Sugar Apple Fairytale - Volume 3 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A POOR HARVEST OF SUGAR APPLES

“Hey, hey, listen, Challe Fenn Challe. Do you like it best when a girl has her hair done up neatly? Or do you prefer it when she lets it down?”

Mithril Lid Pod, a fairy born from a drop of lake water, looked up intently with his blue eyes and asked the question with a serious expression.

Challe Fenn Challe looked annoyed. He cast a sidelong glance at Mithril, but then he immediately averted his gaze.

They rode on an old boxy wagon, its paint peeling. Anne sat in the driver’s seat, handling the horse. She was growing anxious. She wondered when Challe would lose his temper at the barrage of questions from Mithril, who was seated between her and Challe on the narrow driver’s bench.

In his hand, the water sprite was holding a quill pen that Anne had given him. The pen, made for human use, was much too large for Mithril. He supported it on one shoulder and was the epitome of seriousness.

At his feet was a piece of paper that he had also gotten from Anne. On it, she could see many itemized entries written in squiggly letters, as if earthworms had crawled across the page. It looked like Mithril intended to record Challe’s answers in the blank spaces under those entries.

In the approximate hour since the questioning had begun, Challe had not spoken a single word in reply.

“Hey, Challe Fenn Challe!” Mithril raised his voice, losing patience. “How many questions do you think I’ve asked you so far? At least answer one!”

Challe kept his eyes averted. He rested his chin in his hand atop his propped-up knee and gazed at the cityscape of the royal capital, Lewiston, which he was visiting for the first time in three months.

Mithril stood indignantly. He planted the tip of the quill pen that he had been holding over his shoulder into the driver’s seat with a thunk.

“Challe Fenn Challe! I’ll take anything, so just say something!”

When Mithril said that, Challe finally answered him with a single word.

“Shush.”

“Whaaat?! Listen you, I said anything was fine as long as you said something, but that’s obviously not what I meant!! Give me a real answer!”

“I have no obligation to give serious answers to such ridiculous questions.”

“What’s ridiculous about them?!”

“If you have any that aren’t, let me know.”

“They’re all extremely important questions! Answer everything!”

Challe’s gaze grew even colder.

“I’ll throw you into a barrel.”

“H-hey! Isn’t this the first time the two of you have been to Lewiston in three months?! That’s exciting! Should we drop in at the Weather Vane?” Anne asked with forced cheer in her voice, smiling at the two of them. “It’s gotten cold recently, so some mulled wine would really hit the spot! Right, Mithril Lid Pod? That was your favorite, huh?!”

Mithril looked up at her and burst into an enthusiastic smile. The one small wing on his back stretched out tautly.

“Mulled wine! That’s a great idea!”

“Isn’t it? Let’s go drink some!”

“Yay!”

Mithril seemed completely enthralled by the promise of mulled wine. He shoved the quill pen and paper behind him, then looked at the broad road stretching out ahead of them with a grin on his face.

With the royal castle in the center, Lewiston was a city brimming with energy as people came and went.

“We should be at the West Marketplace before long. Once we get on that road, the Weather Vane isn’t far. I can still remember the smell of that wine. It has a wonderful aroma, doesn’t it?”

Mithril was in a good mood now as he pointed to the road that had a miller’s shop on the corner.

In wintertime, a staple drink is mulled wine with plenty of spices in it. People add sugar and lemon juice to taste just before drinking it so they can enjoy the combination of sweet and tart.

Fairies can’t taste anything but silver sugar. Mithril, therefore, had no way of actually appreciating the flavor, but he seemed to like the aroma of the spices.

Moreover, mulled wine is alcoholic. Even fairies can get drunk, and the noisy Mithril got even more boisterous when tipsy.

A chilly breeze brushed Anne’s cheek. She looked up at the autumn sky.

This year for sure. I want to make a sugar candy sculpture fit for a festival and enter the Royal Candy Fair again.

When Anne inhaled the autumn air of Lewiston, vivid memories of the year before came rushing back to her.

