On the Day It Rained
Chapter 3 — On the Day It Rained
"Count Randert, this way, please!"
The rain, falling without pause day or night, was slowing the army's march to a crawl. The ground had turned into a treacherous mire, visibility was poor, and worst of all were the soldiers' health. A considerable number were already complaining of hypothermia from the relentless downpour.
"It's a small village, but it should suffice as shelter from the rain for the night!"
"We'll camp here."
The Count's order fell, and in an instant tents rose across the village square as campfires flickered to life.
"See to the wounded first."
It was early summer, but a rain-soaked night was chill enough. If the wounded caught a cold on top of their injuries, matters would grow far worse. Bringing every single man home safe and sound, without one straggler left behind, was the Count's highest duty.
"Dinner starts with the Third Legion."
"Borrow extra blankets from the village — but mind your manners while you do it!"
Under the orders of the Full Moon Knights, the soldiers snapped into motion. Only then, as if the news had finally reached him, the village chief came running through the rain and bowed deeply before Count Randert.
His nervousness was plain to see. The empire was at war. In a village as small as this one, there was exactly one measure for telling friend from foe: whether they meant to do you harm, or not. Every able-bodied man of fighting age had long since been conscripted; all that remained were the frail old and the women and children. Their fear was only natural.
"We will trouble you for a single night's lodging."
"P-please, lower your speech! How could someone of your exalted standing use honorifics to someone as lowly as me! Please, don't do that!"
By age, the village chief was nearly old enough to be the Count's father. When the other man startled at the formality that had spilled out of him like a habit, the Count gave a rueful smile.
"Forgive the imposition, but might I ask for what food and blankets you can spare?"
"Of course! There's no question of it! I'll have the women gather everything and bring it out at once!"
"There's no need for that. If the soldiers go to the houses themselves, your people need only share out a little at a time."
After so many years of war, this village surely did not have food to spare either. The Count could not help feeling wretched — that he had no choice but to ask for it, knowing full well what he was asking.
"It's a shabby place, but please allow me to escort you inside, Count Randert. It is the least I can do."
"No need. The offer alone is thanks enough."
"Oh, but surely that is only right! Please, do not refuse me this!"
Baseris von Randert — savior of the empire, a man who had led every war he ever fought to victory without a single defeat.
The village chief had, of course, long heard the famous tales of how the man who appeared like a comet alongside the invincible Full Moon Knights was as upright in character as he was in strength. But he had also lived long enough to know that reality could be very different from rumor. For the weak like them, bowing low and keeping their heads down was the only way to protect themselves and their families.
"I could not possibly serve an imperial hero so carelessly. If word of such a slight ever got out, my children and my children's children would be spat upon for generations!"
Insisting that such a thing must never come to pass, the chief pressed his case at length.
"Not far from here, there is a small but pleasant hot spring. On weather as foul as today's, there's no better place to loosen a body gone stiff from the march. Soak there to your heart's content, and I shall see to it that wine and food are readied."
"Spare the wine and food."
"Please think nothing of it. I will—"
"If you have wine and food to serve me, then share it with the soldiers instead."
The Count's voice, cutting across the chief's protests, was far firmer than before. Past this point, pressing further would have been an insult. The flustered chief rolled his eyes about, at a complete loss, until the Count added,
"The hot spring, on the other hand, does tempt me."
Half of it was to put the chief's mind at ease; the other half was sincere. This latest battle had been a draining one even for Count Randert. Victory had come, but at great cost — and above all, innocent commoners had been caught up in the fighting and killed. That was what grieved him most.
"I'll show you the way myself! Please, follow me!"
At the Count's assent, the chief hurried ahead, beaming as though nothing in the world could please him more. Following him, the Count arrived at a small open-air bath nestled at the foot of the hill behind the village.
The sky above was open, and boulders and trees walled in the four sides, making it a surprisingly cozy spot. The rain was still falling, so a long soak was out of the question, but the mere thought of warm water for the first time in ages lifted his spirits.
"Well then, I shall take my leave. Do enjoy your rest, my lord."
Something about the tone of those parting words was oddly strange. The chief retreated with a cryptic little smile, and the Count tilted his head at him for a moment before dismissing the thought and setting his sword down.
A short while later — just before he had shed his rain cloak and begun to unbutton his shirt — he heard footsteps at the entrance of the spring. Not the village chief. From the gait, it was a woman.
So they've come to bring the wine and food after all.
A crease formed between the Count's brows. They had appeared the moment the chief vanished, so the arrangement had plainly been made in advance.
Stubborn people, all of them.
It wasn't that he couldn't understand, but it meant turning down their kindness yet again, and that was a bother.
There goes my bath.
As the Count began hurriedly putting his clothes back on, the uninvited guest's footsteps quickened.
"...!"
And then his expectations were thoroughly overturned. The footsteps did belong to a woman — but her hands carried neither wine nor food.
Beneath the moonlight, in the cold rain, a graceful, unadorned woman stepped into view.
At the sight of her, Count Randert felt, for the first time in his life, as though lightning had struck him where he stood.
She was very young, and breathtakingly beautiful. Her deep, pure blue eyes were impossible to look away from.
Long hair tinged with blue spilled down to her hips, wrapping her slender shoulders and back.
Her small, snow-white face brimmed with curiosity toward him. She studied him as if he were some marvelous curiosity — and then, at some point, she broke into a smile.
