precedent, but still…,” she said, giving me a pained smile.

  As far as I was concerned, she was already being disgustingly obedient to the Church, but it wasn’t as though her feelings on the matter were entirely pure, either.

  She made a face like it was all a bit of a joke, then pulled on my paw and brought her mouth close to it. “But I still wish I could become a seamstress. Is that selfish of me?”

  I put some force into my front paws. My white-tinged paws pressed against her mouth, giving her a funny-looking expression. I was angry, I was laughing at her, and I was sulking a bit.

  My master closed her eyes. Then, capriciously, she opened her mouth wide and tried to bite my cheeky paws.

  I pulled them back, but then she leaned forward as though unwilling to let me go so easily. Just when I was ready to try and gain the upper hand, though, there was a hesitant knock at the door.

  “Y-yes!” answered my master, rapping me on the head as though I were a mischievous child, then fixing her clothes and climbing out of bed.

  From the other side of the door came Ars’s voice. “I’m sorry to bother you so late at night.”

  “Not at all,” answered my master, looking Ars over from top to bottom. Something about Ars had changed, despite the late hour.

  “I’m sure you’re tired, but I need a bit of your time. May I come in?”

  My master nodded and stepped back, allowing Ars into the room.

  Ars entered, carrying something in her arms, then reached back and closed the door behind her, as my master looked on, vaguely confused.

  I climbed down from the bed and circled around Ars. What was she planning to do?

  Illuminated only by dim candlelight, Ars’s face was entirely free of the suspicion she’d shown during the day. On the contrary, she seemed so energized that it surprised me.

  “I’ve just been to Lord Careca’s manor, where I scavenged this.”

  “Scavenged…?”

  “That’s right. Look,” said Ars as she unrolled a large, pure white sheet of fabric. “We’ll make your vestments with this. It’s fine cloth—normally only the guild master would be able to use it…but that’s me now. Anyway, that’s good cloth.” Ars narrowed her eyes and gave the fabric an appraising look.