Trampled #2
“Oh. Something like that happened?”
“Yes. Hard as it may be to believe, it is the truth. I would have brought the thing itself to show you, but I held back—I didn’t want to present you with anything so unsightly.”
Iris covered her mouth and laughed; the young man seated across from her joined in with a hearty chuckle of his own.
His eyes were sharp, and he wore a black martial robe of expensive material. Only Freesia, seated beside Iris, kept her lips sealed in silence.
Tsk. Look at those eyes.
Honestly, I’d love to grab that wrist and snap it right now.
Freesia had always resented the fact that a man like him ruled the West as chief. His father had been a fine man—noble character and bravery both, a true chief of the Fourth Division. Yet this man’s younger brother and the man himself were both thoroughly foul-tempered. Not openly foul, either, but slyly, insidiously so—repulsive to the point of disgust.
And worse still…
“By the way, Your Highness still has not settled on a marriage partner?”
Every time he slipped marriage talk in like that, her irritation flared. Even so, she had to bury the annoyance and answer in a flat, even tone. She could not afford to let her irritation show openly.
“…No. I simply have no desire to rush.”
“Mm… of course I understand it is not a matter to be hurried, but I do wonder whether you are not already rather late…”
When the young man, Louis, tilted his head, Iris answered with a gentle smile. She was hardly ignorant of the black depths of Louis’s heart, yet as chief of one of the divisions he had to be treated with due courtesy.
“Do not worry. I myself am still in my prime, and this child’s groom is someone she must find for herself, is she not? Besides, she is not late at all.”
The Yo clan did not place great weight on status when choosing a partner. Compared to most holders of power who scrutinized a spouse’s qualifications so finely, it was a remarkably free-thinking attitude. Iris herself had chosen an ordinary Yo man as her companion.
Tsk. Louis clicked his tongue inwardly even as he answered in a bright voice.
“Haha. That is true enough. Who would dare doubt the Great Chief’s vigor? You are still very much in your prime.”
“My, your flattery has grown quite polished as well.”
The two of them laughed as though they were enjoying themselves and kept the atmosphere pleasant.
“Well then, I shall take my leave first.”
When Freesia rose to leave, Louis fixed her with a look of deep regret.
“Come now. Will you not stay a little longer? It has been so long since I was granted the sight of Your Highness’s beautiful face…”
“Today is not the only day, is it? Farewell.”
Freesia bowed her head in farewell and left at once. Iris’s gaze followed her with something like pity.
“Huu…!”
The moment she stepped out of the office, a sigh escaped Freesia’s lips. It only happened once every few years, yet that once was more than enough to choke her.
Who does he think he is, running his mouth about my marriage?
Should I just stomp him flat? I’m starting to hit the limit of how much I can take.
For a moment she seriously considered throwing away the princess’s seat and overturning everything. In the end she cooled her head and simply walked wherever her feet carried her. Going back to her rooms would only make the stifling feeling worse.
Louis West. Of the four chiefs who each governed one of the cardinal lands of the Yo territory, he was the worst piece of trash. A slimy creature who could not even come out and propose marriage properly. Of course she would have refused even if he had proposed openly—but in every way he simply rubbed her the wrong way.
At this point she almost thought a human would be better.
And the human Edgar is actually decent.
Just as humans varied from person to person, perhaps the Yo did as well. She was turning over the hard-won insight when a peculiar voice reached her ear—a voice thick with an oddly restless air.
[…What an insolent fellow. Very well. Try it.]
[Thank you.]
First came the voice of that detestable Louis’s younger brother, Brodie. That much she could dismiss…
But why is he there?
Edgar’s voice, someone who should have had no connection to the man at all. What on earth was going on?
Curiosity shoved her from behind; Freesia hurried toward the Treasure House. Her eyes took in the many cargo carts and porters gathered before the warehouse beside the Treasure House—and Edgar approaching one of those carts.
“Sort every last item on that cart within one minute. You boasted so confidently… so you can manage that much, yes? Fail, and you will answer for the crime of deceiving me. Even if you enjoy the princess’s favor.”
Even if he had the princess’s recommendation, Edgar was not the princess himself. He could borrow some of her prestige, yet against someone of higher station the effect was limited. Exactly as it was now.
Edgar glanced at the man wearing a sneering smile—Brodie—then spoke to William. The time limit was brutally tight, yet not impossible. Not for Edgar, at least, as opposed to any other appraiser.
“Sir William.”
“Huh? What is it?”
Suddenly addressed by name, William asked in mild confusion. In private they used easy terms of address; here Edgar had chosen the proper title for the setting.
“If I classify the goods, could you have the porters put them in order for me?”
So he meant to do this properly. William looked into those coldly settled eyes and gave a short snort of laughter.
“That’ll cut my own work by one task. Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.”
Edgar drew a short breath, steadied himself, and swept his gaze across the treasures laid out on the cargo cart. The wooden lids of the tribute boxes had already been opened so the goods could be taken out at once. At William’s order the porters formed two ranks behind Edgar, ready to carry items into the Treasure House the moment he handed them over. An efficient arrangement, in its way.
All I have to do is pull each piece and look at it.