Anne had been able to spend the end of last year in Lewiston at an inn called the Weather Vane, carefully crafting a piece of candy for Pure Soul Day. On Pure Soul Day, she sent her mother Emma’s soul off to heaven with peaceful wishes.

Anne had stayed at the inn through the new year and spent the rest of the winter there.

Once the weather had warmed, she traveled to the southeastern part of the kingdom to sell her sugar candies.

There had been a respectable demand for her work. Rumors of Anne Halford, the young candy crafter who had satisfied the eccentric former Duke of Philax with her candy sculpture, had spread throughout the kingdom’s southeastern region.

Anne had a perfectly pleasant spring and summer.

And then autumn came again.

It was the season when she had first met Challe and Mithril a year earlier.

As the wind blew down the avenue, dry leaves skipped across the paving stones. They formed small drifts in the doorways of the shops along the road.

I want to become a Silver Sugar Master.

It was the next step in her life’s journey.

Anne needed to focus on the Royal Candy Fair, which was only a month away.

She had yet to decide what kind of sculpture she would create; she had been vaguely thinking that she could make something using Challe as a model.

But she wasn’t stressed about it. There was still a month to go. She could harvest her sugar apples and work on perfecting her design as she refined the fruit into silver sugar. Luckily, she had the money she’d received from the former Duke of Philax, so she could forget about selling candy for the month and devote herself fully to making her candy sculpture.

“Oh right, Anne, if we’re going to the Weather Vane, I’ll go get your wallet from the cargo hold.”

Mithril cheerfully climbed up onto the roof of the cargo hold and slipped in through one of the small windows on the side.

After watching him go, Challe asked, sounding deeply annoyed, “What is Mithril Lid Pod trying to get at with those questions?”

“Wh-who knows? I wonder what he’s up to…,” Anne replied without looking at Challe.

He turned his sharp gaze toward her.

“Do you know why he is doing that?” he demanded.

“Umm. I might know…or I might not…”

“If you know why he’s doing it, then shut him up. Nothing could possibly be more annoying.”

“I’ll try…”

Ever since the end of the previous year, Mithril had taken every opportunity to repeatedly ask Challe strings of odd questions.

Mithril was persistent.

For nine months, he had been sporadically bombarding Challe with questions, though he never answered him.

In truth, Mithril’s actions were a part of his grand plan to repay his debt to Anne.

Nine months earlier, he had announced to her secretly, but with great pride, “I, the great Mithril Lid Pod, will bring your love to fruition, Anne! I’m not thrilled the object of your affection is Challe Fenn Challe, but…nevertheless! I consider it my obligation to make sure that you are happy, Anne!” He’d been very enthusiastic about setting her up.

The purpose of those questions was to discover Challe’s tastes. Mithril was apparently conducting research so that he could help Anne get closer to being the kind of girl Challe liked.

Anne was happy that Mithril wanted to help. But he was being unbelievably bothersome.

If Challe realized the reason behind Mithril’s interrogations, he would discover her feelings for him. If that happened, she would be so embarrassed, she could die.

In the coming days, Anne needed to harvest sugar apples and refine them into silver sugar for the candy fair. Then she had to create her entry for the contest.

Since it was such an important time, she was irked by Mithril’s scheme for some grand repayment that she didn’t even need.

Certainly, there were tons of things she wanted to ask Challe, including what color of dresses he liked and whether he preferred girls to wear their hair up or down.

But that didn’t come from some wild desire to attract his attention.

For the moment, Anne was content just to have him sitting by her side.

However, she did want to make a favorable impression on the person she liked. She couldn’t help feeling that way, as any young girl would.

I don’t care if he likes me back, or if I can be his lover, or anything. But if Challe says he likes girls better with their hair down, then I’m definitely going to want to try doing that. I’m sure of it.

Anne was entertaining such thoughts against her better judgment.

With a weary gesture, Challe softly pushed his bangs back. The hair fell back down again and brushed against his eyelashes.

