Alone in the Mage's Tower (Or So It Was) (2)
Coldon was the heart of the Iceland region and the center of the duchy.
Even at a glance, it had the best security of any village or city Karem had visited so far. Still, to someone who had freely wandered the streets of modern Korea even in the dead of night, there were inevitably parts that felt lacking. Even so, Karem felt at ease.
After all, the place he was staying now was Winterhome—in other words, the ducal castle. Absolute safety was impossible to guarantee, of course. But just who would be bold enough to break into a great noble's main residence?
Even in the modern world, with its laws against trespassing, the idea that one had to protect one's own body and property had become so deeply ingrained as a passive skill that killing an intruder on the spot was not considered a crime. No normal person would ever try to sneak into Winterhome.
Yet Karem encountered an intruder, and he immediately shouted to raise the alarm.
"W-well, I know my appearance looks a bit suspicious, but—"
"Karem Hubae. Are you unharmed?"
"Gyaaah!"
The elf he had taken for an intruder was so startled that she dropped the bread in her hand and lunged toward the boy—only for Mary, who had appeared behind Karem in an instant, to seize her and pin her down. After body-pressing the elf flat, Mary yanked the cat-ear headband from her own head, stuffed it into the intruder's mouth, and used her apron to bind the elf's arms.
In the meantime Catherine and Olivier came inside. Naturally skeptical at first, both of them twisted their expressions into something peculiar the moment they saw the muffled, thoroughly restrained elf. Catherine and Olivier exchanged a meaningful look; when she jerked her chin toward the captive, Olivier stepped closer and examined the elf carefully.
"Her mana wavelength is stable. She's definitely a mage. Kitty, what do you want to do?"
"Obviously, old man. Interrogation first."
Catherine's matter-of-fact tone, arms folded, only made the elf struggle harder and more desperately, but there was nothing she could do. Conducting an interrogation inside a food storage room—empty though it was—would never do, so the bound elf was dragged out by Mary, still going "mmph-mmph," while the others followed.
"Still, I never expected a thief to show up here."
"Well, any place that houses mages is bound to have valuables. Thieves coming and going is pretty common."
"Even when this is right in the middle of the ducal castle?"
"Kid, regardless of intelligence, people do far more foolish things than you can imagine."
Well, it's not like I don't know that.
Even on modern Earth, the age of reason and rationality, idiotic incidents still happened all over the world on a regular basis. People who ate corn spinning on an electric rotisserie only to have their teeth and hair ripped out in clumps; people who kicked a burning ball and got oil stuck to them, suffering burns; people who climbed places clearly marked off-limits out of sheer bravado and fell to their deaths; people who opened the door of a plane mid-flight and forced an emergency landing. Thinking about it that way, Karem felt he could almost understand.
Besides, hadn't Olivier said the intruder was a mage? She must have somehow used that mysterious art to bypass the magic and devices.
Thus the four residents dragged their captive into the reception room. Forced into a seat at the center of the table, the elf was trembling with terror. Of course she was—two archmages were staring holes through her from opposite ends of the table.
Catherine, who had been gazing at the elf with all the emotion one might spare a rock on the roadside, flicked her fingers.
"All right. Let's hear her final defense. Mary."
"Yes, Contractor."
Mary immediately pulled the cat-ear headband out of the elf's mouth.
"Pwahhh! I-I told you, I'm not an intruder!"
"Oh, Kitty. You're not actually going to believe that, are you?"
"Of course not. What thief ever admits out of their own mouth that they're a thief, old man?"
Catherine and Olivier traded lines back and forth with perfectly serious faces, batting the panicked outburst between them. Yet Karem sensed something in the two of them that did not quite match the situation.
In the modern world, for any number of reasons, one had to care about a criminal's human rights. Iceland, however, was an entire world away from modernity. A pickpocket had their wrist cut off; a swindler had their tongue pulled out; a robber had their nose sliced off; and murderers were generously given the death penalty or something close to it. And yet, when it came to dealing with a trespassing thief—an intruder—both archmages had layers of delight and joy bubbling under their voices.
Every time they discussed how to punish the intruder, the elf trembled like a rabbit staring down a predator, body and ears quivering, while the two archmages watched the sight with obvious pleasure. Like master, like disciple, indeed.
"Lady Catherine. You and Olivier actually get along pretty well, don't you?"
"Kid, what kind of nonsense is that? Me, getting along with the old man?"
"But right now you two look every bit the—uh, wait, is that not it?"
The expression that twisted across Catherine's face was more horrific than if she had stepped in dung on the road. One look and Karem knew instantly that he had guessed wrong. Sensing that her mood had plummeted in an instant, Olivier leaned back in his chair and chuckled.
"Well, before anyone gets the wrong idea, shall we stop here?"
"Tch. Mary."
Catherine flicked her fingers toward the elf. She said nothing, only gestured, yet Mary instantly understood her contractor's intent and untied the apron binding the elf's hands, putting it back on herself. The elf, who had been shaking so hard at the archmages' words that she seemed even less perceptive than Karem, blinked like a startled rabbit at the sudden change.
"Wh-what is going on…?"
"I just figured it out myself. Want the long explanation, or the short summary?"
"Uh, summary, please…?"
"Ta-da! You've been had."
At the boy's words, the very people who had been teasing the elf finally let their true emotions show. Catherine smiled as if she had succeeded, while Olivier closed his eyes with a thoroughly satisfied curl of his lips.
The meaningful glance Catherine and Olivier had exchanged the moment they saw the "intruder." The strangely perfect back-and-forth of opinions with pure enjoyment simmering underneath. Looking back, it had felt odd from the start—and sure enough, just as Karem had suspected, the two of them had simply been messing with the elf.
