Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Night at Zeruba Castle
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Yol drove his horse, taking the creaking wagon wheel sounds as music. Behind the brown horse he rode, a large baggage wagon pulled by two horses followed.
“Do we really have to travel at night like this, Father?”
The coachman, temporarily hired to guide the way and drive the wagon, asked.
Yol was not a priest, but he let the man call him that. And since he hadn’t told him his own name, there was no other title to use.
“There is no day or night when following God’s will.”
The coachman looked deeply impressed by Yol’s casual reply.
“The noise from the baggage compartment is scary. It’d be one thing during the day, but at night…”
The coachman gave an awkward smile.
The baggage compartment attached to the back of the wagon was covered with thick wooden planks on the front, and the door was secured with an iron lock, so no one could peek inside or open it.
“Curiosity is the spawn of reason. Reason is the arrogant vanity that claims human will can uncover all the truths of the world, and those possessed of vanity know not humility before God. Those who know not humility before God know not to fear His power, and upon those who know not fear, great punishment falls.”
Yol spoke loudly, then asked the coachman as if demanding a response.
“Coachman, you know well what my work is, don’t you?”
The coachman listened with a dazed expression, then hurriedly replied.
“You’re an inquisitor.”
“Then do not wonder what’s in the baggage compartment. The tools for my trials are always imbued with the curses of blood and the power of demons, which can be dangerous to ordinary folk if mishandled.”
The coachman nodded with a frightened face.
Yol dismounted before the castle of Rivador Valtion, lord of Zeruba, and waited for the guards to appear.
‘Why is it so quiet?’
Yol looked up at the pitch-black watchtower with no one in it, then lifted and dropped the large knocker on the gate. The heavy knocker crashed against the door with a loud clang. How far the sound echoed into the vast castle grounds was unknown.
Yol rang the knocker a couple more times and, while waiting for someone to come, looked down at the hillside below. Even in the darkness, he could see very far and in detail, allowing him to closely examine the scale of Zeruba’s fish market and the village layout even at this hour.
“There’s no cathedral in Zeruba?”
Yol asked the coachman.
“There used to be one, but not anymore.”
“Then where do people pray?”
“There’s a chapel inside the castle here. They go there on Sundays to pray.”
“The lord opens the castle to the villagers?”
“He opens it, but it’s not free. Only the rich pay to enter and pray. Folks like us go to St. Antonius Monastery. I don’t go much, but they say the cross there is more effective.”
The coachman spoke with sincere conviction.
‘I heard rumors they were building a Raphael Priest Order cathedral in Zeruba. Must be for reasons like this.’
Yol chuckled inwardly. Just then, the gate opened. Yol stepped aside and waited for it to fully open.
“What brings you here?”
A soldier with a spear appeared from inside the gate and asked.
“I’m an inquisitor. I’ve come at the lord’s summons.”
Yol answered.
“At this hour?”
The guard asked in surprise.
“There is no day or night in judging evil. I hear you’ve already prepared for the execution by fire tomorrow? Then we must hurry all the more.”
“But the lord is right now…” The guard trailed off, hesitating. Yol was about to say that if the lord was sleeping, they should wake him by pounding on his door, or just hand over the prison keys since he’d handle it quickly.
“Wait here.”
The guard went back inside.
‘Something must be up. His expression wasn’t normal.’
A few minutes later, the guard returned.
“Come in. Your name?”
“Father Puyol.”
Yol gave the fake name he often used for such work.
After parking the wagon in the inner courtyard, Yol followed the guard inside. The coachman waited obediently by the wagon.
Though the baggage was locked, Yol felt uneasy leaving the coachman with it.
‘A noise, he said? Should’ve tied it tighter.’
The guard led Yol to the chapel inside the castle. Before the great cross knelt a middle-aged man.
He must have heard Yol enter the chapel, yet he remained prostrated before the cross, continuing his prayer. Yol had to wait boredly for him to finish.
Finally, Valtion turned and spoke.
“You’ve come for the inquisition?”
Even though it was spring, nights were still chilly, and the chapel especially cold, yet sweat beaded on his forehead.
“I’m Father Puyol.”
Yol said.
Valtion tilted his head.
“The scheduled circuit inquisitor was supposed to be Father Achion?”
Yol was surprised.
‘He knows that?’
Nobles rarely bothered to remember names or faces of those beneath them. Even if a priest, it was no different. Unless a bishop, perhaps.
“Father Achion injured his leg on the way. It seemed urgent, so I came in his place. If you wish, we can wait until his leg heals.”
Yol lied confidently, certain Lord Valtion wouldn’t delay the execution schedule. Valtion shook his head.
“No. No need for that.”
Yol seized the opening.