Born from a piece of obsidian, the fairy had a bewitching allure to him, just like the rock from which he had sprung.

His one wing, cascading smoothly over the driver’s bench, was glossy as silk. Anne wanted very much to touch it.

Gazing absentmindedly at Challe’s beautiful profile, Anne turned the corner at the flour shop.

That’s when it happened.

She bumped into another wagon coming out of an alleyway.

“Ah!”

Anne pulled on the reins in a panic and brought her horse to a halt. The wagon coming toward her also made a sudden, surprised stop. Anne breathed a sigh of relief that they had narrowly avoided a full-on crash.

“Keep yer eyes on the road while yer drivin’, ya idiot!!” the driver of the carriage in front of her yelled.

“I’m so sorry! I was spacing out!”

Anne immediately apologized, because she knew she was completely in the wrong for letting her mind wander.

But there were no further shouts of abuse. Far from it.

“You all… Could it be…?” the driver who had shouted at Anne mumbled in surprise.

She recognized the voice and lifted her head. And then—

“Ah!”

Without really meaning to, she pointed at the man.

“What’s the matter, Anne?!” Mithril asked, poking his face out of the window of the cargo hold. He must have been startled by the sudden stop. But once he recognized the wagon in front of them and the person driving it, he shouted, “Ah, ahhh—?!”

In their shock, Anne and Mithril were at a loss for words.

Challe spoke for them.

“Why is a cat that can’t stand the cold prowling around Lewiston in the autumn? Are you preparing for hibernation?”

Sitting on the driver’s seat of the carriage they had bumped into was a young man with a bewildered expression.

The young man had a slender build and grayish hair. His deep-blue eyes turned up at the corners. He was looking at Challe. His face, which gave a cold expression, had a sort of aristocratic elegance to it. He invoked an image of a cat with glossy, silver-gray fur and a graceful, long tail.

Atop the young man’s shoulder sat a fairy who was about the same size as Mithril and looked like a little boy. He had fluffy, light-green ringlets and slightly flushed cheeks. He wore a sweet, effeminate smile.

Both of their faces were familiar.

“Mr. Kat?! And Benjamin, too?!”

Finally, Anne shouted the names of the two in front of her.

When she did, the young man—Kat—also seemed to snap out of his thoughts and raised his thin eyebrows.

“Did you forget that I told ya not to put mister in front of my name?! You scatterbrain!!”

The lowbrow insult seemed at odds with his noble appearance.

“Ah, s-sorry!”

“And, Challe, ya jerk—how dare you call me a cat! Cats don’t even hibernate!”

The young man before them was Alph Hingley.

Kat was his nickname.

He was a Silver Sugar Master. He did his work without being a part of any faction, but his skills were said to rival those of Hugh Mercury, the Silver Sugar Viscount.

The one sitting on his shoulder was Benjamin, the worker fairy whom Kat owned.

Anne had happened to make Kat’s acquaintance following the previous year’s Royal Candy Fair, after he set up shop in Lewiston. She spent four days helping him with his work.

He had shown her how to work so that she could garner respect as a candy crafter. On top of that, he also gave her a cape that was quite good at keeping out the cold, as compensation for her assistance. It helped her make it through the winter.

She had been very grateful to him and hoped they would meet again. But they’d never gotten the chance, because Kat had supposedly moved to a town in the south the previous winter.

“I see you again after a whole year, and this is how you people greet me?!”

On top of Kat’s shoulder, Benjamin laughed buoyantly. “Nice to see youuu, Anne and Challe. And you seem well, Surusuru!”

Mithril raised his fist overhead.

“My. Name. Is. Mith. Ril! Mithril Lid Pod!”

Challe ignored Kat’s shouting. “Why don’t you go curl up in a warm spot somewhere, like a good kitty?” he said calmly.

“I see you’ve still got a foul mouth… Anne, can’t ya do something about him?”

Under Kat’s reproachful glare, Anne tugged at Challe’s sleeve.

