Let There Be Light in Deharem Mansion (2)

There was nothing particularly strange about encountering irrationality in life.

The natural world obeyed its laws with commendable consistency. Human beings, however, rarely bothered to do the same. From conversations between two people to advancement within an organization or a bargain with a merchant, all sorts of things could turn out in ways that made no sense at all.

My present situation was a fine example.

“Look at this…”

I held up a notebook.

We were sitting together on a bench near the flower garden in the courtyard, where the afternoon sunlight was pleasantly warm. The elf had finished reading our exchange diary. Now she looked at me as though she couldn't imagine what the problem might be.

“What's wrong with it?”

“You really don't see anything strange?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Was she without a conscience? Or was she only pretending?

Grinding my teeth, I pointed to what I had written.

Ashley came to the mansion during the week. We took a carriage to the cabin to rest, ate the lunch she had packed, and returned.

This morning I paid my respects to Father and confessed what happened last night, most of which concerned sexual matters involving the elf.

The Holy See is sending important visitors, so I ordered the servants to clean the mansion. I also told the slaves working in the workshop to conduct themselves properly, given how many people will be watching.

I instructed Beynon to have his armor repaired, but he still refuses to listen. I ought to reprimand him. For now, though, preparations for the church officials take priority, so I'll leave it until later.

The elf, on the other hand, has been working better than expected. I have little to complain about on that score.

Then I pointed to the elf's entries.

The weather was pleasant. I felt good.

I watered a tree with Master. It was fun.

Even at a glance, the difference was appalling. I wouldn't call my own writing masterful, but I'd at least made an effort to record what had happened each day. Her contribution looked as if she'd been too irritated by the very existence of the world to bother with a second thought.

I tapped the page.

“Weren't you the one who asked us to start an exchange diary? How can you put so little effort into it?”

The elf narrowed her eyes. After staring at the notebook for a moment, she looked sideways at me.

“Master, the important thing isn't how many words you write. It's the feeling behind them.”

“The feeling…”

If I could read her thoughts from one line, why would I need a diary? Was I supposed to be an astrologer?

Anger rose in my throat, but I swallowed it.

Whatever I thought of her answer, agreeing with the elf was generally the safest way to stay alive.

“Could you explain what you mean a little more?”

I gave her an accommodating smile and passed the notebook back.

What I really meant was: Tell me how I'm supposed to read your mind from these miserable little sentences.

She glanced at her own writing, blinked lazily, and closed the book.

“Adding an explanation would only obscure its meaning.”

Sophistry. Pure sophistry.

She had never intended to keep an honest exchange diary. She'd merely found a convenient way to observe what I did, while revealing nothing about herself.

I drew a long breath, leaned against the bench, and stared ahead.

“Of course. Too much explanation would obscure the meaning. How profound.”

Silence followed.

Butterflies and little bees moved among the flowers. Anyone passing by would have seen a peaceful afternoon.

I felt nothing of the sort.

It would have been wonderful if Havid or Beynon had appeared to take the elf away. Naturally, on this particular day, neither of them was anywhere in sight.

The elf, meanwhile, looked quite content to sit beside me. She even yawned, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, before turning my way.

“By the way, Master. Aren't you going to insult me today?”

“…Would you like me to?”

“It's your duty. You shouldn't neglect it.”

Since when had verbal abuse become part of my daily obligations?

Then again, there was something horribly familiar about that argument.

I touched the brooch at my throat and cleared my voice.

“Then I'll begin. I'll make the insults so dreadful that even hearing them will—”

“My lord!”

Havid came toward us at a brisk pace, sweat beading on his forehead.

I turned at once.

“You should come immediately,” he said.

“Have the Holy See's visitors arrived?”

“Yes. But the paladins waiting in the drawing room are wearing red holy belts.”

“Red…”

The red belts were associated with dangerous assignments and bloody duties carried out in the name of the faith. No wonder Havid was worried.

“My lord, perhaps there's been some mistake at the Holy See…”

No mistake.

It was clear to me that the knights had come to take the elf away.

I couldn't say that aloud. Instead, I rose and laid a reassuring hand on Havid's shoulder.

“Don't worry. If there's a misunderstanding, I'll sort it out. And…”

My words trailed off as I looked at the elf.