“Yes, then. I’ll proceed with the interrogation at once. Where is the sinner?”
“No, I mean there’s no need for a trial.”
Yol scratched the bridge of his nose, asking to confirm he’d heard right.
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
“Have you perhaps, on your own judgment, released the heretic sinner?”
Valtion glanced sharply at Yol.
“A priest from the Rom Priest Order brought the emperor’s pardon.”
“The emperor?”
“Who else but Rom’s emperor? Ah, as a Raphael Priest Order priest, your emperor must be Rotican’s Holy Emperor.”
Yol had no desire to waste time on such debates.
“Then where is the sinner Jade now?”
“I don’t know. He left the castle a little while ago.”
“A little while—how long ago exactly?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me. An hour? Or two?”
“Not two hours.”
“Understood. And who was it that brought the emperor’s pardon?”
“A priest named Danel.”
Yol cursed inwardly.
“Then I have no more reason to stay. I’ll take my leave.”
Valtion did not stop Yol from leaving.
‘Too many oddities. Deep faith to pray in the chapel at this hour? Where are the guards who should be on the walls?’
Yol paused on his way out and asked.
“If I may ask just in case, my lord… Have you suffered some misfortune?”
“Do I look it?”
“No guards in sight.”
“They’re guarding my child and wife. Not sure it’ll help.”
“Is this ‘something’ you’re hiding the work of Jade or Father Danel?”
Yol could no longer hold back and asked bluntly.
Valtion seemed about to speak, then closed his mouth. It was like watching a sinner on the verge of full confession suddenly clam up. His momentum deflated. With a hardened expression, he said.
“What harm could two frail priests who can’t even carry a water bucket cause?”
“I don’t know if you’re aware, my lord! Father Jade is the one who committed murder in the middle of Bompei’s streets, in broad daylight. He deserved execution long ago, yet slithers on under the Rom Priest Order’s protection.”
“I knew he’d been excommunicated. But in these times, is excommunication of a priest such a big deal?”
“He was banished from Bompei for it, excommunicated by the Rom Priest Order, and the Raphael Priest Order tried to bring him to inquisition—and you call it nothing?”
“So what were the circumstances of that murder?”
Valtion asked reluctantly, as if inquiring about something he didn’t care about.
‘Getting more suspicious. He’s definitely lying, but why? This looks exactly like Valtion protecting Jade.’
By Yol’s information, Jade’s inquisition and execution prep was a public project proposed by Lord Valtion himself. Villagers who helped with the pyre prep had been or would soon be compensated, and trial and procession costs all charged to the lord’s expenses. Money circulating in the village spurred other economic activity.
‘What could have changed Valtion’s mind? Curious.’
Hoping Valtion might spill it himself, Yol told Jade’s tale.
“You know Bompei’s lord.”
“Leopold Braune? Met him often in my youth.”
“Lord Braune’s daughter Michelle fell gravely ill three years ago.”
“I heard many doctors failed to cure her, and she died.”
“There were rumors she was possessed by a demon. So Lord Braune petitioned Rotican directly to exorcise it and asked Bompei’s bishop for prayers. No evidence of possession found, so concluded mere illness. Fatherly worry, nothing more. But Jade, then at Bompei cathedral, claimed Michelle was possessed.”
The shocking part hadn’t even begun, yet Valtion looked greatly shocked. Yol continued in a stronger tone.
“Jade jumped in to resolve it, but instead of curing her, he worsened it. Maddened, Michelle ran into the streets. Jade chased her and set her ablaze, turning a thirteen-year-old girl into a fireball.”
Yol paused dramatically for effect, then continued.
“They say only white ashes remained where the girl burned, no corpse left.”
Valtion swallowed hard.
‘Didn’t prepare the pyre before the inquisitor arrived, Lord Valtion? Tell me to arrest Jade!’
Yol awaited the order, but Valtion instead looked relieved, as if a long-held doubt resolved.
“I had no idea. I resented Lord Braune for not even a letter. Thank you for the tale. Father Puyol, there’s nothing more for you here.”
Yol saw he was not one to heed advice or be swayed in such matters, like many nobles and lords.
No need to waste more time, then.
“Understood. May God’s grace be with you.”
Yol left the chapel with quick steps.
By the wagon, the coachman waited with the same pitiful expression as when they’d first met. Fortunately, he hadn’t done anything foolish in his absence.
“Let’s go. Seems I’ve nothing more to do here.”
Yol mounted and headed for the gate. The coachman cautiously turned the wagon—agonizingly slowly—and exited the gate.
“What’s the fastest way to Rom from here?”
Yol asked.
“The way we came.”
The coachman replied.
“Right. But… we didn’t meet anyone on the way here, did we?”
