An Unexpected Turn (1)
"Uh... hello?"
At the Young Duke's awkward greeting, the two pairs of small eyes peering through the carriage window widened in startle, and the children quickly ducked their heads. Seeing them startle like skittish rabbits, the young boy felt his tension slowly melt away. In its place, a curiosity he had long suppressed began to rear its head. They were the kind of children he had always wanted to observe up close, even if he hadn't expected to encounter them so suddenly.
Above all, it had been a long time since he had seen children his own age up close, not since the Duke of Fides had passed away—or rather, since his reported demise. Considering the precarious, ambiguous standing of the Fides family, Tollin had strictly minimized the Young Duke's attendance at any gatherings with peers.
As if spellbound, the Young Duke slowly approached the window. He himself did not know whether he was recalling the comfort and joy of being around children his own age—something he had forgotten while living solely among adults—or if he was simply intrigued by seeing commoners from the streets up close for the first time in his life.
He caught a fleeting glimpse of dirty, bare feet vanishing into a nearby alley. Then, his eyes fell upon something lying on the ground, just as filthy as the soles of those feet. They must have been in quite a rush, as they hadn't even realized they had dropped it.
It was a wooden carving, as worn and shabby as the children's clothes. Perhaps hand-carved, it looked somewhat like a lizard, or perhaps like a crow—resembling the Young Duke's close friend (or so he fondly thought of him), the crow. Though its exact shape was hard to discern, it was undoubtedly a cherished possession. It was heavily stained with hand grime, its eyes, nose, and mouth drawn with meticulous care. Given the ragged appearance of the fleeing children, they were hardly in a position to own much of anything else.
The Young Duke gently poked his head out of the carriage door on the opposite side from where the children had been peeking.
"Is something the matter, Your Grace?" asked one of the knights, the same one who had informed him moments ago that they would arrive shortly.
The boy shook his head and replied, "It is nothing. Is it going to take a while?"
"Yes, Your Grace. It seems there is an injured person. The discussion might drag on a bit." At the scratching-headed knight's reply, the Young Duke leaned out slightly to check on the carriage Tollin had been riding. The wheel seemed to have come completely off; Tollin was standing outside, scowling deeply, with the escorting guards gathered closely around him.
Would it be alright to slip away for just five minutes? Telling the knight not to worry about him, the Young Duke stepped back inside the carriage. Then, he quickly slipped out through the opposite door and picked up the wooden carving. The adults, entirely distracted by the accident, failed to notice the small boy quietly slipping away and heading toward the alley.
The Young Duke was a clever child, remarkably prudent for his age, but he was still too young to understand the gap between what he wanted to do and what he was actually capable of doing. For instance, he naively believed he could simply return the item to its owner in an alleyway where street urchins and vagrants gathered, and then walk right back out. Without hesitation, the boy marched forward.
If his guess was correct, they were undoubtedly the street urchins Tollin had warned him about—the very children the Young Duke had yearned to see at least once. They were surprisingly fast on their feet, forcing him to venture deeper into the alley than expected, but he did not stop.
He finally spotted two dirty heads near a pile of garbage behind a filthy-looking tavern. The Young Duke cautiously approached the whispering pair.
"Can we really get money for it?" the smaller child asked, looking skeptically at the larger one.
"Probably. Last time, Jill bumped into a noble lady, and she threw her shawl away, saying it was dirty. Jill was so happy because he sold it and bought medicine for his mother. If we're lucky, maybe they'll throw away a piece of clothing too." The larger child answered, but the smaller one pouted.
"But Jill got beaten up by her lackey and was bedridden for a week. I heard a kid in the next neighborhood died from a beating." At the smaller one's worried words, the larger boy fell silent. His eyes trembled with anxiety, but he squeezed them shut and opened them again, steeling his resolve.
"If we keep going like this, we'll both starve to death before we even grow up anyway." This time, the smaller one had no reply and shut his mouth tight.
"Then I'll go bump into that fussy-looking mister. I'll rub all over him, so if he throws away his coat or hat or whatever, you grab it and run." The Young Duke realized the "fussy-looking mister" referred to Tollin, but he couldn't bring himself to smile. He had realized exactly what the children were planning to do.
Unaware that the Young Duke was listening, the smaller child grabbed the larger one's arm in a panic. "Why do you have to go?"
The larger boy looked at him as if he were being absurd. "That way, our chances of survival are higher. If you get hit wrong, you're dead. I've been beaten plenty of times, so I know how to dodge."
"We'd both die if we got hit wrong. And I saw it in a book Jill picked up last time—it said that lighter things take less impact." The smaller child spoke with great conviction, completely omitting the crucial context: when falling from a high place.
"What? Really? Then I should give you all my food from now on. I need to get smaller too so it hurts less when I get beaten."
"Ah, that's..." Flustered by the larger child's sparkling eyes, the smaller one stammered before giving up and muttering, "...Anyway, I'll go this time."
"Hey, don't make me laugh. Your hands are literally shaking."
"That's because! I haven't eaten, so my blood sugar is low." Embarrassed, the smaller child massaged his slightly trembling hands. The larger boy frowned at that.
"You really know the strangest things. But still, no. If I get badly hurt, you're the smart one, so you have to take care of me."
Realizing this bickering over who would risk their life would never end, the Young Duke stepped out in front of them. "There is no need for that."
"Aaaah!"
"Yaaaargh!"
