Evil Hobby (1)
“You're late. Haven't you gone to bed yet?”
“You're going out now without even asking my permission.”
“I had urgent business.”
Isaac nodded at Schrader's bow and spoke. He carried something wrapped in cloth in his arms.
“What's all that?”
The count glanced at the two baggage wagons attached to the carriage behind him.
“I'll explain inside.”
“And them?”
“Ah, introduce yourselves. This is my father.”
“I'm Violet.”
“Pallichi.”
Violet removed her hood and offered a noble's curtsey. Pallichi greeted her smoothly as well. But the count's face hardened, his brows furrowing. Their greetings omitted too much—origins, family, purpose. Isaac surely knew this, yet he said nothing.
Fine raindrops began to fall.
“May we go inside and talk?”
“……Come in.”
The count spoke in a cold voice. His steps led toward the main building. The steward following behind let out a shallow sigh. Until moments ago, the count had been worried about Isaac's absence. If even half that concern had shown on his face, father and son might have grown closer.
“Schrader. Bring some tea. Something that won't disturb sleep.”
The count said as he entered the drawing room. Schrader withdrew, and the group followed Isaac inside.
“What's with the gravity in the middle of the night?”
“It's about the marquis. And these are his people.”
“His people?”
The count's hand paused as he sat on the couch, filling his pipe with tobacco. His gaze settled on Violet and Pallichi. It was just a look, but they shrank back involuntarily. No one sat except the count, who made no offer either.
“Two messengers, then?”
“Not messengers. Friends considering switching sides.”
“……”
A sizzle— the tobacco ignited in the pipe, then harsh smoke rose. The count waited in silence.
“This is why.”
Isaac set the object from his arms on the desk. He pulled off the cloth covering, revealing a golden birdcage. The count's eyes fixed on the glass orb inside.
A boy's neck slumbered peacefully within. The corpse's lips curved naturally upward, as if dreaming sweetly.
The count's expression didn't change. But the study air grew frigid, like a biting gale. The candle flames flickered.
“What is this?”
“As you see. A glass jar holding a corpse.”
“Explain.”
“Today, there was a commotion in Bernsi.”
“Commotion?”
“The House of Mercy at Saint Urs burned down. I set it. These are some of the things I retrieved from its basement. I found them while searching for the Randolf brothers.”
Isaac recounted the events—from Lady Randolf's request to the marquis's vile hobby of pretty boys. As he spoke, the count's gaze stayed on the glass orb.
“How many of these?”
“Dozens lined the underground warehouse.”
“Lined up...?”
The count repeated tonelessly. His eyes merely flicked to Violet. She stepped back instinctively, chilled to the bone. Was it the marquis who said it? That Count Goethe was a fangless, clawless beast. A wolf leashed by the royals. Nonsense.
“……”
Was silence this agonizing? Violet wanted to defend herself. The boy's death had nothing to do with her, she hadn't known, she wasn't that mad or depraved. She'd allied with the marquis briefly for her ideals, to protect her values, her comrades...
Countless excuses flashed through her mind, but all rang hollow. To the count, she'd remain a manor-gnawing rat, a parasite. She swallowed her pathetic words and bit her lip.
“This has nothing to do with them. They came to meet you because of this incident and discuss what comes next.”
Isaac had defended Violet and Pallichi in the interim.
“This boy was about your age.”
The count shifted his gaze to Isaac, ignoring the other two. Only then did Violet realize she'd been holding her breath. She exhaled softly, carefully.
“Yes. And if he'd lived, he'd be older than me now.”
The father-son exchange was flat. Yet it felt like a snow-laden slope. One echo could trigger an avalanche. If it buried them here, Violet and Pallichi would be the ones crushed.
So she watched even her breathing.
“The scene?”
“All burned.”
“Reckless.”
“I couldn't leave it be.”
Violet had lit the fire. But admitting that here would only seem like destroying evidence.
