Saving a Life #2
“Could I have just one candle?”
I had always admired missionaries. Back when I dreamed of heading into remote, backward wildernesses to spread the faith, I had studied all sorts of knowledge for the work. Basic first aid and elementary medical know-how had been especially useful items on that list.
“I need to check something for a moment.”
Among the claims made by the highly advanced physicians of the twenty-first century, there was this one: the human body has parts that cannot be trained, and one of them is the pupil.
Swish—.
I took the candle they handed me and shone it into Psyche’s hazy blue eyes. The moment the flame touched them, the pupils that had been drifting without focus instantly contracted.
That meant her consciousness was intact enough for the cranial nerves to respond.
Yet unlike a body that could not lie, Psyche only made pitiful little sounds—“Ah… ah…”—exactly like someone who had lost all awareness.
Why on earth is she putting on this act?
The Psyche I had known before was healthier than anyone; “illness” had never come near her. Even now it was the same. Her body was filthy enough to make one frown, but if you looked carefully she was perfectly healthy. A little thin, her hair a bit dry and brittle, but well within the range of a normal person.
“Um… Brother Hyde. I’ve brought the olive oil and willow ash you asked for.”
An old servant approached. He had fetched the materials I requested in under ten minutes. So the rumors that the count’s household spared no expense to cure their daughter’s illness were true after all.
The servants and maids, however, had no idea what those ingredients were for, and they watched me with open suspicion.
“Can you make medicine with these?”
Medicine? No. As far as I knew, those materials could not produce medicine. They could, however, produce something rather high-class in its own way.
“I can’t cure a disease with them, but I can prevent one.”
Swish, swish—.
I mixed the olive oil and willow ash thoroughly in a prepared bowl, then plucked a flower from a nearby vase, tossed it in, and stirred the whole mess vigorously. A little more time would have been nice, but…
“Sisters, would you mind soaking a towel in this and wiping Lady Psyche’s face? I could do it myself, of course.”
The maids exchanged glances. They eyed the strange, suspicious liquid with tension, so for their sake I dipped my own hand in it and smeared it across my face and hands.
“This is improvised soap. If we let it harden and dry in the shade it would work even better, but we don’t have that kind of time right now.”
It was crude soap, yet far more effective than the oils or rosewater medieval people usually used as substitutes. Honestly, I wanted to wash my hands too.
“Soap!”
“It was soap!”
Only then did the maids’ faces brighten. They soaked handkerchiefs in the soapy water and began wiping Psyche’s face, hands, and feet with the careful reverence one might give a priceless treasure.
“Ohhh.”
When her face was finally clean, I could not help but marvel. A beauty with red hair and blue eyes. Yet she could not even speak, a pitiable, heartbreaking invalid. Was this how the prince felt when he first laid eyes on the mermaid who had become human on the shore and fell in love at first sight?
I was no knight on a white horse, no prince, but I swore once more: I would free Psyche from this illness no matter what.
Of course, by my diagnosis her illness was pure fakery. And that created a problem. The Psyche I knew was more honest and devout than anyone. Why would a woman like that perform the lie of “feigning illness”?
I prided myself on knowing more about acting out lies than anyone else alive. After all, I had once played the role of “Rust” just to survive. Psyche must have her own reason for having to act the invalid. But what was it?
What could possibly force a count’s daughter who had grown up wanting for nothing to keep up a two-year charade of illness? If I could not discover that—if I could not solve that problem—Psyche would never abandon this pretense.
“When did Lady Psyche’s illness first appear?”
I asked. Perhaps the improvised soap and the face-washing had raised their trust in me a little; one of the maids answered quickly.
“Well… when she turned fifteen… two years ago! She was about to have her coming-of-age ceremony, and then she suddenly collapsed, and after that… she couldn’t walk at all…”
The servants and maids grew solemn again and sniffled. From that I learned Psyche was now seventeen, and that she “could not walk.” Considering this world’s age of majority was sixteen, the timing felt significant in many ways.
A noble daughter’s coming-of-age ceremony. And the voice of the minstrel who had come babbling to me in the count’s barn rose in my memory.
—Isn’t Lady Psyche of marriageable age? Even if her looks have suffered greatly from illness, she was once called one of the three flowers of the kingdom for her beauty…
—There was even talk of a match with the second son of Archbishop Archibold…
As I pieced the memories together, puzzle pieces I had thought would never fit suddenly locked into place. I thought I understood why Psyche was faking illness.
“This is bad…”
If my guess and prediction were correct, Psyche’s feigned illness would never be cured. But that was a problem. I had a wager going with that arrogant priest Manaan. If I lost, my tongue would be ripped out.
