Secrets of the Silent Witch - Volume 5 - Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Meat-Eaters Talk About Meat

On the morning of the second day of Felix’s stay at Duke Rehnberg’s estate, the delegation from the Kingdom of Farfolia arrived right on schedule. Their party included eight envoys and their bodyguards, and all of the former were diplomatic veterans of advanced age.

Talks began as soon as greetings were exchanged, and it didn’t take long for Felix to realize this would be anything but easy.

Farfolia was once two separate nations—the Kingdom of Far and the Kingdom of Folia. They formed a confederation, changing their name to the Federated Kingdoms of Far-Folia and, as time passed, eventually became the modern Kingdom of Farfolia.

The country’s history had led to a tendency for conflicts to arise between the descendants of the old Kingdom of Far and those of Folia, both in daily life and in politics. This, in turn, had resulted in a rather unstable domestic administration.

Of the eight envoys present, it seemed the two foremost diplomats—the Count of Barrow and the Count of Malé—plus their subordinates were at odds, four against four.

The Count of Barrow was a descendant of the old Kingdom of Far, and he was friendly toward Ridill—or perhaps humble was a better word. The Count of Malé, on the other hand, was descended from the old Kingdom of Folia, and he disapproved of expanding trade with Ridill.

Count Malé is probably more interested in improving relations with the Empire, thought Felix. The old Kingdom of Folia and the Empire were neighbors and had traditionally cooperated with each other.

…And that means he’s the one I need to convince.

Felix casually observed the Farfolian delegation as he read over the diplomatic materials provided. The plump Count Barrow probably wanted to strengthen his country’s alliance with Ridill. He kept showering Felix with flattery—very easy to understand. The skinnier Count Malé, however, wore a difficult expression; he’d barely looked at the prince’s face since arriving.

Felix purposely turned toward the latter and smiled at him. “Farfolia’s wine is truly extraordinary. I came into possession of this year’s Perle Dande the other day, and I must say, this new batch is particularly incredible.”

He’d purposely brought up wine rather than wheat, which was to be the main focus of their talks; Count Malé narrowed his eyes even further and looked at Felix carefully.

“…Yes, we are particularly proud of our high-quality wines. But I’m sure you’re not here to talk about wine, Your Royal Highness. Rather, your interest lies in the bread served with it.”

The count was right. The main topic of today’s discussion was securing a greater quantity of imported wheat from Farfolia. Count Barrow was all for it, but Count Malé was blatantly opposed.

“After all,” he continued, “we’ve heard Ridill plans to add a Dragon Knight outpost here in the Rehnberg Duchy.”

I knew he’d point that out, thought Felix behind his smile.

The eastern part of Ridill was particularly prone to dragonraids, and one of the area’s biggest concerns was the time it took to dispatch the Dragon Knights from the royal capital. In the interest of alleviating this issue, the government was constructing a fortress in the southeast of the kingdom as a permanent Dragon Knight outpost.

But other nations were sure to view this development in a different light.

The Dragon Knights were, as their name implied, a group of knights with the skill needed to slay dragons. But they didn’t spend all their time fighting such beasts. During wartime, they would, of course, be used against the kingdom’s enemies.

This new facility for housing Dragon Knights was to be built in the Duchy of Rehnberg, near the kingdom’s borders with both Farfolia and the Empire. From their perspectives, it must look like an act of aggression. And since Count Malé was sympathetic to the Empire, too, he couldn’t overlook such a development.

…He’s right to be concerned, of course.

The central figure in the new outpost project was Felix’s grandfather, Duke Clockford. And he was more than ready to wage war on the Empire.

If we go to war, he probably intends to make the outpost into a resupply base.

The duke was hoping to strengthen his military forces, using the dragonraids as a pretext—an ulterior motive evidently not lost on Count Malé.

The skinny man fiddled with his mustache and fixed a searching gaze on Felix. “I’m sure you’ll need major stockpiles if you want to build a new outpost here. Better to have more wheat and wine than less.”