“The House of Mercy was built with funds centered on the marquis. Is he involved?”
“Yes.”
“Proof?”
“We secured the ledgers. Carlson.”
Carlson, waiting behind, placed a stack of leather-bound cotton paper on the desk. The count untied the straps and scanned the contents.
“Major illicit deals with the marquis. His seal and the counterparts' are stamped.”
“Quite... extensive.”
The count's face hardened around his pipe. Written in common tongue, but the words made no sense—scrambled letters, random numbers.
“No need to strain. Just look at the first letters. A single slash means human trafficking. Square is narcotics, circle...”
Isaac pointed to the glass orb.
“And the numbers?”
“According to the woman who made them, serial numbers for the works.”
“Three digits.”
“That many children died. Or more, if they fussed and had to be remade.”
Thud—the count closed the ledger. He stared into space, puffing his pipe. One minute, two, three... ten passed.
Violet and Pallichi felt suffocated, cold sweat beading. The room seemed filled with smoke, but it was the count's frigid mana-fueled rage. Isaac hid it, but ran all six multiple circuits to resist the pressure.
“Leave it to me.”
After the long wait, Isaac spoke first. The count acting directly was risky. Just appearing in Bernsi could give the royals leverage. Isaac, worst case, could be exiled—severing ties with Goethe.
“Isaac. You were right.”
“Then, the orders...”
“Months ago, you said we can't rely on shield tax anymore. I was complacent. I should have considered it before you spoke.”
“Pardon?”
The count rose. A breeze stirred outside the window.
“From now on, it's the family head's duty.”
“My lord.”
As the count glanced at Violet and Pallichi and turned to leave, Violet called out.
“We have nothing to discuss now.”
“Not that. Have you ordered soldiers mobilized?”
“What?”
For the first time facing her, the count questioned Violet.
“Armed men are gathering around Bernsi.”
“When? How many?”
“About half a day ago. Not exact numbers, but over a hundred, in groups of five, ten, twenty. Various bands heading southwest of Bernsi.”
Violet met the count's eyes steadily as she answered.
“How do you know?”
No courier or messenger bird had arrived. Her intel was sudden.
“From sounds carried on the wind paths. Allow me to reintroduce myself, my lord. And young master. I am Violet de la Plour, committee member of the revolution's moderates, and a spirit mage.”
Violet's voice trembled slightly.
“Committee member...!”
The most shocked by her introduction wasn't the count or Isaac, but Pallichi. Faster than he'd expected, she'd decided her side.
The next dawn, Violet's claim proved true.
“All these letters came via messenger birds?”
“Yes, steward.”
The dovecote keeper replied.
“Hm.”
Early morning, Schrader sat at the office desk, monocle in place, scrutinizing the letters.
“When did the first arrive?”
“Before dawn broke, I think. No rain last night. When I woke, it had stopped, but the pigeon on the perch was wet.”
“I see.”
Schrader nodded at the guess. It matched Violet's words. Origins varied—farms, monasteries, churches, even Bernsi. But contents aligned: mounted heralds offering mercenaries triple pay in Bernsi. Local youths and sellswords converged.
Most from vassals, but one differed. Fine cotton paper. The marquis.
“Must inform his lordship at once.”
The steward hurried out.
May the grace of God and the blessings of the royal house be upon you.
Due to a series of regrettable incidents in the city of Bern, I intend to exercise self-defense rights. This shall cause Your Excellency no concern—rest assured. Before sunset today, I shall meet you, fulfill my duties as inspector, and explain all in detail.
— Royal Inspector Dietrich Marquis
It was one-sided. No permission sought, no deference. It trampled the lord's authority and autonomy, risking royal-vassal conflict. Yet the marquis ignored it all.
Whoosh! The letter ignited. The count tossed the burning missive into the dead brazier, pipe in mouth.
“In the end, as young master said.”
The steward murmured lowly.
“……”
The count silently watched the flames consume it.