Chapter 126 — In which all meetings are a pure coincidence and nothing else (5)

  “So in the end, this painting appears well crafted only on the surface. Once you examine it closer, all kinds of mistakes become apparent.”

  “… Yes.”

  “I’m glad Sir Citrie understands.”

  Citrie in fact understood nothing.

  Half of his brain seemed to have melted during the three hour art lecture.

  He felt dizzy and cold.

  But he showed none of that, just gritting his teeth and glaring at the tree behind Vern’s head.

  “… Seems I lost track of time a bit…”

  ‘Yes! It appears you did, sire…!’

  He overheard Vern’s quite mumbling and shouted inside.

  “I’ve kept you here long enough, goodbye.” Vern stood up, bowing slightly. Then he added with a smirk. “You’re an excellent listener.”

  Then he disappeared as quickly and suddenly, as he appeared.

  Citrie remained motionless for the next few minutes, frozen in fear that he might come back.

  Thankfully, he didn’t.

  Citrie finally sighed, his bones creaked as he carefully freed himself from his rigid posture.

  He was glad for his physical training, as without it, he probably wouldn’t have survived.

  Just when he was about to leave, something caught his eye.

  A piece of red fabric… the Rubrun-type cloak that mages used to wear in summers – Citrie was actually unsure what function it served.

  ‘Lesser Lord Mage must have left it…’

  He vaguely remembered Vern taking it off, while talking.

  Citrie hesitated.

  Should we take it with him and give it back when he sees Vern again?

  That thought sent a shiver down his spine.

  Better not.

  Don’t mages have excellent memory?

  Vern will soon remember about his cloak and return here to take it back.

  Probably.

  Citrie turned around and was about to leave, but…

  Something cold hit his nose.

  He looked up.

  Dark clouds were gathering above his head.

  The signing of birds and buzzing of insects that seemed unceasing before, fell silent.

  Air felt light and humid.

  A heavy storm was coming.

  What now?

  Could he hide the cloak somewhere, so it didn’t get wet?

  He looked around, but the only place safe from rain and wind was the pavilion with the painting of Vermilian.

  But it was probably very disrespectful to put the cloak there.

  Even if the Lesser Lord Mage would find it very funny.

  In the end, Citrie took the cloak with him.

  He planned to give it to the first servant he sees.

  “Meow.”

  He found a guest at the doorstep to his room.

  “Hello, little lady.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Citrie blinked and crouched down, offering his hand.

  The cat, who seemed to have a bit of a trouble walking, sniffed and then rubbed her head against it, purring loudly.

  Citrie smiled.

  He didn’t protest when the cat sneaked with him into the room.

  Rather, once he sat down he picked up the snuggling cat and started to stroke her little body.

  Citrie wasn’t particularly found of cats himself, but his adoptive father loved them.

  He had enormous amount of cat toys scattered everywhere in his house – but strangely, Citrie never found any cat around.

  He thought they probably belong to a cat his father had in the past, he even asked him about, but his father just made a strange expression and didn’t answer.

  Now he will never find out what it was about…

  Speaking of the dead men, why the hell Vermilian’s face felt so familiar?

  Where did he see it before?

  Knock knock.

  “Sir Citrie, I brought you a dinner.”

  “Ah, yes. Please come in.”

  The male servant he met before, entered with food.

  The servant – Cuprit – was about to set the table, when he halted in his tracks.

  “There you are! Young Master was going to skin me alive, because I couldn’t find you!”

  He looked down at the cat, comfortably napping in Citrie’s arms.

  Citrie froze.

  “Is this Lesser Lord Mage’s cat?”

  It felt like that man was following him at every step.

  “Oh, no. It belongs to my older brother.” Cuprit paused for a second. “Though it may be that Young Master just dumped this cat on my older brother. He does it with people, so why not cats.”

  “… Excuse me?”

  “Hm? Ah, I guess that sounds strange. My older brother isn’t actually my biological brother, Young Master just ordered him to adopt me and my sisters, when he realized that he shouldn’t do so himself.”

  “Isn’t he too young for adopting… you?”

  “Young Master? No, he is the younger brother of the Archmage, so he can do what he wants…. Wait. Can I even tell you all of this..?”

  Cuprit paused with a bowl of side dishes in hand.

  Citrie wisely decided to change the topic.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Who? The cat?” Cuprit made an embarrassed face. “I’m actually not sure if my older brother even named her. He just calls her ‘The Cat’. My sisters call her ‘Princess’ though.”

  “Well, she is certainly a princess.”

  Citrie chuckled lightly, as the cat flipped to her back, showing her stomach for him to scratch.