Yes, that was exactly why Ridill wanted to secure additional imports from Farfolia. Duke Rehnberg’s territory was especially close to the other country, meaning it would be easy to transport the imported foodstuffs to the newly built base—which in turn meant they could save a fortune on shipping costs.

“But is this outpost of yours really necessary?” the count asked. “Forgive my rudeness, but doesn’t Ridill have its dragonraids under control?”

“Only through the efforts of local nobility, some of whom are suffering under the burden… So, yes, the base is necessary.”

Despite Felix’s fluid answer, Count Malé still seemed unconvinced.

Then the other count, Barrow, leaned in and spoke as if to excuse his colleague. “We’re terribly sorry for butting into another nation’s matters, Your Royal Highness. Count Malé’s territory is situated in the old Kingdom of Folia—a place with relatively few dragonraids. He doesn’t fully understand the terror they can bring.”

“Hmph. Are expendable mercenaries not enough?”

Felix suppressed a wry grin as he listened to the two counts bicker. This was supposed to be about wheat imports, but now the conversation had turned to the new outpost and dragonraids.

I’ll need to regroup and think of a way to persuade Count Malé…

With the royal succession so close at hand, he couldn’t afford to screw up these talks.

And most importantly, he thought, glancing at the Silent Witch standing by the wall, I can’t help but want to look my best in front of the one I so admire.

It surprised him somewhat to learn he still had such feelings.

As she stood near the wall watching the proceedings, Monica found herself quietly impressed by how boldly Felix dealt with the foreign delegation.

He’s really amazing…

Once, in the student council room, Cyril had ardently described Felix’s incredible diplomatic skills. At the time, Monica had wondered if Cyril’s ability to remember the entirety of the prince’s record was not even more impressive. But now that she saw the prince at work, it was easy to see how amazing he really was.

Of course, he was quite bold as Serendia’s student council president as well. But here, everyone else was a veteran at least twice his age. Ridill’s nobility had trusted Felix to handle these talks, and the Farfolian delegation knew he was no pushover. No one was underestimating him because of his youth.

All this was a result of Felix’s outstanding past achievements.

It set Monica on edge to have someone so amazing tripping over himself to demonstrate how much he respected her.

It seems the prince saw me using unchanted magecraft once before… He also knew I was the one who stopped Cyril when he lost control of his mana. But how much else does he know…?

He didn’t seem to have realized that Monica Norton was the Silent Witch, but she was sure he wanted to get a look at her face. She needed to come up with a plan to make sure that didn’t happen.

Mister Bartholomeus said he’d help me with my mission… Maybe I should ask him.

On that night in Corlapton, Felix had seen Bartholomeus’s face when he brought Monica, who had gotten lost, to the prince. But Felix didn’t seem to remember him. It had been nighttime, and they’d only been together for a minute or two, so she couldn’t blame him.

Ever since offering to help her, Bartholomeus had kept his distance. But whenever she saw him in the hallway, he’d give her an enthusiastic wink, as if to say, “I’m on your side!” Every time that happened, however, the air around Felix would take on a palpable chill. Personally, the whole thing was giving Monica chronic stomach pain.

Ugh… What should I do…?

There were too many things to consider, and her mind was starting to spin. So she started thinking about “Old Man Sam’s Pigs” instead.

In her head, the pigs multiplied. First one, then one again, then two, then three, then five…

By the time the talks reached a stopping point, she’d counted up to 10,610,209,857,723 pigs and had calmed down a fair bit.

As she left the world of pigs and returned to reality, she heard Felix call out to her gently, “I’m sorry for the long wait, my lady.”

Monica shook her head a little, trying to convey that she didn’t mind. To avoid leaking state secrets, Nero and Glenn had been asked to wait in the adjacent room—which meant that nobody was here to speak for her.

Ummm, right, so the plan after this is… She watched as the Farfolian delegation filed out of the room.

