“I’m sorry that my wife is unable to greet you. She’s sick in bed. And my maid is attending to another visitor, so I’m left to compound my rudeness by welcoming you by myself.”
“I don’t mind. It’s my fault for showing up so suddenly. But this visit had to be abrupt, and for that, I have no intention of apologizing.”
“Oh-ho…”
Bean stopped and looked back at this spontaneous remark. Crusch was tall for a woman, but he was a head taller than her. The most distinctive feature of his face was the lines that creased it, nothing like Ferris’s sweetness. Perhaps the son had inherited his girlish face from his mother. Crusch only dimly recalled what Bean’s wife looked like, but it seemed logical to her.
“Bean Argyle… You’ve grown thin. You look smaller than when I saw you last.”
“When a man has as many troubles as I do…”
It was only when she went back to her memories that Crusch realized how much the man in front of her had changed. Bean had once had a fine beard and had seemed a good man, but now there was no trace of resemblance to his former bearing. His expression was dark, and patches of white hair stood out on his head and chin. The last nine years had not been kind to him.
“How is Felix? Is he well?”
“—”
Crusch was quietly taken aback to hear him bring up Ferris. Bean had considered the child as evidence of his wife’s infidelity, and that had ultimately led to the downfall of the House of Argyle. He might well be expected to resent the boy for that even now.
Bean smirked at the dumbfounded Crusch.
“So even you can be caught off guard, Duchess…”
“I admit, I wasn’t expecting it. I was sure you wouldn’t think much of Ferris… I mean, Felix.”
“What parent does not treasure his child? Or if not treasure, what parent wishes to leave his child to die somewhere? Especially when he knows the boy is his own blood.”
Bean’s voice was subdued, with scant inflection. It was hard to tell what he was really thinking. But Crusch wasn’t listening to his voice. She was focused on the wind, and there she found unmistakable regret and grief. Bean at least seemed to be upset by the inhuman acts he had perpetrated against Ferris, whom he now acknowledged as his real son. If he had taken Ferris as his own from the start and loved him like any other father, things would have been very different. Would they have been better? It was not a question Crusch could easily answer.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stop. As our receiving room is occupied, perhaps our parlor… But you have come for something else today, I presume.”
Bean resumed walking just as Crusch began to think she couldn’t take any more. Crusch blinked once, dispelling her own grief, and replied, “Yes. And I have business with your other visitor. I know I’m imposing myself, but things will go quickest if you simply take me to your reception room. For both of us.”
“I see. This way, then, please.”
Bean made no effort to resist, but led her to the reception room as though he had been expecting this. They walked through a dim hallway—it seemed the light was deliberately kept low—and up a narrow staircase to the receiving room on the second floor.
Bean knocked. A woman’s voice answered, and the door opened. A woman of middle age appeared. To judge by her clothing, this was the household’s last maid.
The woman’s face stiffened when she saw Crusch. The duchess only gave her a silent nod.
“Master? Why is the honored duchess…?”
“Don’t you remember? I told you I was going to have her join us here. Make tea for her.” At Bean’s clipped instruction, the maid bowed to Crusch and squeezed out through the door. Crusch, in turn, walked into the room. A voice greeted her as she came in.
“Well, well, quite a lovely young thing we have here.” The owner of the voice was an unpleasant-looking man. His whole body was wrapped in a white robe; he had short gray hair and a ratlike face. Crusch was not superficial enough to judge people by their appearance, but an affinity for violence seemed to lay thick about him.
“I must ask your indulgence; her visit was quite sudden. Allow me to introduce Duchess Crusch of Karsten, the ruler of this area. Milady, if I may…?” Standing beside Crusch, Bean announced her, then attempted to move on to the subject of the other visitor. Crusch gave the slightest of nods, and Bean gestured at the ratlike man. “This is Miles. He deals in the antiques I so favor. He goes from country to country, trading in the most unusual things… Perhaps nothing quite so strange as a metia, but many interesting objects just the same.”
