Sugar Apple Fairytale - Volume 5 - Chapter 3.1

Chapter 3

GHOSTS ARE NOTHING TO FEAR

Bridget’s arrival had taken up a little bit of time, but that afternoon, Anne and Elliott joined in the work of making sugar candy.

Their first task was to knead the silver sugar. The candy crafters did this together, producing the sugar dough. Once that was done, Elliott and Anne, as well as Valentine and Nadir, began forming the shapes of the snow crystals.

Elliott worked unbelievably quickly. The movement of his hands was smooth and capable as he reached with agility for portions of silver sugar and spread them out thinly. No sooner had he spread out a lump of dough than he took a cutting knife in hand and scored the shape of the snowflake into it. Then without hesitation, he cut the snowflake out.

At first, it took him the same amount of time as Anne to make a single crystal. But by that evening, he was making two in the time it took Anne to make one.

With Elliott’s help, their efficiency increased dramatically. Anne was frankly astonished.

So this is the true power of Elliott, the Silver Sugar Master.

However, Elliott was very talkative. It was great to have him happily working away, but he kept poking fun at Valentine and Nadir, as well as Anne. Finally, Nadir yelled at him to keep quiet.

Except for the time they spent eating lunch, their job continued without breaks. Even after dinner, Anne and the candy crafters returned to their workshop. In order to ensure they had enough time, they couldn’t rest, even at night.

Only Mithril did not return. Apparently, he was off on his mission to exterminate evil spirits.

As Anne followed the other candy crafters back to the workshop, she casually glanced outside through one of the windows in the corridor. A slender crescent moon shone forlornly in the sky. It looked like it was caught in the withered branches of a thicket of trees. The neglected courtyard was illuminated just enough by the moon’s meager light to be full of shadows.

Right in the center of that dark courtyard, Anne could see a faint, white, human figure. She gasped.

A ghost?!

She froze. The white figure was a blond woman. But she was much too clear to be a ghost, so Anne looked more carefully.

On closer inspection, she could tell that it was Bridget wearing a white nightgown. However, at that point, Anne began to worry again. It was nighttime in late autumn, and Bridget was out in the cold air with only a thin gown on. She didn’t even have a shawl. Anne shivered just looking at her.

Had no one stopped her and warned her that she would catch a cold, dressed like that?

We’re not paying any attention to her. No one is… No one is looking at Bridget.

Her bleak figure perfectly represented her position. If no one confronted Bridget, she was sure to keep her back turned to them forever. It would probably be best if Elliott or Orlando, or even Glen, was the one to do it. But with the First Holy Festival right around the corner, it was unlikely any of them would have the patience to deal with her.

Besides, it would be cowardly to saddle someone else with such a responsibility.

Anne was the one who had noticed, and so she was the one who should do what needed to be done. It might well be negligence to foist the task off onto someone else simply because she wasn’t sure what to do, or because she thought others were more suited to the task, or because Bridget might reject her.

“Sorry, everyone,” Anne said to the other candy crafters. “Get started without me. I’ll be there soon.” Then she turned on her heel and dashed off toward her own room.

She dug a shawl out of her clothing trunk and carried it out into the garden.

“Bridget?” Anne approached quickly, calling Bridget’s name.

Bridget turned around with a scowl on her face. She must have been cold, because she was rubbing her arms with her hands.

“What?” she said.

Anne was discouraged by the annoyance in Bridget’s voice, but nothing would change if she went back now.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

“Looking at the moon. Is that a problem? Did someone say that I’m not even allowed to look at the moon?”

“No one said that, and there’s no problem—none at all. But…where’s Gladys? He’s not with you?”

When Anne asked that, Bridget jerked her chin dismissively and looked back up at the moon.

“I’m letting him roam free so that my father doesn’t complain. He went off somewhere after dinner, but he promised to have tea with me before bed. Do you have some business with Gladys? If you need him for something, find him yourself.”

“I don’t need him for anything. I just realized that he wasn’t looking at the moon with you and asked about it, that’s all.”