Felix followed her gaze. “We’re all going hunting after lunch,” he said. “Do you have any horseback riding experience?”

Next door, Glenn and the Silent Witch’s attendant Bartholomew Alexander sat around a table, playing cards. They had nothing else to do.

Earlier in their visit, Glenn had been avoiding Bartholomew. Not only had the young man seemed extremely arrogant, but he’d also given everyone the name of a famous adventure novel protagonist, claiming it was his own. All this, combined with his noticeably old-fashioned robe, made him seem incredibly suspicious.

But after talking to him, Glenn found him surprisingly friendly and easy to get along with. Plus, he was brimming with curiosity despite being an adult and seemed very interested in the card games Glenn had brought.

Right now, they were playing a game that involved collecting claws and fangs to complete dragons.

“And there’s a finished water dragon,” said Glenn. “Looks like I win.”

“Nooooo! I lost again?!” Bartholomew said, groaning in frustration, setting his hand face up on the table.

Glenn’s eyes went wide when he saw the man’s cards. “Were you going for a black dragon again?”

The two highest-scoring—and most difficult—winning hands in the game were the black dragon and the white dragon. Glenn had been around the block when it came to this game, and he’d never seen anyone successfully complete either of them.

“If you’re gonna play, you might as well aim for the big points, right? Who cares about some weaselly little dragons? I ain’t makin’ one of those losers.”

“But you’ve lost every round so far. And water dragons are hardly ‘weaselly.’”

“Actually, they are. They can’t even communicate properly. That makes them lesser dragons.”

Dragons came in many varieties, but you could generally categorize them into greater dragons and lesser dragons. The most common lesser dragons were pterodragons and herbivorous dragons. After that came fire dragons, water dragons, and earth dragons. Some academic circles put those three in an intermediate class of their own, but in general, people treated them the same as lesser dragons.

The greater dragons were all those with colors for names: red dragons, blue dragons, yellow dragons, green dragons, white dragons, and black dragons. They said red dragons were a higher form of fire dragons. The same was said of blue dragons and water dragons, and of green dragons and pterodragons. But while their scale coloring and body structures were indeed similar, the greater versions were incomparably larger and had far higher mana capacity.

Most importantly, though, greater dragons could understand the languages of humans. Glenn had heard that some could even use advanced magic.

White and black dragons, however, were unique varieties without any lesser form. They were sometimes considered to be more legendary than real. That was why they were the highest-scoring hands in the game.

“You know,” said Glenn, “you almost never see greater dragons. Can they all talk like people do?”

It was said that greater dragons were of equal intelligence to or greater intelligence than humans. That was why they almost never showed themselves to people and why they so rarely attacked them.

Bartholomew looked at the patterns on the cards as he answered. “Greater dragons can understand human language, sure. But their bodies aren’t made to talk like humans do. They speak the same language as spirits, which most people are clueless about.”

“Really?”

“Well, if a greater dragon transforms and creates human vocal cords, they can speak with a human voice.”

Glenn had taken this attendant for an arrogant, discourteous buffoon. But he seemed surprisingly erudite. Glenn was honestly impressed.

Bartholomew started toying with the case containing the extra cards. “Hey, loud guy?”

“Could you just call me Glenn?”

“What are these cards for?” he asked, pulling out one with the word curse written on it.

“Oh, those? There’s a special rule that deals with cursed dragons. I left them out. Want to play with them next?”

“What’s the rule?”

“You can make whatever kind of dragon you want, as long as you have a curse card in your hand, too. That makes a new kind of winning hand called a curse dragon.”

Glenn gathered up the scattered cards and put together a complete fire dragon, then added the curse card to it.

Bartholomew folded his arms and cocked his head. “Are they worth a lot?”

“If you have one in your hand, then if someone else wins, you can make them lose the amount of points they would have won.”