“Challe. I know you find it amusing to make Kat angry, but—”

“You think this is funny, ya bastard?! Bring it on! Challe, get down from that wagon!”

“I’m sorry, Kat! Challe didn’t mean to offend…! …? Not really…I think…?”

“So he did mean it after all?!”

Anne got even more flustered as Kat grew more furious. He seemed ready to leap out of his carriage at any moment.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!! But, Kat! Really, why are you in Lewiston?! Are you here on some sort of business?!”

She frantically strung together some words to try changing the subject.

“There’s only one reason why I’d come to Lewiston at this time of year!” Kat snapped. “What’re you playin’ at?! If I didn’t come now, I wouldn’t be able to do business next year.”

“Huh? Why is that?”

Kat frowned at Anne, who blinked back at him uncomprehendingly.

“Don’t tell me, you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

She had absolutely no idea what he was getting at.

Benjamin looked up at Kat anxiously when he saw her looking puzzled.

With a sigh, Kat grumbled, “Unbelievable. Every last one of ’em. Petty and cowardly.”

From the way he was talking, Anne could tell it was nothing good.

“What’s going on, Kat? Did something happen?”

“Here’s no good. There’s a nice bar called the Weather Vane farther down this alley. Come with me.”

Kat adjusted his grip on his horse’s reins.

The Weather Vane was a familiar spot to the people who lived on the western edge of Lewiston.

Anne was a regular at this tavern known for its cheap prices, cleanliness, and tasty fare.

Kat also apparently stopped there often to drink when he was in the capital.

When the proprietress saw Anne, appearing after a long absence, and Kat, an old regular, she welcomed them warmly.

Once they took their seats, Anne ordered three cups of the mulled wine that Mithril liked so much.

Kat ordered some strong liquor.

When the wine was brought over, Mithril embraced his cup lovingly.

“It smells so good! Hey, hey, Anne? Once I drink this one, can I get a refill?”

Mithril seemed overjoyed, so Anne chuckled and said, “Sure. You can have seconds.”

Challe, who had been stroking the rim of his cup with his finger, snapped, “You don’t have to let him drink. If you give him wine, he’ll get drunk and fall off the table again.”

Mithril glared sternly at him.

“Don’t remind me of such unpleasant things!”

“Had you forgotten? Well, it’s a good thing I reminded you, then. Remember it well.”

“Anne, don’t listen to a single word this guy says! And don’t remember anything you don’t have to!”

“No matter how empty her scarecrow head may be, I doubt she has forgotten.”

“No, I’m sure she had until you just said it! Don’t underestimate Anne’s scarecrow head!”

Anne slumped her shoulders as she listened to the fairies’ conversation.

“Everyone calls me a scatterbrain or a scarecrow head… I mean, I’m used to it, but…”

Kat’s spirits were the last to be brought over. He drained the glass of fragrant, amber liquor in one swift gulp. Then he pushed it over to Benjamin, who was sitting on top of the table. Smiling happily, Benjamin held both hands out over the glass. Apparently, he was also drinking the same thing.

“Um, Kat? Did something happen?” Anne finally asked. “Something that I don’t know about?”

“What’ve you been doing since last winter?”

Kat answered her with another inquiry.

Unable to deduce the real meaning behind his question, Anne replied, “I traveled all over selling sugar candies. After I split up with you, I went to Westol, then Philax, and then returned to the capital. From there, I went east to the small towns and villages in the Strand region, then traveled back and forth between there and Lewiston again.”

“Did you look at the sugar apple trees on your way? Didn’t you notice anything?”

Anne nodded right away. “The trees weren’t blooming much no matter where I went. I think this year’s crop is going to be a lot smaller than usual. That’s why I want to secure my sugar apples early. I intend to go to a particular grove that I’ve had my eye on, so I came to Lewiston earlier than planned.”

