Sugar Apple Fairytale - Volume 6 - Chapter 2.2

But that was exactly what earned them respect as candy artisans.

Bridget had understood that she could not become a candy crafter due to her social standing. So she had given up, convinced that she had no business becoming one. But in that case, she should have found her own way forward—both to remain close to the boys and to discover her own worth.

She should have summoned her courage, taken a step closer to them, and told them she wanted to do something together.

Just like Anne had done when she was a child.

At last, she understood what Challe had meant when he told her to wise up. He’d been telling Bridget that she had yet to learn something that she ought to have learned when she was a child.

Something very simple. But something that took courage.

“Orlando?” Bridget wiped her tears away and hesitantly began to speak. “Would it be all right if I took care of you?”

“……………………Huh?”

Orlando frowned and made a face like someone had told an off-color joke, which naturally offended her. She stuck her lip out in a pout and turned away.

“If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant.” Orlando sounded a little anxious. But after a brief silence, he whispered, “Please do.”

Anne dashed into the front hall, almost like she was fleeing from Bridget. Challe followed, sticking close behind her.

“There you are, Anne,” came Elliott’s voice from the top of the stairs.

When Anne looked up, he was making his way down, a troubled smile on his face. In his right hand, he held an envelope.

“Sorry for asking so suddenly, but could you prepare for an outing? Challe’s coming, too.”

“What’s going on?”

“This.”

Elliott waved the envelope in his hand. It was made of luxurious, pure-white paper, without a hint of yellow, and addressed to Master Elliott Collins, proxy maestro of the Paige Workshop. The sender was Hugh Mercury, the Silver Sugar Viscount, and his crest was pressed into the sealing wax affixed to the paper.

“The Silver Sugar Viscount says to come to the Church of Saint Lewiston Bell. Apparently, he heard about Orlando’s injury through the doctor. And when the Viscount went to report it to the state church, the priests all went berserk. They’re panicking about whether we can finish in time. And it sounds like, given the circumstances, they’re even talking about having the Mercury Workshop make the same sculptures as us.”

“Unbelievable! We can’t let another workshop make the sculptures we all designed and worked on together!”

“I know. I mean, if it comes down to it and our sugar candy sculptures aren’t ready in time, all they have to do is use the ones the Mercury Workshop made as backup. But it sounds like the head priest is really taken with our work, so now they’re talking about duplicating it. Evidently, the church asked the Viscount to summon whoever’s in charge over here. I can go alone, but I think our head candy crafter ought to join me.”

“I’ll go. The state church may be our client, but we’re the ones making the sugar candy.”

Elliott and Anne, along with Challe, took the workshop’s medium-sized wagon and rushed at top speed toward the Church of Saint Lewiston Bell.

They went around the sanctuary, where the Selection had been held, and made their way to the priests’ dormitory, which was connected to the sanctuary by a covered walkway. It was a three-story stone building, with tall vertical windows arranged in regular rows along the east- and west-facing walls. It was plain but well-built, lending it an air of dignity.

The area beyond was encircled by a high wall. The priests lived their lives within that enclosure. Inside, there was a school, a library, a chapel for their daily prayers, and so on.

Elliott steered the wagon toward the dormitory and parked it beside the entrance into the priests’ quarters. He left the wagon in the care of a priest-in-training—a young man called a seminarian, who would eventually become a priest.

Father Brooke, the priest in charge of the last Selection, emerged from the dormitory.

“We’ve been waiting for you, Mr. Collins, Ms. Halford.”

They then stepped through the double oak doors into a spacious hall. A corridor paved with pure-white stone tiles stretched from right inside the doorway all the way to the back of the hall. It was surprisingly long.

Elliott, Anne, and Challe had rushed there through a cold wind, so the warm air filling the priests’ quarters was a relief. Somewhere, someone was burning incense mixed with Saint Ellis Nut, and a pleasant, refreshing fragrance hung in the air.

Another seminarian took Anne’s cape and Elliott’s overcoat, before glancing nervously at Challe.

Father Brooke also appeared perplexed.

“This fairy, if I’m not mistaken, was also in the sanctuary at the time of the Selection.”

“There’s a dangerous individual stalking our head candy crafter. This fairy is her bodyguard. Is that a problem?”

“No, not really. We, too, have warrior fairies accompany our priests as bodyguards on occasion. There’s no problem; I simply mistook him for a pet fairy.”

Father Brooke’s misunderstanding was only natural. Challe had black hair, black eyes, and an elegant figure. His long eyelashes brushed his bangs, and his skin was pale. His appearance was nothing like that of a warrior fairy.

Father Brooke led Anne and the others down the long corridor.

Doors lined the left and right sides, and there were no windows, so the farther back they went, the darker it became. By the time they reached the end of the corridor, it was so dark that they could hardly see.