The young Duke was prudent for his age, but he still possessed the immaturity of a child who could not separate what he wanted to do from what he could actually achieve. For instance, he believed he could easily stop children who had already resolved to risk their lives committing a crime against nobles. He also failed to anticipate that the larger boy, seized by panic, would lunge straight at him. Instead, the Young Duke was about to receive a crash course on the unpredictable variables of life.
"Ratel, how does the stranger seem to you?" asked the Elder as they descended the stairs, guided by the flickering light of a candle. Following behind, Ratel chose his words carefully.
"He is very diligent." At that straightforward answer, the Elder let out a hearty laugh. "Haha, very diligent, you say."
The Elder nodded, his curly white hair and beard swaying gently. "Indeed, it is rare to see an old man scurrying about so busily, especially in a place like this."
"..." Ratel gave a small, silent nod. It was true. Despite limping on one leg, the robust old man named Jing had been tirelessly exploring every nook and cranny of the village.
Ratel recalled the tall old man dragging his limping leg. He was a truly peculiar man. He seemed desperate, yet he never resorted to the worst options. There was a faint, inexplicable air of nobility in his demeanor, yet he did not hesitate to humble himself or look foolish. The sight of him insisting on having lunch atop the hill, practically crawling up the slope to get there, had left a deep impression on Ratel, who had never seen such a headstrong elder.
He said he had to meet his son. Is that why? Come to think of it, after asking about Ratel's parents last time, the old man had fallen silent and cast furtive glances in his direction.
"He was probably looking for an escape route, though there is none. Did he not ask you for help? If he saw you opening the gate, he would know you could let him out." Snapping out of his thoughts at the Elder's playful question, Ratel shook his head.
"No. He mostly just asked me about the village or had me guide him around."
"Hmm. I see. Anything else?"
"He said he wants to look around the underground library with you tomorrow."
"What?" The old man stopped in his tracks and turned around. "He asked to go to the library himself?"
"Yes. He said he wanted to see what kind of books are kept there." Ratel nodded under the sharp, piercing gaze of the Elder's golden eyes.
A smile tugged at the corners of the Elder's mouth as he resumed his slow descent. "Well, perhaps he has finally found the desire to seek the will of Lord Amica."
It didn't seem to Ratel that Jing had any such intention, but seeing the Elder's uncharacteristically excited mood, he simply followed behind without a word.
Continuing their conversation, the two arrived at a door near the underground prison of the Temple where Jing had been held. The old man pulled a ring of keys from his waist and unlocked the three padlocks on the door one by one.
As the door swung open, it revealed an altar adorned with hundreds of candles of various sizes. In the center, surrounded by the flickering candlelight, sat a stone statue about the size of a child's forearm. Though small, the statue—its face and shoulders shrouded in a veil—was exquisitely detailed.
The veil looked so delicate it might flutter away in a breeze, but the Elder knew that no one would ever gaze upon the features hidden beneath it. This was the last remaining statue of Amica in the world. A deity whose face could not even be revealed, whose hair flowing past the veil could not even be touched.
The old man knelt before it and offered a prayer he had repeated countless times. Please, bring an end to those who reduced us to this. He prayed with all his heart.
"The Elder asked me to deliver this to you."
Jing stared quietly at Ratel, who had visited his room at the crack of dawn, before turning his gaze out the window. The sun had not yet risen, and the deep blue of the early dawn dimly illuminated his vision.
"Thank you. A young man who wakes earlier than an old man... how very kind." At his weary reply, Ratel simply nodded without a word and handed over what he had brought. Jing accepted the heavy object.
"It seems they spent some time examining it, suspecting it might be something dangerous," Ratel added.
Jing quietly slung the now-shabby leather bag over his shoulder. It was the bag the Seventh Prince had given him. It was the only item from the outside world that had remained with him. And to him, it was indeed the most suspicious object of all.
"You cannot die yet."
Recalling the expressionless face of the prince as he muttered those words like some sort of curse, Jing nearly shuddered. Since Ratel was staring intently at him, Jing cleared his throat and asked,
"So, did they find anything?" Perhaps a stone related to Amica? That wretched Seventh Prince had been weighing heavily on his mind. The black-haired prince's parting words—spoken as if he had fully anticipated that Jing would face summary execution that day according to imperial tradition—were more than enough to make Jing suspicious of him.
If this object was indeed related to Amica, there was a high probability that it was what had drawn him to that bizarre cave. It would be his clue to escaping. It would also give him a reason to return to the Capital and seek out the Seventh Prince.
Ratel replied flatly, "No. It was just an ordinary stone."
"Is that so?" Jing felt the tension drain from him at the anticlimactic answer.
"Yes. And the Elder asked me to inquire if carrying things like this is how people in the outside world maintain their health. He said he would very much like to learn."
Jing wanted to argue that carrying such a heavy thing was more likely to dislocate a shoulder than improve one's health, but realizing the Elder had completely misunderstood, he simply shook his head. "I will... explain that to him myself."
Ratel, seemingly not expecting a real answer anyway, spoke again. "Very well. He said you should come to the library after breakfast."
Ah, right. I did say I wanted to look around the library. To see the books of Amica...
"Are you unwell?" Jing snapped out of his daze at the blunt question, which carried a tone that hardly matched the concern of the words.
"Ah, I am fine. What did you say?"
"The Elder said to come alone. He will be waiting in the basement." Having delivered the message, Ratel turned and left without looking back. As Jing closed the door, his hand was far from as light as Ratel's departure. He placed a hand over his chest. His heart was beating rapidly.