“Miles, milady. And must I say, you’re the most beautiful duchess I’ve encountered in all my travels. I certainly didn’t expect to meet you here. What a great pleasure,” the rat-faced man said, picking up smoothly from Bean. His words were perfectly polite, but there was a hint of toadying about them.
Crusch ignored most of what he said. She only murmured, “An antiques dealer…?”
“Does milady have a taste for the old and intriguing? I’ll have to visit your honored residence at another time…”
“I appreciate it, but that won’t be necessary. I’m still too young to feel the weight of history very keenly. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
She shook her head at Miles’s invitation and tried to draw Bean into the conversation. Her suspicions about him had lessened somewhat during their talk in the hallway, but since meeting Miles, she had begun to doubt again. Unfortunately, it was very hard to believe the man’s claim to be an antiques dealer. There was an eight or nine out of ten chance that he was the slave trader she was looking for.
Bean gestured for her to sit on the sofa. He and Miles sat across from her. Crusch rested her hands on her knees, never letting her guard down. Because she had only come to talk, Crusch wasn’t carrying a sword. However, she was quite capable of dealing with an enemy in hand-to-hand combat if it came to that. But she wouldn’t do anything reckless.
“Now then, Lady Crusch, what is it you wish to talk about?”
“Ahem. Truth be told, my visit today was motivated by a report received by one of my subordinates. Word is that an unsavory character has been visiting the House of Argyle recently.”
“Could you be speaking of me?” Miles said, chiming in. “If so, I must sincerely apologize for giving the duchess herself cause to come all the way out here.” He had the same servile tone as before, but his eyes took Crusch in quite openly. His gaze was frankly unsettling. No one wants to be looked at like an object being appraised.
“Setting aside the question of exactly who it is, my subordinate was told that this person is a slave trader. I’ve come to hear Bean Argyle’s side of the story.”
Miles frowned at this open statement of Crusch’s suspicions, but there was no change in Bean’s attitude. He drummed on the table with his fingers, looking as dour as ever.
“I understand you have your concerns,” Bean said. “But we have very few callers at this house anymore. The only person who comes and goes with any frequency would be Miles here.”
“So you’re saying the rumors of slave trade are just that?”
Bean nodded firmly. She sensed no wind indicating he was trying to deceive her. In fact, the eddies of his emotions were exceptionally weak, as if he were disengaged. Far from reassuring Crusch, this left her with an indistinct mistrust of Bean.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the maid, who returned to the room.
“—The tea is ready,” she said, and placed a silver tea set on the table and quietly poured the drink. A sweet aroma rose from the warm liquid. Crusch caught a hint of anxiousness and uncertainty from the maid.
“Please, Lady Crusch,” Miles said. “It will be easier to talk if you wet your lips…”
“It’s all right…”
The maid had retreated, but Crusch remembered her nervousness. Combined with Miles’s inquisitive eyes, Crusch hesitated to take the cup. Bean and Miles paid her no mind, sipping from their own cu
ps.
Crusch’s perceptions were sounding a noisy warning bell. Even the tea she’d been offered put her on edge.
“If you wish to dispel any suspicions, the first step will be to show me the goods Miles has allegedly brought with him. Then you will allow people in to inspect this house. If they find the rumors are baseless, then I will apologize for doubting you and offer some form of compensation. But—”
“—Compensation, you say?”
It was hard to believe the whispered voice belonged to the same man who had seemed so detached just seconds before. These few words were rife with a tumult of emotions. Dry, and yet saturated, an unfocused emotional torrent. The only thing she could understand, if anything at all, was that he was fixated on something…
“Compensation,” Bean said softly. “Yes, very well. If you’re prepared to do that, things will indeed go quickly between us.” Now she felt something fearful rolling off him, but it was too late.