As he took the glass back from Benjamin, Kat said, “That’s exactly right. Across the whole Kingdom of Highland, the crop of sugar apples this year is unbelievably bad. To the point that disputes will break out among the factions if they all try to harvest as they please like it’s a normal year. And it wouldn’t surprise me if crafters who don’t belong to any of the three end up getting trampled by frantic mobs coming from those factions. Actually, I heard there were some incidents like that twenty years ago when there was a year with a bad sugar apple harvest.”

“Is it going to be that awful this year? Throughout the kingdom?”

“Sure is. And that dim-witted bastard made arrangements to try to prevent chaos.”

“Dim-witted…?”

“Hugh Mercury! Our dim-witted bastard of a Silver Sugar Viscount!”

Kat glared sternly at Anne with his sharp, feline eyes.

“Oh, I see. So that’s what happened.”

Anne nodded, her cheek twitching.

Long ago, Kat had apparently been a fellow trainee at the Mercury Workshop along with Hugh. It was Hugh who had given him the nickname Kat. And Kat seemed to resent him for that, considering how he kept calling the current Silver Sugar Viscount a “dim-witted bastard.”

“So then what kind of arrangements did he make?”

“He’s prohibited individuals from harvesting and refining sugar apples by themselves this year.”

At Kat’s response, Challe’s fingers, which had been stroking the rim of his cup, stopped.

Anne hadn’t yet grasped what Kat was talking about.

“Prohibited…? So how are candy crafters supposed to obtain silver sugar?”

“This year, all the sugar apples in the entire kingdom will be harvested and refined under the authority of the Silver Sugar Viscount. He will distribute the silver sugar to candy crafters in accordance with the amount of labor each crafter contributed to the process. These orders just went out to every candy crafter in the Kingdom of Highland, in the name of the Silver Sugar Viscount.”

“So that means we have to go to the Silver Sugar Viscount in order to get silver sugar?”

“It’s not that simple. The Viscount’s the one who made the decision, but it’s not like he’s running everything himself. The actual responsibility has been assigned to the Radcliffe Workshop.”

Challe frowned slightly when he heard the name of the Radcliffe Workshop.

Kat continued:

“Every studio in the kingdom belonging to that faction will harvest and collect the sugar apples in its vicinity, then refine them into silver sugar. Crafters from other factions, and those who don’t belong to one, are to assemble at those studios and assist with the refining work. We’ll be allotted silver sugar based on our contribution. The main studio in Lewiston is the largest and has lots of sugar apple groves around it. I bet an awful lot of crafters are on their way there. I mean, I’m also heading there so I can get my silver sugar.”

Anne was hearing everything for the first time. She was just beginning to comprehend the importance of what he was saying.

“So to put it simply, if we don’t participate in helping refine silver sugar at one of the Radcliffe Workshop’s studios, we won’t be able to get any silver sugar this year… Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s right.”

“But I never heard anything about this.”

“On instructions from that dim-witted bastard, those from the Radcliffe Workshop were supposed to go inform any unaffiliated candy crafters who lived nearby. Word came to my place, too. And because there are folk out there traveling like you, crafters should have searched and notified such people whenever they stopped by a town.”

“But…”

Anne was baffled, but she heard Challe, who was sitting beside her, grumbling.

“We were deliberately not informed?” he asked.

When Anne turned to look at Challe, she saw that he was staring fixedly at Kat.

“Anne’s been moving from town to town. And during that time, she’s been told more than once to get out by candy crafters affiliated with the Radcliffe Workshop. And yet no one told her such important news. They never intended to tell her, right? That’s the only conceivable explanation, isn’t it?”

Kat scowled. “I mean, rumors of Anne Halford, who made the candy for the former Duke of Philax, even reached my ears. I wouldn’t be surprised if certain people resented her for her fortune.”

Anne had always known she wouldn’t be welcomed by the local candy crafters in the towns and villages she visited.

But she’d thought it was simply a matter of territory, that they were irritated someone else was setting up shop on their turf. Apparently, their enmity ran deeper than that.

She could feel the weight of their hatred.

Mithril tried to soothe Anne. “They were all being selfish!”

“That was so meeean of them,” Benjamin chimed in. “I can’t believe it.”