  Putting down the last dish, Cuprit squinted at the cat.

  “But where did you find her, Sir?”

  “At my doorstep. She followed me into the room.”

  “… Really? That’s strange.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Her legs are injured, so she can’t go very far. But if she got here, it means she crossed half a manor. That’s quite a distance.”

  “Hm…”

  Citrie examined her legs with a worried face.

  They were slightly swollen, as if she indeed overtaxed herself.

  “A doctor should see to her.”

  “I’m sure Young Master will see to it.”

  As Cuprit approached to pick up the cat, he suddenly paused and carefully asked.

  “Should I call for one for you too, Sir?”

  “What you mean?”

  “You don’t look very well, Sir.”

  “… It’s just exhaustion from the travel. There is no need for concern, I’ll live.”

  He wasn’t actually very confident in that, but he put the brightest smile he could.

  Also, he completely forgot to give Cuprit Vern’s cloak.

  *-*-*

  Where are they going to stay?

  That was a very dangerous question.

  Sangria broke into cold sweat.

  He wasn’t the person, who should be answering this question.

  What’s more, he realized there was something wrong about this situation.

  “Well… I…”

  He quickly glanced to Scarlen, seeking help, but Scarlen wasn’t looking at Sangria.

  He was observing the Saint’s expression very very carefully.

  Sangria was forced to find an answer on his own.

  “I believe it we’re going to stay at an inn…”

  Amara’s smile twitched.

  “An inn? That won’t do. Too dangerous. Please feel free to stay at this temple.”

  He said it like it was their choice, but if the ruler of the land you’re walking on tells you to stay somewhere, you don’t argue.

  They could only accept.

  “We’re grateful for you generosity.”

  Scarlen spoke, finally taking Saint’s eyes off the poor Sangria.

  Amara nodded, then added:

  “Have you eaten? It doesn’t seem so. You will be provided meals together with your lodgings. Please help yourself, the attendants will guide you.” He glanced at the water clock, and added with some regret in his voice, “Now, if you excuse me.”

  Amara picked up the letter he put down before and returned to work like nothing had happened.

  The Rubrun envoy could only get up and leave.

  At the entrance to the hall, a silent attendant bowed to them and then gestured to follow.

  As they strolled down the long corridor, Scarlen glanced at Iben and opened his mouth to say something, but he thought better of it and closed his mouth again.

  They well led to a grand half-open hall, with more private alcoves scattered across it.

  From the people walking around while conversing or discussing something over meals, one could guess it was some sort of restaurant and a meeting place.

  “They really have everything here.”

  Scarlen mumbled, suddenly feeling that the Archmage’s manor should also have a big restaurant.

  Once they were seated, another person approached.

  From their demeanor, it was clear they weren’t a slave.

  “Please wait a moment. Food will be served in a minute.”

  “We don’t get to chose?”

  Scarlen frowned.

  He didn’t think that Sangria’s stomach could handle Purplus’ heavily seasoned food.

  “The food was already ordered… I’m obligated though to ask if you have any allergies.”

  Scarlen glanced at Sangria, expecting him to answer, but…

  “Uh? No. No allergies.”

  Sangria replied absent-mildly, occupied by some thoughts.

  In the matter of fact, his weak stomach wasn’t an allergy, but…

  The server already went away.

  ‘Should I take a few bites, make a fuss and then have them prepare something else…?’

  Scarlen worried how to handle this situation, but when the food arrived…

  It was surprisingly devoid of hellish amount of spices.

  “Doesn’t Purplus cuisine usually use a lot of spices?”

  Scarlen asked Iben, who also seemed to regard food with some surprise.

  “His Excellency ordered to serve you food that easy on a stomach and with only one tenth of usual spices.”

  But instead of Iben, the attendant, who quietly put a side dish beside him, spoke up.

  Iben glanced and almost jumped.

  “Al—!”

  He suddenly unvoluntarily shut up, as someone’s finger struck him in a back.

  “Don’t answer, you’re currently hearing nothing.”

  Alexandrit’s lips didn’t move as he spoke.

  There were no one around at the moment, and Alexandrit calmly continued his job of setting dishes.

  “His Excellency strongly recommends you get over with your business as quickly as possible. If you really can’t help it, find as many excuses to visit that temple first, before going off to do anything.”

  Alexandrit set down the last dish.

  “And under any circumstances, don’t be caught snooping around. Archmage’s seal is little protection in this land. Especially for you, Mr. Seven.”

  The porcelain bowl let out a single sorrowful note as it was sat down with some force.

  *~*~*