“—ngh. Whad’re you talging ab…?” Crusch found her lips couldn’t form the words to her reply, and then a wave of dizziness struck her. Her hand slipped off the armrest of the sofa and she fell to the floor. Her eyes spun; her consciousness wavered.
By the time she realized she had been drugged, it was too late. But she hadn’t put anything in her mouth…
“Ha-ha!” Miles cackled. “The bigger they think they are, the better they fall for this trick! Don’t even want a drink? You should accept your host’s hospitality, milady. It helps wash out the bad air that gets inside…” He clapped tauntingly, and all decorum had vanished from his tone. His face contorted into a vile expression, and he ran a hand along Crusch’s cheek. “Ahh, I do love to see a strong woman crawl. Ha-ha! You’ll make a fine gift for me to take home.”
The words certainly sounded like those of a slaver, but what he was saying was mad. Crusch was a duchess of the Kingdom of Lugunica. Anyone in their right mind would know that to take her as a slave was suicide. Which could only mean he had something besides enslavement in mind.
Bean knelt down and looked into Crusch’s eyes. “I thank you for your cooperation, Duchess. Without you, I could never have achieved my goal.”
“…”
His face was expressionless, like a mask, but his eyes were passionate. Anger raged in them, and a terrible pity.
“Wh…a…t… go…al…?”
“You can still talk? I’m surprised. It was supposed to put you out immediately.” Bean sounded impressed. Crusch was biting her tongue, clinging desperately to consciousness.
Bean grabbed her by the hair, pulled her head up, and said, “Isn’t it obvious?—I want back the child you stole from me. I need that boy.”
6
“You let Lady Crusch go alone?! How could you ever—? How do you plan to take responsibility if anything’s happened to her?”
The voice, almost a scream, echoed around the Karsten office. The owner of the shouting voice and the hand that slammed down on the black desk was Ferris. He wore the uniform of the royal guard, and he had returned to the mansion much sooner than expected. The place was in an uproar.
—Had he really given up on being a knight after just ten days?
No one dared to venture to make such a joke as Ferris stalked down the hallway with an expression of anger they had never seen before clear on his face. Everyone got out of his way until he arrived at the secretarial office, where he laid into the head official.
“H-hold on a moment, Ferris. I know you’re upset. And I understand, but this was Lady Crusch’s decision. There were circumstances to consider…”
“Circumstances?! You mean what might happen to me? I know what might happen! And I don’t care! If it meant keeping Lady Crusch out of danger, I would gladly have given my heart and my body and my name!” His voice had risen an octave. For all his anger, his thinking was rational enough. At the castle, Fourier had explained what Crusch was up to. And while Ferris understood that she was doing it for him, Crusch putting herself in danger for his sake defeated the purpose of his service as her knight.
The House of Argyle was so steeped in villainy that the people there didn’t think of other people as human beings.
“And yet none of you put Lady Crusch first…!”
“You must calm yourself, Ferris. You’ll only terrify everyone around you, and then we won’t be able to talk to them.”
“But…!” Ferris’s eyes began to fill with tears. Someone wrapped an arm around his shoulder, the same someone who had just spoken in such a powerful voice. A young man with golden hair. The official Ferris had been upbraiding caught his breath at the sight of the man.
“Your Highness Fourier! I didn’t know you would be with Ferris…”
“Yes, because it was I who revealed the matter to him, even though I’d been asked not to speak of it. And Crusch did tell me beforehand that if things went badly, I was to use my judgment. I have no proof, but…I do have a bad feeling that won’t go away. It swirls within me.” Fourier placed a hand to his chest. If the prince had willed all this, then the official certainly couldn’t be upset with Ferris for it.
“Whatever is happening, the royal castle is too far away for me to deal with it effectively. So it only makes sense that I would move closer to the center of the action. And it only makes further sense that a member of the royal guard would accompany me.”
“Does it make sense, Your Highness? I shudder to think what the captain will say when we get back…” Fourier was happily playing out his little trick, but Julius, who had gotten caught up in the whole affair, slumped his shoulders. He didn’t seem specifically upset to have been dragged along, however. “If Your Highness would be so magnanimous as to speak on our behalf…” he added.