He sounded like he agreed with Mithril’s indignation, but there wasn’t a hint of agitation in his voice. Then Benjamin smiled pleasantly at Anne. “But you know, Anne, if you start now, surely, you’ll have plenty of time? After all, Kat just arrived in Lewiston, and he plans to begin working today.”

“Mm… I guess you’re right,” Anne replied, head hung low. “Thank you very much, Kat. You saved me some trouble by telling me.”

“It’s not anything ya need to thank me for.”

“Oh, Kat? This means that the only silver sugar we can get this year comes from the communal reserves, right? So then what are the entrants in the Royal Candy Fair supposed to do?”

In order to enter the Royal Candy Fair, a crafter must bring one candy sculpture and three barrels of silver sugar that they themselves refined. Both their ability to make candy and high-quality silver sugar are tested.

This year, no crafter would be able to get their hands on any silver sugar besides the mass-produced type at the regional workshops. That meant the contestants would be unable to prepare their own silver sugar.

Anne wondered what she should do.

It was a serious issue for her, since she planned to participate in the Royal Candy Fair again that year.

“They never told you that, either, of course.” Kat ruffled his bangs in irritation. “The people who want to enter the candy fair are to temporarily take up lodging at the main studio of the Radcliffe Workshop. There, the hopefuls will be allotted only enough sugar apples to make four barrels’ worth of silver sugar. And they’ll refine that on their own. Then using the final product, they’ll make their sculptures. That’s the arrangement. But it comes with the condition that they do their work while also helping with refining the communal silver sugar. The only time they can make their candy piece is in the middle of the night. Otherwise, they won’t have any other chance to do it. That’s why everybody who was planning to enter the Royal Candy Fair was supposed to have gone to the main studio over half a month ago.”

“The Radcliffe Workshop again, huh?”

Anne furrowed her brow.

To enter the Royal Candy Fair, Anne would have to stay there, where she would be allotted a very limited supply of sugar apples.

However, the Radcliffe Workshop was the faction to which Jonas belonged. What’s more, she had been harassed before by other young men affiliated with that faction.

It wasn’t a place she wanted to spend a lot of time at. Frankly, she didn’t want to go at all.

But I have to.

She couldn’t run away from an opportunity just because she hated the idea of going or thought it didn’t sound fun.

“I guess I can’t avoid this. How about it…? Could I get the two of you to come with me? Sounds like we might have a rough time, though.”

“Anne, if you’re going, I’m going with you, even to the depths of hell!” Mithril stood and answered immediately.

Challe did, too, with a more composed expression. “I’ll go with you. Nothing good can come of leaving idiots to their own devices,” he said rudely.

Relieved, Anne turned back to Kat.

“I’m going to the main studio of the Radcliffe Workshop.”

“You know where it is?”

“I only know that it’s in Lewiston. I’m sure I can find it quickly.”

Kat downed another glass of his strong liquor and rose to his feet. “No need for all that. I’m going there now, too. I’ll show ya the way. Come with me. But that’s all. Don’t expect too much. If yer a real crafter, and if something happens, you get through it yerself.”

“Okay.”

Anne nodded, ready for whatever came next.

Challe stood and jerked his chin in Kat’s direction. “Well then, I suppose we’ll have you show us the way, Mr. Kat.”

Kat narrowed his eyes and thrust his finger right in front of Challe’s nose. “Are you just as much of a scatterbrain as this little shrimp?! No, I bet you said it on purpose! Anyway, don’t add mister to someone’s nickname! ‘Mr. Kat’! I feel like yer makin’ fun of me—it makes me sick!”

“Is that so? My apologies.”

Even though his expression was blank, Challe apologized quickly.

Kat lowered the finger he’d thrust at the fairy.

“Oh…? …A-ah, well. Don’t worry about it.”

Challe looked at Kat’s dumbfounded face and flashed a grin.

“Let’s go. Mr. Kat.”

“Wh-why you—!! You really are making fun of me—!”