One question still remained, though. Karem pointed at the elf, who was still sitting there in a daze.
"So. Care to tell me who this elf lady actually is now?"
"You still haven't figured it out? You're strangely dense about the oddest things."
"Huh?"
"Obviously she's the new exclusive mage."
The Mage's Tower was a facility closed to everyone except related personnel and invited guests. If she had bypassed the defensive magic and devices the two archmages had set up, that meant she was one of the personnel. Hearing Catherine's words, the elf finally snapped back to her senses.
"Th-that's right! Starting this spring, I'm the exclusive mage of the Felwinter family—Narke E-Escarna! Please take care of me!"
"Escarna. Ah yes, the mage who was supposed to join first this spring."
Far from clearing up the misunderstanding, she had been gagged, bound, and dragged along while riding that wave of confusion. It was a situation where getting angry would have been perfectly justified. Yet Karem could feel Narke suppressing that resentment. Something about it felt familiar. Ah. That was it. Narke's reaction right now was the classic response of a subordinate or graduate student who had no idea how to handle their superior's or professor's absurd prank—something Karem had rarely witnessed in his previous life.
"I-I had the contract somewhere…"
Trembling, the elf rummaged through her clothes and produced a silk scroll stamped with the Felwinter family seal. It was the same kind of contract Karem had now seen three times and grown used to.
"It's the same thing Lady Catherine and Olivier showed me before."
"By the way, kid, who are you?"
"I'm Karem, Lady Catherine's exclusive chef. Nice to meet you. And over there is Mary—Mary?"
Even when Karem called her, Mary kept staring fixedly at Narke. Her face was expressionless, yet the razor-sharp look in her eyes clearly carried the emotion of rage.
"W-why is that maid over there who looks like an elf staring at me like that? She's a little scary."
"Ah, while we were gone, did you happen to clean the Mage's Tower, Lady Escarna?"
"H-huh? There was so much dust that I just had them sweep and wipe a little, that's all?"
"That would be the reason. Mary's a brownie."
H-huh? Huh!? Only then did Narke realize what she had done. The shock and fury Mary was displaying were the same as a predator whose territory had been invaded.
Still, Narke had her own defense.
"I-I didn't know! No one told me anything like that! B-besides, there was so much dust floating around it made me cough. If I was going to live here I couldn't just leave it uncl…ean…"
"Oho, your words are trailing off more and more toward the end."
"Well, that house elf over there is staring at me with such a t-terrifying look! It's scary!"
"True enough…"
Mary's gaze was even more bloodthirsty than when Karem had first taken over the kitchen. After all, the kitchen was only a tiny fraction of the entire Mage's Tower. The area she had ordered cleaned, on the other hand, was probably the whole tower—wait. Hold on.
"You said you had them clean. Do you mean the servants or maids?"
"H-huh? No, I had my kids do it."
"Kids?"
"Um."
The trembling from a moment ago forgotten, Narke happily rummaged inside her shabby cloak—then suddenly froze and began reading the room.
"Don't mind me. First we need to confirm what this underling's specialty is."
"Th-then, if you'll excuse me."
What Narke pulled from her clothes was a plump pouch. She untied the string and dumped its contents onto the table; small bone fragments clattered and piled up in a heap. Clutching the empty pouch in her right hand, Narke lightly formed a hand seal, drew a triangle in the air, and began chanting in a language Karem could not understand.
Clack. Clack-clack. Clack-clack-clack.
The haphazard pile of bones began to vibrate little by little, all at once. Before long every fragment moved as if pulled by invisible threads. Bones dancing under magic. Without thinking, Karem murmured the specialty aloud.
"A necromancer?"
Fingers, hands, arms, elbows, shoulders, all the way down to toes, feet, legs, thighs, scapulae, wishbones, femurs, skulls, and wings. Twelve tiny creatures made of bone—rats and birds—took shape atop the table. Not a single trace of their living selves remained except the bones themselves.
Narke lowered her hands, let out a breath, and glanced around a little nervously.
"Whew. Without a staff, this is about all I can manage…"
"They didn't tell you anything because you're a necromancer?"
"I-I don't think that's it. Now that I think about it, I might have heard the precautions…"
"Then it's half your fault, Lady Escarna. But Mary's going to be even more on guard now?"
"W-well, I am a necromancer, so it can't be helped. But your reaction is a little—"
"No, that's not what I mean. These things are tiny. You cleaned with animal bones this size?"
Karem pointed with only his thumb toward Mary, who stood at Catherine's side. Following the direction, Narke turned her head and let out a terrified scream. Pupils that held no light at all—only emptiness. Mary's pale, emotionless gaze pierced straight through Narke; then she closed her eyes.
"Tidying, laundry, cleaning, and everything else."
"H-huh?"
"It's all my work, and I'll let it slide this once."
"O-oh?"
"Answer!"
"Y-yes! I'll stick to my own work as much as possible and just loaf around!"
A brazen declaration of human trash if there ever was one. Yet Mary nodded in satisfaction, as if that was exactly the answer she had wanted, and reined in her killing intent.
"By the way, Lady Catherine. If you knew the moment you saw her, why did you restrain her and drag her here like that? Was it a prank?"
"Mm, a prank."
"You too, Olivier?"
"Keh-keh-keh-keh."
These pieces of trash.
Karem stared at the two archmages with dead eyes as they celebrated like veterans who had successfully hazed a newbie. The pair of archmages grinned blackly, looking for all the world like professors who had just successfully recruited a new slave graduate student.