“Since this was all my own doing, you can leave that to me! Um, well…not that I’m sure my excuses will have much sway with Marcus, but at the very least, you two will not be alone when he reprimands you. If you must get a piece of his mind, I will, too.”
“Reassuring words, Your Highness—Now then, what about the Duchess of Karsten…?”
As a semblance of calm returned to the room, Julius guided them back to the question at hand. This led the official, now out of ways to distract his visitors, to slump a bit and look uncomfortably at Ferris. “It’s true Lady Crusch went alone to inspect the House of Argyle,” he said. “But Bardok has the area of the mansion surrounded with nearly fifty soldiers. The Argyles lack the resources to hire mercenaries at this time. Even if they armed their slaves and sent them out, it would be easy to subdue them.”
“But what if they took Lady Crusch hostage…?”
“I admit they might feel so cornered as to resort to violence, but they would be facing Lady Crusch. She once cut down a Giant Rabbit with a single swipe of her sword. I doubt they could best her. And she has done all she can to prepare in advance.”
The official offered all the reasons he could for peace of mind, hoping to placate Ferris. True, objectively speaking, it didn’t seem there was any way Crusch could be at a disadvantage. Ferris would have trusted her diligence had the involvement of the House of Argyle not thrown his emotions into confusion. Yet an unease remained within him. Was it simply an illusion born of his own difficulties with his blood family?
“…Wait, Ferris. None of that would lay my lingering anxiety to rest.”
“Your Highness?” Fourier had spoken just as Ferris was beginning to calm down and resolve to trust Crusch.
Fourier looked like a different person. Ferris, looking into his eyes, had the sense that he could see the prince’s very soul. Everyone in the room caught the change in Fourier.
Fourier looked around the room, which was holding their collective breath, and put a hand on his chest before continuing. “A worry, I cannot explain what, churns within me. It isn’t good for you and Crusch to continue to be apart. Indeed, we must go as soon as possible—cough, c-cough!”
“Your Highness?!”
Fourier’s words dissolved into a sp
ate of red-faced coughing. Ferris rushed to take his shoulders, focusing his attention on the flow of mana throughout the prince’s body. The Royal Academy of Healing had recognized Ferris as its most accomplished pupil. If he wanted to, he could bring someone back from the brink of death to perfect health. So when someone complained to him of feeling poorly, he had a habit of assessing them as soon as he laid hands on them.
“What…?”
Fourier immediately moved away from Ferris’s hands. Before his fingers and the mana flowing through them could do their work, the prince stood up, still sweating and breathing hard.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?!” Julius asked.
Fourier tried to act as if nothing had happened. “It’s nothing major. My apologies for startling you. I’m feeling much better now, thanks to Ferris.” This seemed to satisfy everyone else, but Ferris couldn’t let go of his shock.
“Um, Your Highness, Ferri—I mean, I didn’t…”
Worry pierced him as he watched Fourier wipe away sweat even as he tried to claim everything was fine. But Ferris’s small, hesitant voice was suddenly overwhelmed by a shout from outside the office.
“It’s terrible! Lady Crusch hasn’t come out of the Argyle manor, and a battle’s started around the mansion! The soldiers—they claim they’re fighting living corpses!”
7
The first thing Crusch noticed when she came to was a terrible odor.
“Nnhn…” she groaned. Her throat was dry. She leaned up off the floor. And then the smell filled her nose, a stench so awful that it was almost physically painful. It was like animal waste mixed with something rotting; the moment she caught a whiff of it, Crusch knew she was in no place good.
She was somehow able to sit up, but her hands were manacled. So were her feet, and on top of that, she was blindfolded. It was a small blessing that her eyes had simply been covered rather than put out, but Crusch wasn’t thinking of such things at that moment.
The Dream of the Lion King Page 14