Any dragon that bore a curse, lesser or greater, was called a cursed dragon. They were like natural disasters—creatures that spread their curse wherever they went. This was the worst kind of dragonraid you could face. Of course, they were just as rare as black dragons and white dragons; you could count the number of eyewitnesses in recorded history on one hand.

“Oh, cool. Whoever made this game did a good job. Let’s go another round,” said Bartholomew.

As he was picking up his cards, there was a knock at the door, and a servant entered. It was an elderly man with combed-back gray hair named Peter.

“Please excuse the interruption,” he said. “Ahem… The duke and his guests will be going on a hunt after their lunch, and he’d like all the escorts to accompany them.”

“Hunting?” repeated Glenn. “You do that around here?”

“Yes, in the forest a short ride away. We have horses ready for you as well.”

Bartholomew rolled his golden eyes and looked at Glenn. “Hey, loud guy, can you ride a horse?”

“I’ve never tried. I’ve prepared their meat, though,” added the butcher’s son.

The others looked at him in shock.

Eliane burned with quiet irritation. She had intended to use this visit to get closer to Felix, and yet she’d hardly had a chance. The prince had consulted with the duke the day before the Farfolian delegation arrived, and now that they were here, he was even busier. So when she heard they’d be going hunting, delegation and all, she knew it was her chance.

Hunting was something only men did, but Eliane and her mother could ride in a carriage alongside them, then cheer them on when they broke to have a picnic. Her idea was to show how thoughtful and considerate she could be, thus drawing Felix’s attention. Unfortunately, the prince had gone straight to the hunting grounds without so much as a glance in her direction.

“I heard they’re hunting pheasant today,” said Glenn. “Pheasants are really good. They don’t have much fat, so you gotta stuff them, then roast them in the oven. Best bird you’ve ever had!”

“Heh. I can’t get enough of birds myself,” replied Bartholomew. “Their bones are so tiny, though. It’s such a pain to pick ’em all out.”

“Oh, yeah. Pheasants have a lot of small bones in the legs.”

“I know! Learned that lesson once the hard way.”

Sitting with Eliane on the picnic mat were Glenn and the Silent Witch’s attendant, Bartholomew. Neither of them had any riding experience, so they were acting as escorts for the picnickers. The only ones mounted up with Felix and the delegation were the Silent Witch and a few of Duke Rehnberg’s subordinates.

Glenn could use flight magecraft, but it consumed a lot of mana, and he couldn’t stay in the sky for the whole hunt. So here he was, waiting with the others in the picnic group.

As Eliane listened to him go on and on about what to do with this or that meat, or how delicious it was, she maintained a perfect smile. But inside, she was seething.

Why isn’t Prince Felix at my side? Why are these lowly peasants sitting here instead? And how I wish they were only sitting. Why must I endure this talk of meat? It’s simply barbaric. Can’t they talk about something a little more civilized? Shouldn’t they be more considerate of the duchess? …Ahhh, I wonder if Mother will say something to them for me.

Eliane glanced at her mother. But the Duchess of Rehnberg simply held a folding fan in front of her face, behind which she maintained a refined smile.

“My, my, young Dudley,” she said. “You know quite a bit about meat.”

“Yes, ma’am! My father’s a butcher!”

“Oh! Is that right? In that case, if you’ll allow me to ask a question… What is your recommended way of preparing rabbit? Eliane can be a picky eater, and she doesn’t tend to like it.”

Eliane kept her ladylike smile intact—but mentally, she was screaming. Mother! What are you doing joining in on this barbaric conversation?!

The duchess went on, listing the methods they’d tried. Glenn listened with a serious face and nodded along.

“When it comes to rabbit meat,” he said, “you’ve got to go with the females. They taste better because they’re juicier. Rabbit stew is always a good choice, but you can also boil it with pork and make it into a paste, or…”

As Glenn explained the ins and outs of rabbit preparation, his face took on an uncharacteristically sharp, intelligent expression. Eliane supposed it was rather nice to look at, if she didn’t have any other options. But they were still talking about meat.