There, they found another door. Beside it sat a ceramic incense burner with a thin trail of smoke curling up from it.

Father Brooke knocked on the door.

“Father, the Silver Sugar Masters have arrived from the Paige Workshop. It’s Collins, the proxy maestro, and Halford, the head candy crafter.”

“Enter.”

Anne had heard that composed voice before. It was the head priest, who had spoken last at the Selection—the one who had chosen the Paige Workshop’s candy sculpture.

“Go ahead.”

Father Brooke opened the door, and a sudden burst of light hit Anne’s eyes. The interior of the room was flooded with it. Bright sunlight streamed through the tall windows lining one wall. The fire in the hearth was burning warmly, and Anne could hear the firewood crackling and smell the charcoal.

There was a large desk in front of the windows, where the head priest was sitting. The light streaming in from behind him made his expression difficult to see and illuminated his gray hair, which was starting to turn white.

A tall man was standing on the other side of the desk from the head priest. He, too, was backlit, rendering his face indecipherable.

“So you came, crafters of the Paige Workshop.”

The man in front of the desk spoke in a familiar voice and briskly approached them. As soon as he left the beam of light, they could tell it was Hugh Mercury, the Silver Sugar Viscount.

He walked to the middle of the room and lightly jerked his chin, gesturing to Anne and the others that they should come inside. Then as he let them pass, he looked back at the head priest.

“As requested, I have summoned them: Collins, the proxy maestro of the Paige Workshop, and Halford, their head candy crafter.”

Elliott and Anne, along with Challe, stepped into the room, and the door closed behind them.

“I’m glad you could make it, Paige Workshop crafters.”

The head priest’s voice was gentle and kind. Now that their eyes were used to the light, they could finally identify his expression. He was smiling.

Elliott bowed, and Anne curtsied.

Suddenly, the head priest tilted his head to the side in confusion.

“And the fairy?”

Hugh answered, “A warrior fairy. The head crafter’s bodyguard. He is not a pet fairy, so I don’t believe he’s in violation of the rectory rules.”

“Oh, a warrior fairy, hmm?”

The head priest looked intrigued, and Hugh grinned.

“If you get too close,” he said, “you’ll regret your curiosity.”

Challe was leaning against the wall with a blank look on his face, not showing the slightest bit of concern that he had become the topic of conversation. He was probably used to it.

“Come closer now, Collins, Halford.”

The head priest beckoned them with his hand, and Anne and Elliott went to stand before his desk.

There were two chairs and a sofa there for visitors to use. Hugh took a seat on the sofa and crossed his legs. He looked relaxed. His posture indicated that he considered his duty done. However, he seemed interested in what was going to happen next, and his gaze was boring into Anne’s and Elliott’s backs.

“Regarding the candy sculptures for the First Holy Festival,” the priest began, “I’ve heard about your progress from the Silver Sugar Viscount. It seems as though you have yet to complete even a single candy sculpture, and at present, your numbers include only five candy crafters. Furthermore, you had trouble with your silver sugar hardening, and now you are in the process of rendering that sugar into a usable state. Therefore, construction of the candy sculptures is on hold. Does that about sum it up?”

The head priest was still smiling. Anne bit her lip as he described their difficult situation without changing his expression.

Elliott nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Given these circumstances, I consulted with the Silver Sugar Viscount about whether your candy sculptures will be finished in time for the First Holy Festival. He answered me, ‘The Paige Workshop says that they will be finished.’”

The head priest turned his gaze toward Hugh.

“Then I asked him in a different way. I said, ‘Do you think they will be able to finish in time?’ His answer was, ‘Considering it rationally, there’s no way they can manage it.’”

Anne and Elliott turned to look at Hugh, and he shrugged.

“Of course that’s what I said. I can’t just lie. But I can feel the Paige Workshop’s drive to complete their work. That’s why I think we should wait and see. If they aren’t done, we can simply use the reserve sculptures that the Mercury Workshop is making. That’s my suggestion anyway.”

“I found that idea disappointing,” the head priest continued, picking up where Hugh left off. “The incident that caused your silver sugar to harden was an unexpected stroke of bad luck. However, I want to see those beautiful sugar candy sculptures decorate the sanctuary. So what do you think of this? How about allowing the Mercury Workshop to do your job? You’ve faced unforeseen hardships, so we will not impose a fine on the Paige Workshop. In exchange, you will transfer the job and your sculptures to the Mercury Workshop.”

They would be allowed to forfeit their responsibility without suffering the penalty. It was a totally unexpected proposal. One might even call it merciful. But Anne was so enraged that the blood drained from her face.

Transfer the job and the sculptures?

It was like being told to uproot her pride as a candy crafter and hand it over wholly to someone else.

