The Sage of Silvatia (4)
Theodore was in a hurry. Linger any longer, and he was certain he would be swept up in Rondel's logic.
Make a domain more prosperous merely by lowering its taxes? Nonsense. It ought to be nonsense... so why does it sound so plausible?
A chill prickled his skin. An insight he had never once considered flashed through his mind, and hard on its heels came the mortifying thought of how ignorant he himself had been.
The situation was intolerable. A noble educated to the highest standard all his life could not bring himself to admit that a mere commoner had surpassed him in wisdom.
At his summons, a coachman waiting within the castle came running in a fluster and set about readying the carriage to depart.
"The investigation has reached its conclusion."
Theodore delivered his final words to Vincent.
"Baron Vincent Crowell committed corruption in order to grow his domain. That is my finding. Furthermore, you resorted to wordplay in an attempt to deceive the inspector."
"Come now, Baron Theodore. You heard every word of it yourself. I understand how you feel. At first, even I could scarcely begin to grasp Rondel's wisdom. But..."
"I will hear no more, Baron Vincent. Henceforth you shall surrender half of all taxes collected in Silvatia as a fine. The particulars will be conveyed by letter in due course."
Seeing no need to listen further, Theodore climbed hastily into the carriage.
He briefly considered flinging one last barb at Rondel before he left, but the thought that he might only be drawn in deeper made him hold his tongue.
The carriage set off.
Don't do anything foolish. Just go back. Forget the outlandish notions you heard from that man.
Theodore closed his eyes and forced himself to settle.
Rondel's words might, perhaps, be true. Yet if he acknowledged them, far too much would be rendered ridiculous. The mages and nobles who had toiled all this time in pursuit of prosperity would be made fools, and even the royal house would find it difficult to escape that disgrace.
Then something cracked beneath the carriage — a sharp, splintering snap — and the whole vehicle collapsed in a heap.
We'd barely even moved...?
Theodore stepped outside to take stock of the situation.
"I—I'm terribly sorry, Baron Theodore!"
Outside, the coachman looked ready to weep. The moment Theodore climbed down, the man flung himself flat upon the ground and begged forgiveness.
Theodore regarded the broken carriage for a moment, then looked to Vincent and Rondel, standing only a few paces away.
Of all places for it to break...
That matters had come to this was inconvenient in the extreme, but he had no other choice. As though nothing whatsoever had happened, he approached with a perfectly natural air and addressed Vincent.
"The carriage has broken. Can you have it repaired?"
"Hm? Ah... that much isn't difficult. It will take a little time, mind you."
"I expect so."
"......"
"......"
Thrown by the unforeseen turn, Vincent and Theodore faltered. It was Theodore who broke the silence first.
"Ahem. I can hardly share a space with a man guilty of corruption, so I shall have to look for somewhere else to stay."
"Is there any need for that? Come into the castle and rest. While you're here, you might hear out my side of things as well."
"Your guilt has already been established. I have no need to hear more. Chess, however — that much I would not mind playing."
"Eh? Ah, yes. It's been a very long time since I played chess with you. Come in."
"I'll impose upon you for a short while, then."
Theodore entered the castle, looking distinctly awkward.
Watching his retreating back, Vincent turned his eyes to Rondel. They were brimming with curiosity and awe.
"Rondel, did you know it would come to this?"
"That is so."
"Ha, hahaha... Of course. The Sage of Silvatia would never have come without a countermeasure. Theodore was in the palm of your hand from the very beginning."
"Let us go. Baron Theodore has stepped onto the board. From this moment, the initiative belongs not to him, but to us."
Rondel and Vincent entered the castle.
Even as he walked, Vincent went on extolling Rondel's wisdom and his gift for reading the future, while Rondel demurred, insisting it was nothing of the kind.
Rondel had been bound to know the carriage would break. He had sawed through it himself — along the floor supports, in a place no one was likely to notice.
As for the chess, that had been comparatively obvious. Among the nobility it was the supreme game, a means of displaying one's strategic wit, and most nobles played whenever they found a spare moment. He had also heard, through rumor, that Theodore's devotion to the game ran deep.
Once they returned to the castle, Vincent and Theodore sat down to chess together.
The contest was entirely one-sided. Theodore's skill far exceeded Vincent's, and each game reached a swift conclusion. Vincent had hoped to use the match as a pretext to turn Theodore's thoughts, but he was beaten before he could even attempt persuasion, left with no opening at all.
"How dull."
Theodore muttered.
"Has your play always been this wretched? When we matched before, I don't recall it being quite this bad."
"I've grown rather rusty myself. There's no one else here to play with, so this is the first game I've had in a very long time."
"Even so, this is too much. Chess is a contest of strategy. What good is a noble who plays worse than a child?"
"......"
Vincent could muster no retort to the open sneer. As the weaker party, he could only sit there wearing a thoroughly sour expression.
Having watched their games through to the end, Rondel reached a conclusion of his own.
Theodore isn't anything special either.
Chess was a luxurious amusement reserved for the nobility, and so Rondel had been watching as though he knew nothing of it. In truth, he had played the game as a hobby — and not merely dabbled. He had been active in the 2,200 rating range of online chess, a bracket where even professional players were commonly found.