“I never wanted him to look at the moon with me.”

Bridget answered immediately, and it didn’t sound like she was putting on a brave front.

“I wanted to look at the moon alone,” she said. “So would you mind getting out of here, too?”

“I’ll go soon. I just came to give you this.”

Anne held out the shawl that she had brought, and Bridget turned back toward her. She saw the shawl and frowned quizzically. “What’s this?”

“You’ll catch a cold dressed like that.”

“I don’t need it. I’m not cold.”

Bridget turned away. She was clearly lying—her exposed ankles looked incredibly chilled, and the lace at her hem was trembling with the quivering movement of her knees.

“But it’ll be a pain for me to take it all the way back to my room. So here!” Anne forced the shawl into Bridget’s hands.

“Wait!” Bridget called after her, but Anne ran away as quickly as she could. “I said I don’t need it! Didn’t you hear me?!”

Though she caught Bridget’s voice behind her, Anne rushed into the castle and headed for the east wing.

When she looked out from the corridor, she could see that Bridget was still standing in the middle of the courtyard. She was holding the shawl that Anne had pushed into her hands, but she didn’t show any sign of putting it around her shoulders. Even so, Anne was glad.

Anne had clearly been meddling. Bridget would have been within her rights to discard the shawl in the garden or even trample it underfoot.

While Anne was looking out the window, Orlando stepped out into the corridor from the workshop, holding a lump of kneaded silver sugar.

“Are you bugging Bridget again?”

He glanced between Bridget, who was outside the window, and Anne, who was in the corridor, and seemed to realize that Anne had been meddling. He sounded exasperated.

“Yeah, sort of,” she admitted.

“You’re an odd one. You don’t need to pay her any mind. If anyone ought to be concerning themselves with Bridget, it’s Elliott. He’s her fiancé, after all.”

“You’re not worried about her, Orlando?”

“I don’t need to be.”

“That’s not the point, and whether you need to has nothing to do with whether you are. Do you care that Bridget looks cold? Do you care that she bought a fairy and brought him here? Do you care about what drove her to do that?”

Orlando fell silent. It seemed he didn’t want to answer.

He does care a little bit. Probably.

She was sure that if Orlando didn’t, he would have simply said so. Even though Bridget wasn’t his fiancé and he wasn’t obligated to be worried about her, he probably still was.

Orlando cares about her. He still does.

That made Anne happy.

Slowly, Orlando shook his head. “Right now, the sculptures for the First Holy Festival are our top priority. I don’t want to think about anything else. You should also put unnecessary things out of your mind and get to work.”

That was all he said before returning to the workshop.

Anne let out a long sigh.

She felt like something would change if only people could just communicate what they were feeling—like I care or I’m lonely. And yet everyone was too worried about their own position, or putting on a brave front, and couldn’t say what they meant.

Mithril had told Challe to stay in the hall after dinner.

Challe knew that Mithril was up to something weird. But Mithril would get annoying if Challe refused him, so he went along with the other fairy’s request. Mithril had finished his meal quickly and then scurried off somewhere, leaving Challe alone in the lesser hall.

He sat at the dining table, resting his chin in his hands and staring at the fire in the hearth on the west wall. The flames danced energetically, and the shadows around them flickered and swayed.

He had been sitting there for a while, when Gladys came down the stairs and walked over to the dining table.

“Hey there, Challe.”

Challe couldn’t even be bothered to look in his direction. The other fairy sat next to him with a smirk.

“Do you need something?” Challe asked.

“I just saw you sitting here, so I thought we could have a chat. Am I not allowed to talk to you unless I need something? Even though we’re two of a kind?”

“Mithril Lid Pod, Danna, and Hal are also fairies. If you want idle chitchat, have at it with them.”

“They’re a little different. They’re not as similar as you and me.”

“I don’t think I’m similar to you at all.”

“You just don’t know it yet.”

Sensing something behind those words, Challe turned his gaze toward Gladys. The other fairy’s ambiguously colored eyes were staring back at him.

“What don’t I know?” Challe demanded.