The state church’s proposal was probably coming from a place of kindness. But to a crafter, there could be no greater insult.

It’s unthinkable.

Elliott grinned broadly. “What a good idea.”

Anne was shocked. She grabbed Elliott by the arm. “Mr. Collins!”

“I mean, it is a good idea, isn’t it? Really. One rarely receives such a kind offer.”

“I won’t do it!!”

Anne shouted in spite of herself.

“I hate the idea of having someone else make the sculptures we thought up together, that we’re all building as a team! We’ll make them ourselves! If we don’t, everyone will feel awful about it. If we give up now, the Paige Workshop will go right back to where it was—gradually falling apart. What’s more, if we hand over our sculptures, we’ll be selling the very pride of our crafters. If we do that for a measly ten thousand cress, we won’t be able to face them. If we’re at the point of selling our pride, there’s no reason for the Paige Workshop to continue.”

She looked up at Elliott desperately.

“That’s what you think?” he asked.

“It’s not what I think—it’s a fact.”

Elliott broke into a smile. “That it is.”

Then he turned his gaze back to the head priest.

“It is a very nice offer. But as you just heard, not a single one of our candy crafters will accept such conditions. So we will have to decline. We will make the candy sculptures for the First Holy Festival, and we’ll get them done in time.”

“But the Silver Sugar Viscount says that, thinking rationally, you cannot manage it.”

“He’s wrong. We’ll make it.”

“If you’re stubborn and don’t finish in time, you’ll face a fine of ten thousand cress, and your reputation will be ruined.”

“I’m aware. If we don’t succeed, I’m prepared for the consequences.”

As she stared at Elliott’s smiling face, Anne felt a pressure in her chest.

Prepared.

Elliott was prepared for everything.

Hugh had been watching their exchange with a faint smile. He had summoned the members of the Paige Workshop in accordance with the head priest’s demands, but he had probably known from the start what decision Anne and Elliott would make.

Their choice would have been obvious to any candy crafter. The idea of handing over their sculptures to someone else was simply unthinkable.

“Very well.” Quietly, the head priest nodded. “If you are so prepared, then continue your work, Paige Workshop. But remember that you have declined this offer. There will be no such kindness extended in the future, no matter what circumstances may arise.”

Anne had gotten what she wanted.

Or so she had thought while she was still burning with anger. But as she left the priests’ quarters and headed back in the wagon, her anxiety steadily grew until it flooded her whole chest.

Elliott, who was driving, was also unusually quiet. Challe was gazing out at the bustling town of Lewiston as it flowed past them on both sides, not looking at anything in particular.

Sitting sandwiched between the two of them, Anne felt her heart sink.

Hugh had judged the situation rationally and declared that they would not finish in time. He was probably correct.

But Anne and the others had to get it done at any cost.

Would they assign even more work to each person, further cutting down on their sleep? The crafters would likely agree and work very hard, but their bodies would bear the strain of such an unreasonable demand.

But they had no hope of finding more candy crafters who had the necessary skills and weren’t allied with any other factions.

The wagon approached the amusement district, near the city wall. This neighborhood held gambling houses and bars crowded close to the city’s edge, and unsavory characters were hanging around on the street. It was the type of dangerous neighborhood that a young woman wasn’t supposed to visit alone after dark.

But crossing through this area was the fastest way to get out of Lewiston and back to Hollyleaf Castle.

It was the middle of the day, so they didn’t see any dangerous types hanging around, though there were drunks lying on the shoulder of the cobblestone street. Most of them were men of middle age or older, but among them were some who looked younger.

One drunk—a young blond—sat slumped against the wall of a bar, his head hung low. Though his clothes were dirty, his shirt and pants seemed well-made. And if he was to wash his blond hair, it would be quite eye-catching.

Sitting on his lap was a palm-sized female fairy with red hair. She stroked the young man’s hand repeatedly as she spoke to him.

Is that—?!

As the wagon rolled past the blond drunkard, Anne could clearly see the red-headed fairy.

“Wait! Stop the wagon, please!”

When she raised her voice, Elliott pulled on the reins.

“What is it?”

“I’m getting off for a second! Challe, I’m getting out. Let me by.”

“What?”

Challe looked at her quizzically but let her down off the driver’s bench. Anne hopped off the wagon and ran back toward the bar they had just passed, with Challe accompanying her. Elliott cocked his head and turned around to watch them from his seat.

The red-haired fairy sitting on the drunkard’s lap was desperately pleading with him.

“Please get up. You’re going to catch a cold, so you have to get up. I’m begging you.”

As Anne rushed over, she called the fairy’s name.

“Cathy!”

Startled, Cathy turned around. Her determined eyes opened wide.

Anne then knelt beside the blond drunkard and shook him by the shoulders.

“Jonas!”