“No. Not a soul passed us or overtook us.”
The coachman boasted with a dumb smile.
“Truth is, Zeruba’s roads are treacherous at night. Without a coachman like me who handles horses well and knows the paths, you’d have broken five more wheels.”
With his night vision, Yol scanned Zeruba once more.
“If we take a boat from the fish market, where does it go?”
“Anywhere the sea connects, I suppose. But no boats at this hour.”
“Plenty of money should fix that, no?”
“Who’d take it? Everyone’s asleep.”
“Saw a ferry crossing on the way. What about there?”
“From there, just crossing the river. Small boat, can’t take horses.”
“Is there a road after crossing the river?”
“Leads to Bompei. Ah, that way to Rom’s convenient too. Bit detour, but well-paved, easy going. Less wheel damage.”
“I’ll go ahead to that ferry. Follow me.”
The coachman frowned.
“Sorry, but I haven’t gotten the rest of my pay. If you go first and we miss each other…”
He said “miss,” but worried Yol would leave without paying. Yol smiled, easing his fears.
“Is the wagon you’re driving now more valuable, or the pay I owe you? I should worry you’ll steal it while I’m gone.”
“Ah, right.”
The coachman relaxed. Of course, if Yol found Jade or Danel or their direction, he planned to ditch the wagon and pursue—cargo and all.
Yol galloped into the darkness to the ferry. The ferry boat was docked across the river, over fifty feet away. Too far to swim, and the current swift.
Yol pondered briefly, then turned back.
‘Unintentionally keeping my promise to the coachman.’
Returning, he saw the wagon stopped in the empty road. Curious why he hadn’t followed, but urgent, Yol called out first.
“No boat or ferryman at the crossing.”
“Well, at this hour…”
The coachman trailed off. Fear dawned on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
Yol asked with a smile.
The coachman forced a smile.
“Just now, a strange voice from the baggage. Daytime it was just noise, but now clearly a human voice.”
“A voice? What’d it say?”
“Father Puyol’s a fake. A demon locked me here, pretending to be inquisitor.”
“So you stopped and tried to open the baggage?”
“Sorry. Too curious.”
“Didn’t I say curiosity is sin?”
“But it keeps talking to me. Couldn’t bear it.”
“I see. No helping it. One last question. Without a boat, where’s the fastest way across this river?”
The coachman answered dazedly.
“Uh, crossing Devil’s Bridge is quickest.”
“Devil’s Bridge. Wanted to see it. Good opportunity.”
“I can guide you well.”
“Didn’t I say last? You really don’t listen.”
Yol stabbed the coachman’s throat and pulled out the knife.
Blood gushed from the coachman’s throat. Clutching it, he knelt. Yol grabbed his collar and dragged him behind the baggage. Then unlocked the padlock.
The baggage door flew open, and a naked man burst out.
Yol, holding the coachman in one hand, embraced the man with the other. Then threw him back inside. The naked man screamed and fell.
The baggage reeked of vomit and excrement. Trembling in the dark, the naked man said.
“G-give me a reason. What is this?”
“Reason? Father just had bad luck.”
Yol tossed the freshly dead coachman’s body inside with one hand and continued.
“If asking why I kept you alive, it was maybe useful. Like asking local inquisition procedures.”
Father Achion realized too late it was a corpse and screamed.
“But now no reason to keep you alive, Father Achion. A lifetime judging heretics and demons, now dying to one. Always burning innocents as demons, now facing a real one with no resistance—what’re you thinking? Nothing, of course.”
Yol asked and answered himself, then shut the door.
“No thoughts, so you talked to the coachman. Got an innocent killed for nothing.”
Yol mounted the wagon, drove to the river, detached the baggage, and pushed it in. Despite iron bands, the bulky wood floated long before sinking. Might drift downstream, resurface, or snag till fishermen saw it tomorrow morn.
‘Unwittingly gave Achion the punishment he loved.’
Most inquisitors tortured with hot irons, pointed irons, hammers, tongs for confessions. Confirmed sinners walked an hour to the square for villagers to see, then bound to prepped pyre and burned.
Achion differed. Claiming demon blood harmed inquisitor souls, he tied stones to ankles, drowned them. Sink: guilty. Float: innocent. Once someone miraculously untied and floated; for fairness, Achion retried same way.
Key was pulling before drowning, for the burning. Achion famed for timing.
“If you float, Achion, innocent.”
Yol muttered at the empty water. But if Achion miraculously survived?
“Might gain great enlightenment, succeed St. Antonius as saint. Demon tale born, this river called Demon River.”
Yol galloped toward Devil’s Bridge, muttering.
“Wish I could kill Jade that way too, but doubt I’ll get such leisurely chance.”