“You want me to tell you? I wonder if I should? I suppose. But…maybe not yet.”

“Are you telling me or not? Be clear.”

Gladys was an irritating conversation partner. He was smiling, as if he enjoyed Challe’s annoyance. Just as Challe was considering whether it would be better to thrust his blade at Gladys’s neck and try threatening him, Hal and Danna came up from downstairs.

The pair seemed bewildered by Gladys and his sudden appearance that day. When they saw him in the hall, they stopped for a moment, unsure what to do.

Then Gladys called out to them cordially, “Hal and Danna, was it? Did you need something?”

“Yes, sort of,” said Hal, seeming to relax a little. He approached the dining table along with Danna. “Um, where is Mr. Mithril Lid Pod?” He looked around the room restlessly, searching for Mithril.

Danna seemed to be hiding behind Hal’s back, making herself smaller. She appeared to want to escape Gladys’s gaze as much as possible.

“He went somewhere after dinner,” Challe answered. “That’s all I know.”

Hal made a troubled face. “We were told by Mr. Mithril Lid Pod to come up here after dinner.”

He even summoned Hal and Danna? What is that little fool planning?

Challe was getting a bad feeling about the situation, when all of a sudden—

“Danna and Hal! So glad you came!”

—they heard an energetic voice, and then a small figure came striding in briskly from the hallway leading to the west wing’s second floor. Mithril jumped up on the table in a single bound with a shout of “A-yup!”

Looking at the little fairy standing on the dining table, Challe sighed.

Mithril must have gone rummaging through Anne’s things. On his head, he was wearing a thimble she used for sewing; he also had a ribbon wound around him from chest to belly and had her pincushion affixed to his back. Another ribbon was tied around his hips, with a marking pin thrust through it as if it were a sword.

“The reason I had the two of you join us is this,” he began in a serious voice. “At present, there are heinous, evil spirits inhabiting the grounds of Hollyleaf Castle, threatening to put a deadly curse on the candy crafters.”

“Whaaa—?!” Hal shouted in surprise.

Danna gripped her brother’s hand. “Are there, really?” She seemed frightened.

Gladys nodded with a mysterious expression that could have been either admiration or exasperation.

Challe had no doubt that something was living in the castle, and the candy crafters had been met with some mysterious phenomena. But he wasn’t sure when that had transformed into “threatening to put a deadly curse on the candy crafters.”

“Accordingly,” Mithril continued, “we fairies must band together to exterminate these heinous, evil spirits and bring peace to this castle. Tonight, we shall organize a vigilante corps, with me as your glorious leader. We shall set out to rid this place of evil!”

Hal and Danna, who had been looking down at Mithril as he made his pronouncement, exchanged glances.

“‘Heinous, evil spirits,’ he says, Danna. We can’t ignore those, can we?”

“You’re right, Hal. But I wonder if we’ll be of any use?”

“Never fear! I’m right here with you. I’m sure the two of you will be most helpful.” Mithril offered an entirely unwarranted pledge and threw out his chest with pride. Challe felt a headache coming on.

“I understand.” Hal nodded earnestly. “We can’t possibly let evil spirits roam free. We’re in.”

Gladys didn’t look like he was taking any of this seriously, but he raised his hand slightly in an elegant gesture. “This little vigilante corps is a wonderful idea. Very interesting. I certainly hope I’ll be allowed to take part.”

Mithril’s eyes sparkled. “Your name was Gladys, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain Mithril Lid Pod.”

Mithril beamed, obviously delighted to be called captain. “Very good. I authorize your participation.”

“And will we head out on patrol immediately, Captain Mithril Lid Pod?” Gladys asked.

“That’s right,” Mithril answered pompously. “Now, let’s get going. Come on, everyone. That means you, too, Challe Fenn Challe!”

“You all can do as you please.” Challe stood up.

“Huh? What did you say?”

“I’m going back to my room.”

“W-w-wait! Challe Fenn Challe! If you leave, who’s going to fight the evil spirits?!”

