The Tomboy's Choice (1)
On the fifth day after leaving our territory, I arrived in Westford, in the western reaches of the Empire.
Though Westford lay in the same west as the Academy, it sat farther to the southwest, planted along the border where the Empire met the western kingdoms. It was also a fief the Empire had ceded to the Holy Kingdom, and for generations the lordship of Westford had been held by an archbishop dispatched from the Holy See.
Westford served as something of a headquarters as well, overseeing every diocese within the Empire, and a peculiar custom had taken root here: its lord was a priest and, at the same time, a marquis of the Empire.
The reason I had gone out of my way to come here was to put the holy relic I had obtained in the Demon Realm to a proper use.
"Welcome to the Westford Archdiocese. Please state your name and the purpose of your visit."
"I am Edwin Reed. My father, Albert Reid, is the Count of Maidheaden in the south, and I am his heir. I have urgent business to petition His Excellency the Archbishop, and that is why I have come to Westford."
"Reed...? Forgive me, but would you wait a moment?"
The guards who had taken my introduction hurried off somewhere, and I followed their directions into the shade beside the castle gate and settled in for a long wait. They had probably gone to fetch a superior. This was another province entirely, so unlike a visit to the diocese in Maidheaden, the weight of my rank might not count for much. In that case, I might be in for quite a wait.
"Hah... hah... I beg your pardon!"
After I had waited perhaps an hour, a man in ornate silver armor burst out from inside the castle. Judging by his dress, he was likely the superior of the soldiers from earlier, and he was panting as if he had sprinted the whole way. He glanced about, spotted me standing in the corner, and came straight over.
"I am Osmund Turner, Chief of Security of Westford Castle. I am ashamed to have shown such discourtesy to the young lord of House Reed. From this moment I shall attend you personally. I ask only that you grant me your generous understanding."
"Haha, discourtesy? Not at all. If anyone has been rude, it is I, arriving so abruptly. I'm grateful for your thoughtful consideration, Commander."
I waved off the Chief of Security's apology and made light of the matter. According to him, fraudsters and swindlers posing as members of distinguished houses turned up at Westford in droves every day, so a verification process was unavoidable, and it simply took time. Fair enough. The place seemed to have no shortage of traffic, and given the peculiar nature of an archdiocese, every sort of person would be coming and going. Some such procedure was only to be expected.
"You mentioned requesting an audience with His Excellency the Archbishop, did you not? I regret to say the meeting may not be arranged immediately. He is a man of extraordinary public and private burdens — even those who have appointments in advance often leave without ever seeing him. I shall submit the request, of course, but it would be wise not to set your hopes too high."
"That's quite all right. However, I understand that visitors who come for the purpose of making a donation are given priority in the audience queue. When you submit the request, please be sure to include the reason for my visit."
"Haha, I thought there was something distinctive about you — so you are a most devout believer. Have no fear. I shall not omit that detail."
Collusion between the Church and the Empire's nobility was hardly uncommon, and donations were the most widely used instrument of that arrangement. Because the transfer of wealth took the form of a donation, the giver could save a considerable sum in taxes, and since the money was half-blind in the first place, the Church — the receiving party — enjoyed relatively free use of the funds, and ranked donations as its preferred method of all. And since I had given a quiet hint that I had come for precisely that purpose, anyone with an interest in such things would put me at the head of the audience queue.
After I had waited in the reception room for the better part of a day, someone from the Church finally came to find me.
"To think a young man of such tender years would possess so deep a piety. Ah, the Empire's future is truly bright, hahaha."
The man guiding me to the Archbishop appeared to be a priest of rather high station. But for all the antique dignity of his vestments and rank, his body advertised in every direction a corpulence steeped in greed. Folds of flesh spilled from between his robes and rolled with every step, and his face, pickled in grease, caught the chandelier light and shone with a slick gleam.