In the modern age, the game's openings, tactics, and strategies had long since been systematized. Theory refined through humanity's accumulated experience and the advancement of artificial intelligence had laid chess bare to its very limits. To someone who had touched those limits, the game unfolding before his eyes was kindergarten play at best.
"A most meaningful game."
Even so, Rondel picked up a single piece and put on a flawless show of knowing nothing about chess.
"Each piece has its own way of moving, and the players exchange moves in turn, with the side that first overpowers the king declared the winner. Is that how it works?"
"You're interested in chess as well? Well, a wise man such as yourself would be."
"It does look a little intriguing. Even if this is the first time I have seen the game in my life."
Overhearing the exchange between Rondel and Vincent, Theodore let out a snort.
"Hmph. A commoner, and chess? Don't make me laugh. Chess is the most aristocratic of pursuits — a contest of strategy against strategy. You wouldn't even grasp the basic rules."
"Would I not? For all you say, it does not look terribly complicated to my eyes. Watch a few more games, and I expect I shall grasp the essence of this pastime."
"There's nothing that mouth of yours couldn't manage."
Theodore scoffed at him, and, as if daring him to grasp whatever he pleased, resumed his game with Vincent.
When three games had passed, Rondel spoke.
"I believe I understand, more or less. What the rules of this game are, and how the principles for seizing victory operate."
"More nonsense."
"The rook moves in straight lines, the bishop along diagonals, and the queen combines the two. The king moves one square in any direction, the pawn only one square forward, and the knight possesses a peculiar mobility."
"You observed well enough. Those are the basic rules. But knowing them changes nothing."
"Is that so?"
Rondel answered Theodore's dismissal with unruffled calm.
This was the crucial moment. He opened his mouth as leisurely as he could — with a face that passed beyond ease into outright arrogance.
"Hmm. My thoughts differ. I fail to see what could possibly be difficult about a game this simple."
"...What did you say?"
"With pebbles no bigger than a finger, on a scrap of board, what strategy is there to contest? This is nothing more than a tabletop amusement for nobles with leisure to spare."
It was a provocation — a trap meant to lead the unsuspecting Theodore into a deep mire, and the finest move with which to overturn the board. For a noble who invested chess with grave significance, a remark dismissing the game in this fashion was not something easily overlooked.
"Impudent talk."
Theodore walked straight into the trap. His face rigid, he said:
"Chess is no simple pastime. It is a fight in which one sets everything aside and tests ability against ability on equal terms. It is also war in miniature."
"It does not look that way to me in the slightest."
"A fellow who lives by his mouth, like you, wouldn't know, of course. Spectators gawking from the side have no idea of the anguish and difficulty a battle of moves entails."
"Anguish and difficulty. I should not think those would be necessary. Not if I were the one facing you, Baron Theodore."
"Madman."
When anger burns too hot, it has a way of cooling instead. That was Theodore now.
He glared at Rondel, who stood there in boundless arrogance. Ordinarily, a commoner this insolent would have deserved a beating to the death on the spot — but another notion occurred to him.
"If you will go so far, then you may as well match me. I will make you understand, to the marrow of your bones, just how impudent and foolish you are."
"......"
"Why so quiet? You wagged that tongue of yours freely enough, and now that the moment is upon you, are you afraid?"
"Not at all."
Even then, Rondel shook his head with deliberate slowness — slowly, leisurely, just enough to stoke the other man's temper.
"I simply cannot think of a reason to indulge in such a pastime. There is no need to bother with an activity that has neither use nor meaning."
"Impudent wretch."
Theodore clenched his teeth until they ground. For a moment he looked ready to kill Rondel with his gaze alone, but then the corner of his mouth lifted in a thin grin.
"Then what do you say to a wager between us?"
"A wager?"
"If I lose at chess, I will conclude that there was no corruption whatsoever in Silvatia. I will treat the fine as though it never existed."
"Would that truly be acceptable?"
"In return, you will stake something of equal weight."
Settling the question of corruption with a game of chess was absurd beyond words. And yet this was precisely what Rondel had wanted.
How shall I cook him?
He had hundreds of ways to shatter Theodore. Victory was a foregone conclusion; what occupied him was what he might extract along the way.
"You ought to refuse this wager."
Vincent cut in, trying to stop him.
"However wise you may be, a man who learned the game only today cannot defeat someone who has played chess all his life."
"Do you not place your trust in me?"
"That isn't what I mean. I'm saying there is no need to fight a battle in which you are at a disadvantage."
"I agree with you there. Even so, whether this fight is disadvantageous to me is something you will have to watch a little longer to judge."
Rondel soothed the anxious Vincent, then turned to Theodore, who had been waiting in silence.
"Very well. I shall accept your wager, Baron Theodore."
"Excellent. And what will you put up in return? Money, honor... you have neither, so that won't do. Will you stake the cheap rags on your back?"
"What meaning would there be in staking something like that? Only a moment ago, Baron Theodore, you said that chess is war in miniature. Therefore, I..."
Rondel spoke with perfect calm.
"I will stake my life."
An overwhelmingly disadvantageous position — and yet, far from showing fear, the majestic bearing that did not falter even before the threat of death astonished both nobles. It was the very image of a legendary hero.
But neither Theodore nor Vincent knew the truth. Rondel was no beginner at chess, nor was he at any disadvantage at all. From the very beginning, he had never intended to stake his life.