“Rabbit soup is also very good,” he went on. “The trick for that is to hit the bones with a hammer to get a better-tasting stock, and…”

As it happened, Eliane only shied away from rabbit meat because she’d once seen a cook skinning a rabbit when she was little. How was she supposed to enjoy a conversation involving hammering bones to get the juices out?

Quietly, she stood up and mounted her horse, which was equipped for sidesaddle riding. She was by no means a master rider, but she could get on and off herself and bring a horse around at a slow pace.

She was about to call for a servant when Glenn piped up.

“Need to use the bathroom?” he asked.

Wouldn’t someone hit this insensitive man upside the head for her? Annoyed, but never dropping her prim smile, she answered, “I’d like to take a short stroll around the area.”

“Oh, then you should take either me or Bartholomew with you.”

“No, I’ll be fine. This forest is like my backyard. I’d never get lost.”

In such situations, Leston would be the first to offer to accompany her. Today, though, he wasn’t here. He was busy overseeing dinner preparations back at the estate.

There were two servants who weren’t currently engaged. One had black hair—he was a new hire—and the other was Peter, a gray-haired old man who had a few more years under his belt.

She didn’t know the new one’s name, so she addressed Peter instead. “Come along, Peter.”

“Ah, um. Yes, ma’am.”

Peter seemed briefly confused by Eliane’s whimsical request but did as she asked and started the horse walking.

The animal snorted as Eliane took up the reins, sounding a little unhappy but obediently beginning to walk. Animals didn’t seem to like Peter very much. Still, this was better than leaving it up to the new hire.

As she rode sidesaddle and gripped the reins, she sighed. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a chance run-in with Felix in the forest?

“I wonder if Elly’s gonna be all right,” said Glenn, glancing after her. The duchess first offered him a drink, then a refined smile.

“Please don’t be too offended,” she said. “My daughter can be a little self-centered at times.”

“Huh? She didn’t do anything to offend me,” he answered as he gulped down some hot tea.

“Oh, well!” replied the duchess, laughing.

The way she smiles reminds me of Elly, thought Glenn as he sipped more of his tea.

Then the Silent Witch’s attendant raised his voice. “Forget the tea—I want some alcohol! And something to eat! Like meat!”

“I gotcha covered, Boss.” The younger, black-haired servant hustled over and placed booze and dried meat on the mat in front of Bartholomew.

The young man grinned like a happy cat and made a guttural sound in his throat. “Excellent work, henchman!”

Glenn was baffled. Had this man seriously made another family’s servant his henchman?

The duchess, however, smiled warmly. “You two certainly get along well. Is it because your names are the same?”

“…Their names?” Glenn cocked his head.

The black-haired servant gave a formal bow. “My name’s Bartholomeus, you see. In the language of Ridill, that would be Bartholomew.”

“That’s kinda confusing,” replied Glenn. “Bartholomew and Bartholomeus…”

“Then please just call me Baal instead.”

I see, thought Glenn. Bartholomew and Baal. That should be a little easier to remember.

Just then, as Bartholomew was chewing on a piece of dried meat, his head suddenly popped up and he started looking around.

“What is it?” asked Glenn.

“Something’s heading toward us. Like, really fast… What is this weird mana?” Even as he answered, his golden eyes busily searched their surroundings.

Then he stopped dead. His sharp gaze was pointed straight at where Eliane had gone.

“Hey. Henchman. And you, loud guy. Bring that fluffy-haired girl back here. Something bad is on its way.”

“Something bad?” asked Bartholomeus. “What do you mean, Boss?”

“I can’t quite tell. But it’s really bad. The shape, and the size…” Alexander fumbled for the right words, making it hard to feel a sense of urgency. The other servants were all looking at him, confused.

Then he inhaled sharply, and his eyebrows shot up. “Dragon!” he shouted. “…Or, uh, something really, really close to a dragon! It’s headed right for us!”