"Young Lord Reed may not be aware, but this Sanders has gone to considerable trouble to arrange your meeting with His Excellency. Archbishop Timothy is a stubbornly principled man, you see — he does not particularly enjoy this sort of encounter. Whether the matter succeeds is now in your hands, but whatever the outcome, I do hope you will not forget the efforts of this humble Sanders."
Even as he led me along, the high priest called Sanders kept glancing back, silently angling for a response. From the way things were unfolding, it seemed reports did not go up to the Archbishop directly from the Chief of Security, but passed through middle managers like this one. And if a visitor did not suit their tastes, they would invent a convenient excuse and cut him off in between. Mentioning a donation as the reason for my visit had, it seemed, been the right call after all.
"How could I forget? It is only natural to remember those who labor for the peace of all the Empire's people. I may still be lacking in worldly experience, but I understand that much well enough."
"Hehehe, I see now — it is not only your appearance that is outstanding, but your heart as well. Then this Sanders shall place his trust in you, young lord."
I walked with him through a conversation of absolutely no nutritional value, and before long we arrived before the Archbishop's office. Sanders, suddenly quiet as if the last several minutes had never happened, cleared his throat twice and raised a hand to knock.
"Your Excellency. It is Sanders. Young Lord Edwin Reed, of whom I spoke earlier, has arrived."
"Bid him enter."
Once the Archbishop's permission was given, Sanders cracked the door just wide enough and stepped back. I walked toward the open door, and as I entered the office I could see the Archbishop seated at the desk directly ahead.
Archbishop Timothy looked to be in his forties — younger than the image the title typically conjured. But in stark contrast to Sanders, who had glistened with avarice, he radiated from every inch of his person the devout atmosphere befitting a man of the cloth.
"Come in. Though I am a man of little worth, I am Timothy, who holds the office of Archbishop of Westford."
"I am Edwin Reed. I am simply grateful that you have granted this believer's request for an audience."
"Sit."
I exchanged a brief greeting with the Archbishop and, at his invitation, sat on the sofa in the middle of the office. I had expected at least some small talk first, but contrary to that assumption, he seated me and then lapsed into silence, doing nothing but sip at a cup of warm tea. Some ten minutes had passed, and I, worn down by the long quiet, was just about to speak first when the Archbishop finally opened his mouth and tossed out a single topic.
"...?"
"And that includes even we of the clergy, who pride ourselves on serving the gods most closely. Did a thief not just knock upon my door and leave?"
A thief? He means Sanders. The Archbishop did not, it seemed, harbor particularly warm feelings toward the priests under him.
"What is even more absurd is that the greater the thief, the greater the power he holds. So tell me — how is one supposed to catch such men?"
Is he trying to play at riddles with me? I've still got work to do today. I'm a busy man. But I had come here to bring the Archbishop over to my side, and if I did not play along with his questions properly, it looked as though I would have a hard time even broaching my purpose. No choice but to play along...
"That is simple enough. Your Excellency need only wield greater power than the thieves themselves."
"What?"
"In the end, all things in this world resolve to power. There are no exceptions. Even the Great Demon of antiquity could only be struck down by the overwhelming force of a hero. If even transcendent beings are bound by that law, need I say more of the affairs of mortal men?"
"Power, is it..."
The Archbishop heard my answer, trailed off in thought for a moment, then put the question back to me.
"Then you came here to obtain that power of which you speak, did you not? You said you came to make a donation, so you must want something from me in return."
"That is so."
When I answered in the affirmative, the Archbishop gave a short, dry laugh, lifted his teacup once more, and spoke.
"You are a child who knows nothing of the world. What you are doing now is stretching your legs without knowing where you will lie. I do not accept donations, or anything of that sort. I cannot stop the likes of Sanders from scavenging scraps below, but how could I, with my own hands, suck the lifeblood of the people?"
"I granted you this audience because I had met your father several times in the past and knew the measure of the man. But this conduct of yours, prattling on about donations — it is the very picture of a dog born to a tiger."
"Out of regard for my old acquaintance with your father, I shall not have you thrown out. But neither do I intend to grant your request. So put aside your idle hopes, drink a quiet cup of tea, and be on your way."