Of course I was not going to lose. In a certain sense, I knew Psyche better than anyone.
“I will cure the lady’s illness in ten minutes. But I have conditions. Bring me a sturdy rope. And drive a thick, large stake into the wall of this room.”
“A rope and a stake…? What does that have to do with saving a life…?”
The old servant who had fetched the olive oil and willow ash looked doubtful again at the items I demanded. A reasonable doubt. The rope and stake were not, strictly speaking, for saving a life.
“Drive the stake a bit higher up. Make it solid.”
The servants bored a hole in the wall and drove the stake home. It was extremely sturdy. Satisfied that preparations were complete, I spoke to the servants and maids.
“Leave the room now. I intend to drive out the spirit that has entered Lady Psyche’s body. No matter what sounds you hear, do not enter until I call for you.”
“You want to be alone with the lady? Absolutely not! That is out of the question!”
The old servant’s veins stood out as he shouted. I would have done the same. Leave the count’s precious daughter alone in a room with some man of unknown origin? I would never have allowed it either.
But I had to persuade them.
“Do you not want Lady Psyche cured? Do you want her to spend her whole life as a cripple, living in filth!? Get out of the room at once!”
“Th-that is…”
“Go ahead and try!”
A voice like thunder rolling through a deep cave suddenly rang out. I turned. A man with magnificently grown red hair, cloak and sword at his side, was striding toward us. His bearing was as proud as a lion’s, and he was nearly as tall as I was.
The servants and maids bowed their heads toward this imposing middle-aged man.
“C-Count…!”
“The Count himself…”
The Count. So this was Psyche’s father, Count Doban, guardian of the Agarpe domain. Before I could form any other impression of the man, he spoke.
“I give you ten minutes. If you have not cured my daughter’s illness by then, I will take your head.”
“Assuming my head is still attached by then. And I swear upon my conscience and my faith that I will not lay a hand on Lady Psyche.”
Creeeak, thud—.
I drove every last servant and maid from the room. Then I looked at Psyche. Even through all of this she was diligently playing the invalid.
I spoke to her in a very small, careful voice.
“Lady Psyche, I know you are lying. You have never been afflicted by any disease or curse. You are healthier than anyone. If you are ill at all, it is an illness of the heart.”
“…….”
“Do you know what the greatest sin in the world is? Telling lies? Cursing? Killing one’s brother and plundering? Committing adultery?”
Swish—.
I stepped up onto a chair, looped the rope over the high stake, and formed it into a neat circle.
“What about blasphemy or devil worship? Are those truly unforgivable sins? No. They are not. Lady Psyche, you already know that, of course.”
I slipped my neck into the circular noose. My heart pounded as if it would burst; my hands and feet burned as though held to a flame. My knees felt itchy with dread. I breathed calmly and continued.
“Among all the sins a human can commit, the greatest is suicide. Every other sin can be repented, but suicide leaves no time for that—it hurls the soul straight into the deepest pit of hell.”
Wham—! Crash—!
I kicked the chair away. The legs that had supported me floated free in an instant, and something seized my throat in a merciless grip.
Grrrk—! Crrrack—!
“Ghk—! Khhk—! Ngh…!”
It felt exactly as if Death itself had reached out and begun to strangle me. Pressure built behind my eyes until they felt ready to burst; no words would come. It hurt terribly. What hurt even more was the knowledge that if I died like this, my soul would plummet straight to the bottom of hell, just as I had said moments ago!
A truly dreadful prospect—yet fortunately it did not come to pass. Something lifted me up.
“…What in the world do you think you’re doing?!”
It was Lady Psyche, the one supposedly bedridden and unconscious. She looked utterly panicked and grave as she seized my legs and hoisted me into the air.
“Someone help! Quickly! Somebody help! Hurry! A person is dying!!!”
Through a world growing steadily hazier I heard Psyche shouting toward the outside. Almost at once people began pounding on the locked door; then came the crash of the lock shattering.
“Ah, my lady! Are you all right? You bastard! What have you done to her?!”
“Out of the way! I will save the lady! You Midbar swindler! What did you do to her?!”
“Sir Loras!”
Crack—! Crack—! KRAAASH—!
At last the sturdy door lock gave way and servants and maids poured into the room like a swarm of bees.
“My lady! Are you unharmed! You—Hyde!”
“Loras! Lift him up! Quickly!”
They stared at Psyche and me in utter shock, then joined forces to hoist my body free of hell’s grasp.
“Haa… haa…”
Only then could I draw breath again. I managed a smile for everyone.
“There—did you see? The lady who was supposed to be a cripple stood up perfectly well and even called for help. Cough… Please inform the Count. It took less than ten minutes, so I have kept my promise.”