But Challe had already turned his back. Mithril grasped desperately at the hem of his jacket, trying to detain him, but Challe snatched the material back out of Mithril’s hands.

“You’re going to fight them. Good luck, Captain,” he said, then turned to leave.

Cold sweat started to bead on Mithril’s forehead as Hal and Danna gazed at him anxiously.

“Will we be all right, Captain?” Gladys asked.

“L-leave everything to me! I am the great Mithril Lid Pod, after all! Everyone, let’s move out! Follow me!” Mithril burst into loud, restless laughter.

Leaving the commotion behind, Challe returned to the second floor of the west wing. He had no inclination to take part in such a ridiculous operation, but he did intend to do something about Mithril’s so-called evil spirits.

Challe passed right by his own quarters. Then he opened the door to Anne’s room, which was empty at the moment, and stepped inside.

The candy crafters continued working past midnight.

By the time they decided to wrap things up, they were all completely exhausted. In a half day of work, they had made a little more than one hundred and fifty snowflakes. It was a fairly respectable pace.

Anne returned to her room pleasantly tired. But as she was about to put her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated.

Mithril would not be there that night. She had asked him to sleep next to her again, but he had turned her down, apparently keen to form a fairy vigilante corps and eliminate evil spirits. He had declared, “I’ll get rid of the evil spirits, so you can sleep easy,” but that didn’t leave Anne with much confidence.

She was afraid to sleep alone, but she was also absolutely worn out. She wanted to crawl into bed immediately, so she steeled herself and opened the door to her room.

Holding her small candle aloft, she made her way to the bed. As she reached it, she could see that someone was already in it. Startled, she stopped in her tracks.

She raised the candle up high and took another look. There, lying on his side in the bed, was Challe.

“Uh…Challe? What’s going on?”

She approached, but Challe did not stir. Both of his hands were entwined behind his head, and he had one leg bent up at the knee. His eyes were closed. He appeared to be sleeping, with no blanket to cover him. If he’d been human, he might have gotten sick, but since fairies didn’t feel the cold, he was probably all right.

“Challe?” Anne called his name softly, but he didn’t respond.

No matter how deeply Challe slept, he always woke up at the slightest hint of someone’s presence. But apparently, he had grown accustomed to Anne and Mithril. No matter how much noise the two of them made or how close they got to him, he remained relaxed.

Why is Challe sleeping in my bed?

Of all the people in the castle, he was the last person whom she thought would mistake her room for his.

Anne set her candle down on the side table and looked curiously at Challe’s sleeping figure. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, which looked pale in the dim candlelight. He had long lashes. His wing flowed over the blankets, shimmering a peaceful, light-blue color.

Without thinking, Anne crouched beside the bed and stared at Challe’s wing. She recalled how it had felt the one time she had touched it before. She wanted to touch it again.

The sense of happiness Anne had felt when she kissed his warm, silky wing was indescribable.

As she looked at his beautiful sleeping face, a suffocating feeling gradually welled up from deep within her chest. She wanted to touch his wing. She almost reached out for it in spite of herself. But she stopped her hand before it made contact. Wings were like a fairy’s life force. She couldn’t touch something so important without permission.

She moved to pull her hand away, when—

“You want to touch it?”

—she suddenly heard Challe’s voice and nearly leaped into the air in surprise.

“Challe! You were awake?”

“I just woke up.”

As he spoke, Challe slowly raised himself. Lightly combing his messy hair with his fingers, he looked at Anne.

“Touch it,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You, and no one else, may touch it any time you like.”

Challe stared fixedly at Anne. His black eyes shone enticingly while reflecting the flame of the candle. As he gazed at her, Anne felt her chest begin to pound as if her heart had taken off running. She was overjoyed. He was saying that she was allowed to touch something akin to his very life force any time she wanted. Challe trusted her from the bottom of his heart.

“Can I?” she asked.

“I don’t mind.”

Anne extended her hand. She gently stroked the tip of the wing, which was spread out over the bed.

It was smooth like silk, and a shiver ran down Anne’s spine at the slightly warm feel of it.