She sighed and stood, as though she had already understood the situation. When she made to follow me, I shook my head.

“No. Stay here with the chamberlain. I'll try to resolve this myself.”

“Master.”

“Are you refusing an order?”

Under other circumstances, she might have refused simply because she wished to. But Havid was standing beside us, and the elf was committed to playing the part of an obedient slave in front of the servants.

She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

Relieved to have avoided an argument, I passed Havid and headed for the drawing room.

---

“Hmm…”

Landis sat with his thick arms folded across his armored chest.

Ten paladins stood behind him, their hands near their sword hilts. Landis was such a large, rugged man that the drawing room's table and chairs looked undersized around him.

Guests normally surrendered their weapons on entering the mansion. Today no servant had dared ask. The red belts at the knights' necks announced that they had arrived on an official mission.

The servants watching the visitors trembled.

Only Beynon leaned against the wall as though he had wandered in for an ordinary afternoon.

One of the servants, Maltao, drew close and whispered,

“Sir Knight. Aren't you frightened of those paladins?”

Beynon frowned at him.

“What? Of course I am.”

“Then how can you look so unconcerned?”

“Well…”

In his mercenary days, Beynon had faced enough dangers to learn how to keep a steady face. One paladin was not enough to terrify him.

Ten of them together were another matter. If a fight broke out, he knew perfectly well that he could die.

He stroked his rough chin and shrugged.

“Didn't I swear loyalty to the young master?”

Maltao didn't quite understand, but he didn't press the matter. Beynon had spent much of his life as a mercenary; no doubt he had reasons for his composure.

Creeeak.

The door opened.

Theorad entered with his hair neatly arranged and his clothes immaculate. As he approached, Landis unfolded his arms.

He did not rise or offer a greeting.

In Landis's mind, the young noble was a heretic who had made a pact with a demon. Courtesy seemed unnecessary.

“Viscount Theorad. Sit down.”

The first words were an order.

Theorad was taken aback by the rudeness, but he held his tongue and sat. Landis leaned over the table.

“I am Landis Sofret, an officer of the Holy See and commander of the Knights of Balance.”

“Ah! Sir Landis? I've heard of you. They say you've slain countless demons that infiltrated the Empire.”

Theorad regarded him with open admiration.

It seemed genuine. Somehow that made Landis more uneasy than any obvious hostility would have.

How can he play an innocent young man so convincingly?

People who made bargains with demons ordinarily pledged their souls as collateral. Such contracts left marks on the mind, wearing away something of their humanity.

Theorad seemed entirely human.

More strangely still, Landis could sense no demonic power emanating from him at all.

If he had made a pact with a demon, wouldn't demonic energy be flowing through his body?

An unpleasant possibility occurred to Landis.

What if he hasn't contracted with a demon? What if he's keeping one under his control?

There were rare accounts of humans trapping demons through loopholes in their agreements. A sufficiently cunning person could seize on a demon's weakness and turn the creature into a servant.

But…

The presence Landis had sensed near this mansion belonged, by all appearances, to a grand duke of the demon realm.

How could this unassuming young noble possibly have subdued such a being?

Landis struggled to reconcile the contradiction.

“We'd both be better served by dispensing with small talk,” he said at last. “I haven't come here to enjoy myself. I've come to eliminate blasphemy.”

“Yes, I understand. You've come to carry out your duty against heresy. Ha ha…”

Theorad's strained smile made the paladins tense.

He laughs when we announce we're going to oppose him?

He truly isn't an ordinary man.

Landis strove to keep his unease from showing. If his knights saw their commander frightened, their own resolve might falter.

He fixed Theorad with a hard stare.

“Then you must already understand what we intend to do.”

Theorad nodded unhappily.

“Yes. I understand… But trying to solve this by force would be a bad idea.”

“A bad idea? Why?”

Theorad paused, then looked at him with honest concern.

“I'll be all right. I'm worried that you and your men might be seriously hurt.”

Landis went cold.

Behind him the paladins flinched; several moved their hands toward their swords.

In the chaos of suddenly tightening nerves, Landis clenched his fists, damp with sweat.

Perhaps today…

Perhaps the fiercest battle in the entire history of the holy knights is about to begin.