Once he had a rough measure of the job, Edgar snatched up a small golden statuette. Brodie’s brow twisted ugly; worry gathered on Freesia’s face as she drew nearer.
Middle Grade
A sculpture by Armand, sculptor of the western lands. It depicts a noble young lady of the Yo clan. Crafted while the master was in poor condition, and thus of lower finish than his usual work.
Poor man.
Edgar pictured someone forced to carve even while ill, and opened his mouth.
“Armand’s work. Middle Grade. Take it.”
“Y-yes… what?”
That Armand had made the piece was something even a porter would know. But a human should never have known the name.
When the porter stood frozen with eyes wide, Edgar narrowed his own and repeated,
“Middle Grade. Take it.”
“Ah… yes, sir! Forgive me!”
Edgar might be human, yet he held the official rank of appraiser. The porter was only a porter. That was why, even in his fluster, he received the object with proper deference.
The moment the first man hurried away, Edgar’s hand closed on another piece. Again the maker was Armand; the quality was Middle Grade.
“This one is Middle Grade as well.”
“Yes, sir!”
Another porter accepted the statuette and moved off toward William. By the time the first man had recovered from his shock, the rest of the line had settled into calm focus.
Middle Grade.
Upper Grade.
Upper Grade.
As Edgar recited the information that rose in his mind, the ranks of porters grew steadily shorter. The speed at which goods left the cart was just as swift. By the time nearly everything on that one cart had been cleared—
“Stop!”
Brodie snapped the order in a high, irritable voice, cutting Edgar off. Still scowling, he stalked forward until he stood in front of the human.
“You… I see now. You’re quite the actor, aren’t you?”
His voice was as chilly as it was unpleasant.
“Actor?”
“A know-nothing running his mouth and pretending to appraise! How dare you try to deceive me…!”
Ah. Only then did Edgar understand why Brodie was so angry. The man had decided Edgar knew nothing of appraisal and was merely spouting whatever sounded plausible. And even if that were not the case, he clearly wanted an excuse to find fault.
What a filthy temper.
Human or Yo, the sordid ones stayed sordid. The thought rose freshly in Edgar’s mind, and he decided he would have to break Brodie’s momentum thoroughly. Only then would this sort of thing stop happening again.
“Still planning to keep up the deception to the end? That ‘Armand’s sculpture,’ for instance. You may have overheard the name somewhere… but a ignorant lout who doesn’t even know who Armand is dares to bandy that name about?”
“I know him. One of the five finest sculptors in the lands of the Yo.”
“What…?”
The moment Edgar cut him off with that unperturbed gaze, Brodie faltered, his mouth working soundlessly. There was not a trace of intimidation in the human—only calm confidence.
Drawing on both the game knowledge he still carried and the information the pieces themselves supplied, Edgar continued.
“I am well aware he is an excellent craftsman. But the man’s physical condition was poor, so of course the quality of the sculpture would suffer.”
“How… how could you know that…?”
Brodie stammered, thoroughly rattled. He himself knew full well that Armand’s health had been bad—because he was the one who had forced the sculptor to work. Yet the craftsman’s condition should never have become public knowledge. He had sealed every mouth thoroughly.
And yet…
“Because I have seen Armand’s work stored in the Treasure House. That piece was Upper Grade beyond any possible dispute.”
And compared with it, this one fell short in finish. Having said as much, Edgar picked up a small medicine bottle.
“This wound salve is Upper Grade. Fresh red leaves and dried green roots mixed in a two-to-eight ratio, correct? And that one…”
One by one he laid out the grounds for every grade he had assigned—both the goods already sent off in porters’ hands and those still remaining. Every word was solid truth; not a single detail was wrong. Beyond that, from a single glance he had even deduced the maker’s health and the secret recipe itself.
While Brodie stood speechless with shock, Edgar lifted the final tribute still on the cart: a bolt of fine black silk.
“The silk is… Upper Grade. However, the loom it was woven on seems to have been in slightly poor condition. You should have the spinning wheel inspected later. The flaw is minute now, but the warp will only grow worse with time.”
“H-how…?”
“How did I know even that? Because Her Highness trusted me enough to place this work in my hands.”
Unable to say that the information simply appeared before his eyes, Edgar offered a convenient half-truth—while elevating the very eye for talent that Brodie had so casually dismissed.
Not everyone likes a good person. Nor does everyone hate a bad one. Another quiet realization rose in his mind as he drove the final nail home.
“I should think this also proves that Her Highness’s judgment is excellent… don’t you agree?”
Ordinarily, needling someone of higher station was a dangerous act. Yet here it was acceptable. With the results already plain for all to see, any further stubbornness would only damage the man’s own dignity. Unlike the western lands where status alone could crush a lesser man, he could not simply trample Edgar underfoot. Worse, if the princess ever voiced a single word of complaint, every excuse he might offer would ring hollow. The situation was nothing like the first time he had tried to humiliate the newcomer.
“…Tsk! Just get on with your work! I’m going to rest!”
Brodie forced that conclusion out through gritted teeth and stormed away.
A lowly human, daring to…
Along with the venomous resolve to remember every detail of the man who had shamed him today.