It was a smile that stole the soul itself. Why she was here, in this place, at this moment — none of it mattered. Only that they had met.
And for a long while after that, the Count and the woman simply looked at one another. Neither rank nor name nor anything else was asked. They only stood there, gazing at each other for a very long time.
"Your Grace! Your Grace!"
At the anxious voice of his aide, Duke Randert snapped back to the present.
"What could you possibly be thinking about? I've been calling you for ages."
His lordship had seemed to briefly forget that anyone else was in the room, and Sadad wore a deliberately grave expression, feigning concern.
"I was just lost in an old memory for a moment. Nothing ails me, so wipe that look off your face."
Rain was still falling in sheets over Hamilton. Gazing out the window at it, what his lordship might be remembering — there was no way Sadad, who had served as his squire since boyhood, could not know.
But Sadad never once let on that he knew. He had laid eyes on the late Duchess only a handful of times in his life. Everything else he knew was secondhand, gleaned in fragments from the senior knights.
Whatever weighed on his lordship's heart, it was not a subordinate's place to prod at an old wound.
"Now, then — what is it?"
Having turned his gaze fully from the window, the Duke had already resumed his usual, cool composure.
"A letter has arrived from Senior Ian. I believe you should read it before my report."
"Is there something unusual in it?"
"The fallout looks to be considerable."
"Then why bury the lede like that?"
When the Duke held out his hand, Sadad passed over a sheet of paper rolled up tight.
To His Grace the Duke of Randert,
This is Ian. I trust you have finished your business at the imperial palace and returned to Hamilton by now, which is why I send this letter in haste.
As of today, Young Lord Jared has been permanently expelled from the Academy. While under suspension, the wretch and his gang brutalized a fellow student so severely that the student attempted to take their own life in broad daylight.
By the grace of the gods, no lasting harm was done, but the psychological shock was severe, and the student is to undergo treatment at the temple for some time.
As it happens, the Chairman of the Academy was paying a visit, and I am told he has decided to resolve this incident of violence cleanly by expelling every student involved.
It promises to be very noisy for a while. The man has been disgraced, so I expect a measure of retaliation will follow.
For your reference — the Chairman who settled this entire affair is the father of Eli, a friend of the young master Bayul. Do you recall the handsome student of gypsy descent? Not a blood son — an adopted one.
The Chairman's name is Rayegar Ponce Valery, said to be the seventh-generation descendant of Count Valery, the original founder of Carrington Academy.
I will look into it further myself, but I ask that Your Grace keep a watchful eye as well. Things in Carrington have grown quite chaotic of late.
— Ian Savage
"Ian's letters grow longer by the day."
Highly uncharacteristic of the man. The Duke turned the page over and read on.
Next, news concerning the residence.
At Rita's request, we have taken on two additional servants this time, and I find myself unable to judge the matter on my own authority.
They are younger brothers of the fellow already handling the cleaning, one Des. One has lost an arm; the other is blind.
Each came asking to work as a cook and a gardener respectively, and the young master Bayul could not bring himself to turn them away, and so took them in. Their skills leave something to be desired, but their characters do not appear bad.
The problem is that the brothers' identities strike me as rather dubious. They seem to have had martial training — or perhaps not — and I confess I cannot make heads or tails of it.
To ascertain what they truly are, I fear there is no way but for Your Grace to come and see for himself.
I await your orders.
— Ian Savage
"Their identities are dubious, you say."
As Bayul's father, it was not a matter he could wave off lightly. The letter claimed their characters seemed decent enough, but a man could turn in a heartbeat. As a high commander who directed the empire's armies, the Duke had seen that truth play out more times than he cared to count.
"Do you intend to go yourself?"
"If Ian can't make sense of them, no one else will, whoever goes."
"Do you believe them to be a threat to the young master?"
"Hard to say."
If Ian had sensed something off, then something was certainly there — and yet it was strange that men of such caliber had entered the household as servants. If they had wanted to do harm, they had any number of ways to go about it. There was no need, in other words, to disguise themselves as underlings.
"What's your read on it?"
"Hmm. If it were me, I'd simply watch and wait for now. With Senior Ian there, I doubt anything will come of it — and there are the brothers Lizai and Levi, sent by Lord Liam. Those two can be trusted."
"And it may genuinely be nothing at all, couldn't it?"
"I'd wager that's unlikely."
Ian's instincts were nearly as sharp as the Duke's own.
"Still — if he'd truly been worried for the young master's safety, he wouldn't have sent a letter at all. He'd have acted already. Might I suggest we wait and see, just for the moment?"
"......"
The Duke's silence was an affirmation. Sadad had a point. Whether to go and see these brothers for himself could wait until Ian's next letter arrived without any harm done. For now, it was time to set the worry aside.
"Speaking of which — how goes the investigation into that boy Eli, the one I asked you to look into? You knew he was the Chairman's son?"
"I'm sorry, Your Grace. I knew nothing of it."
That was the part that had startled Sadad most, reading Ian's letter.
"As far as I could find, he wandered the continent as a gypsy until his magical talent was recognized, and he entered the Academy by passing the entrance examination on his own merit. He was an honor student in his department, well-loved by his classmates, and held in high regard among the professors."
"That isn't what I wanted to know."
The moment the Duke had laid eyes on Eli, the hair on the back of his neck had stood on end. And in his experience, whenever that happened, disaster of some magnitude was never far behind. That was what troubled Duke Randert.
"What is it I'm failing to see, I wonder..."