Challe cast his eyes downward and let out a long breath, as if he was under some strain. When he did, a soft gold color spread quickly from the spot that Anne had touched, as if it were blooming to the surface of the wing.

Startled, Anne pulled her hand back. When she removed it, the wing returned to a calm, light-blue color.

“Challe, your wing is incredibly beautiful…”

I love it, hopelessly.

She swallowed those last few words. Before, the one time she had been allowed to touch his wing, she had simply been mesmerized by its allure. But now, on top of her heart trembling at its unchanging beauty, she felt a swell of tenderness.

Challe slowly opened his eyes. Then he got down off the bed and pulled Anne to her feet.

“Hey, Challe? Why were you sleeping in my bed?” she asked.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Why?”

Without answering, Challe turned back the quilt and the blanket on the bed, then gestured toward it.

“For now, let’s get some sleep.”

“Huh? I mean, of course I am going to bed, but I haven’t even changed clothes yet.”

“Don’t make excuses.”

Challe was still gripping Anne’s hand, and he gave it a slight twist. When he did, Anne fell easily onto the bed. While she was lying there surprised, he brought his beautiful face close to hers, covering her.

“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”

“Uh, ah, umm…”

Challe snickered at how flustered she was getting. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Do exactly as I say.”

Challe straightened and stood up, then covered Anne with the quilt and blanket.

What? What is this?

With her face half-buried under the blankets, Anne blinked rapidly in astonishment.

This was a completely different development than the various scenes that had flashed through her mind a moment prior. Challe blew out the candle, and she felt him move toward the window. Apparently, he had hidden himself behind the curtain.

Anne wasn’t sure what was going on, and she stared into the darkness for a little while. But she was exhausted, and soon, her sleepiness took over, and her eyelids drooped of their own accord.

As she was nodding off, she heard the rustling of clothes. It was coming from right near the bed. She thought it was probably Challe, but she couldn’t be sure. Her eyes wouldn’t open—it was like she was being dragged down by the sandman himself.

From there, it all happened suddenly.

A high-pitched shriek, like the sound of someone shredding fabric, came from right beside the bed.

Naturally, Anne’s sleepiness was gone in an instant, and she leaped up.

“Wh-what?!” she exclaimed.

“Turn on a light!” Challe barked, and Anne fumbled around on the side table until, panicked, she finally managed to light a candle.

She shone the light of the candle in the direction of Challe’s voice and the area where she had heard the scream.

Challe had a small person pinned face down on the floor. The person’s arms were behind their back, and Challe was holding them with both hands. Furthermore, he had a knee pressed into the stranger’s back, completely preventing them from moving.

There was a single, rather short wing next to Challe’s knee. The person was a fairy.

“Who’s this?!” asked Anne.

“An evil spirit.”

“Evil spirit?!”

The fairy squirmed around, trying to escape, but Challe pinned them down even harder. When he did, the fairy suddenly went limp and stopped moving.

“Challe! Oh no! I think they might have died from you pressing too hard!!”

“Not dead. Maybe unconscious.” Challe let go of the other fairy and stood up.

Anne set the candle back down on the side table and ran over in a panic. She peered down at the face of the fairy lying on the floor. Their hair was a light-purple color.

“What should we do? Are you sure they aren’t dead?”

She extended a hand and was about to gently touch the fairy’s hair, when—

“Gotcha!!”

—the fairy, who hadn’t so much as twitched, suddenly sprang to their feet.

“Dummy, you dummy! You got careless and let me go! Stupid!”

The fairy pulled down the skin under one eyelid and stuck out their tongue. Despite the mean gesture, they looked adorable.

The fairy’s appearance was that of an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy. His pastel-purple hair was cut evenly at the shoulders, and his bangs drew a straight line across his forehead. His big eyes, burning with anger, were purple, too. In height, he came up to only about Anne’s chest. His wing was a bit shorter than Challe’s or Mithril’s, and it ended above his hips. The fact that he was dressed in an old-fashioned blue and white page’s uniform made him even more adorable.