Chapter 18 — Viscount Andrew

If there was any place left in Tansang Town that could keep Gao Heng from being utterly disappointed—any place where one might still catch a glimpse of an otherworldly charm that combined classical beauty with elegance—it was the wealthy district in the north-central part of town. A few streets and a single wall separated it from the slums outside, and all the respectable folk of standing lived in this relatively clean and tidy quarter.

Here stood handsome two-story houses, each built of pale gray stone and cedar wood. On the balconies that jutted from the upper floors, dried fish and cured meat hung in the sun—the unmistakable badges of a prosperous household.

Although Tansang was on the whole merely a town, nowhere near the scale of a city, those who lived in the wealthy district still called themselves citizens—gloriously and proudly.

They were free men, they could pay every manner of tax, and they held respectable jobs in the town: big men such as farm owners and mine foremen.

And today, these personages of standing stood on their balconies, just as they did any other day, with the dried fish and cured meat hanging behind them, discussing the latest happenings with their neighbors. Anything even slightly interesting deserved to be talked over at length—and the most talk-worthy thing of late was, without question, that great affair in the Cecil domain.

Tansang Town and its surrounding lands were the fief of Viscount Andrew, and the Cecil domain bordered the Viscount Andrew domain. True, vast stretches of wasteland lay between the prosperous heart of each holding, but there was still an official road connecting them; thus, even in this age of poor communication, word of what had happened in the Cecil domain had spread through all of Tansang Town well before its time.

First a crowd of people, looking like refugees, had fled here under the leadership of a knight and a dozen or so soldiers. Then came the news, spreading far and wide: the Cecil domain had been utterly drowned and destroyed by a great host of monsters and an elemental tide.

This appalling calamity was like something out of a bard's wild invention. The townsfolk, who had lived many years in peaceful times, refused at first to believe any of it—but the refugees and the bedraggled soldiers had in fact entered the town, and hard on their heels Viscount Andrew issued his orders: a stricter curfew was enforced, and patrols around the town were increased. And so the absurd and terrifying tale became fact.

The townsfolk promoted the calamity in the Cecil domain from idle mealtime gossip to... serious mealtime gossip.

At first they had only traded a few words when they happened to meet in the taverns. Now they had to stand on their balconies, with dried fish and cured meat for a backdrop, to discuss the matter in earnest.

And while these personages of standing were discussing how the Cecil family, its sun already setting, had finally met its end for good, the head of the Cecil family had already passed through the wealthy district and the church district and entered Viscount Andrew's castle.

However wretched the life of Tansang Town's poor might be, Viscount Andrew's home was magnificent. In truth, thanks to the wealth of the domain itself and his family's skill at amassing fortune, the castle this viscount had built was far finer than the shabby little fortress in which Rebecca had grown up.

After the visitor's identity had been announced to those within, Viscount Andrew's steward invited Gao Yang and the others into Xuanyue Castle. They were led to a spacious, brightly lit reception hall and seated behind a long mahogany table to await the viscount's audience.

Sitting in a broad, comfortable velvet chair and gazing at the exquisite silver tea service before him, Gao Yang could not help but think of the poor outside, in their rags and with their gaunt faces, and of those hovels they called homes. He had to admit that his sense of this fantastical world of swords and magic had suffered something of a... disillusionment.

"Ancestor," Rebecca whispered, poking the elbow of her Mystic Meridian Sect elder, "how are we going to introduce you in a moment?"

"Just as we agreed. Say it straight out," Gao Heng said without the slightest change of expression. "Here, it suits us to be conspicuous."

"Ancestor," Heidi spoke up as well, jerking her chin in Amber's direction, "do you really think... she's fit to appear here?"

Amber sat directly across from Gao Yang. The half-elf lady was at that moment studying the silver tea service before her with great earnestness. Her principal method of study was to pour out the tea and stuff the cup into her bosom—and while Gao Yang happened to look up, she stuffed a soup spoon in after it.

Gao Yang glared across the table. "Amber!"

"Wah!" The thief gave a slightly theatrical yelp, then sheepishly fished the things out of her bosom and set them on the table: two teacups, three soup spoons, a silver platter, a pocket watch, a handful of nuts, two wine cups, and the monocle that had, until moments ago, hung at the chest of the steward.

Gao Yang: "?!"

Holy hell, Miss Dora-Per, how did you even manage that?!

At that moment Gao Yang could not resist touching the Pioneer's Sword at his side, and he offered up heartfelt thanks for this Thief Saint's earlier forbearance in not robbing him while digging up his grave...

"She is an important witness to my resurrection," Gao Yang said, forcing down the twitching of his face and keeping his tone perfectly grave. "And don't you think that leaving this one somewhere we can't keep an eye on her would only make more trouble?"

Heidi nodded at once, thoroughly convinced.

Just then, Viscount Andrew finally entered the reception hall.

The oak doors were pushed open by attendants, and a thin, tall man stepped into the room. He wore a close-fitting black tailcoat; his dark brown hair, pomaded, lay flat against his scalp; a pair of meticulously tended little mustaches spread to either side beneath his nose; and his complexion was pale with a faint, unnatural flush. This somewhat sickly look was in fact very common among nobles—especially those who lacked any gift for magic or martial skill.

To experience supernatural power beyond their own gifts, and to indulge in more unrestrained pleasures, such men dosed themselves heavily with expensive potions to "sharpen their senses"—and the side effects of those potions showed plainly in their faces.

They even took pride in it, regarding a pallid complexion as one of the marks of nobility.

In this respect, the descendants of Cecil—who still obeyed the ancestral teachings, honestly honed their skills, and relied on their own efforts to practice martial arts (or magic)—had become the odd ones out in noble circles. But there was no help for it. The Cecil family had fallen on hard times; never mind the potions that were always scarce and dear, Rebecca could not even afford to patch the holes in the family castle. Of course, now she had no need to patch those holes.

"Ah, the beautiful Lady Heidi, and the equally beautiful Miss Rebecca—I do apologize for my lateness," the Viscount Andrew announced in a ringing voice the moment he entered, his tones rising and falling with practiced cadence and his face wearing what seemed sincere regret. "But I have been so very busy. The calamity in the Cecil domain has spread throughout my lands, the people are in a state of panic, and I have had to spend the greater part of every day arranging the defense of my domain and hearing reports from the patrols."

Gao Yang's skin crawled. He muttered under his breath, "Do you have to talk to the nobles of this age in that kind of operatic aria?"

Rebecca lowered her voice. "Ancestor, weren't the nobles of your day like this?"

"In my day we generally holed up in a tavern, poured down the strong stuff, sang each other's praises, and settled business along the way."