The Inquisitor Who Might Die

I could barely stand to look into those blood-red eyes.

I slipped the handkerchief I'd used to wipe my mouth back into my coat and quietly closed my eyes.

I'm sorry, Father.

I promised I'd come to see you someday, but I never imagined it would be so soon.

How is Mother? I miss Grandfather and Grandmother, too. Perhaps I'll be able to see all of you today…

“Master.”

The elf spoke in a mournful voice.

I cleared my throat and opened my eyes.

Nothing about my predicament had changed. Strangely, though, after imagining my own death, I felt as calm as a pool of clear water.

If I was going to die, then I was going to die. But I had been raised as the son of a distinguished noble family. I'd learned how to face all manner of difficulties. Even in the midst of adversity—

No. Especially in adversity, there had to be a way out.

“Master…”

I couldn't let the elf continue.

If I gave her control of the conversation, my fate would be sealed. I had to take the initiative before it was too late.

“Shut up.”

I clicked my tongue and lowered the cutlery I'd been holding.

“How long do you intend to stand there whining with that vulgar face of yours? Are you trying to ruin my appetite?”

“No. I only wanted to tell you that someone played a prank in Master's courtyard…”

“And you thought I ought to reward you for reporting it? Don't flatter yourself. You're only a slave.”

For a moment, she looked puzzled.

Perhaps I'd sounded so confident that she was beginning to wonder whether I could really have been responsible.

Good. I need to make that impression stick.

“Chef!”

At my shout, the kitchen door opened. A middle-aged man with broad, rather plain features hurried out, approached the table, and bowed.

“You called, my lord?”

“Yes. There is an unwelcome guest at my dinner table. I want her removed.”

“An unwelcome guest…?”

The chef turned toward the elf and flinched.

With her clothes burned away, scarcely enough fabric remained to cover her chest. Anyone would have been startled by the sight.

She sometimes helped the chef prepare meals, too, and he was a goodhearted man. Naturally, his first reaction was concern.

“A-are you all right?”

Instead of answering, the elf fixed him with a cold stare.

The chef's shoulders jerked.

“Chef,” she said. “Could you tell me when Master began his meal?”

Her icy voice made the man break into a sweat. He glanced toward me, as if asking whether he was permitted to answer a slave.

I nodded calmly.

This was precisely why I'd called him.

With my permission, the chef swallowed and said, “About ten minutes ago, I believe. That was when I served the meal.”

“Oh. Ten minutes ago?”

The elf looked at my plate.

I'd been shoveling food into my mouth in a desperate attempt to create an alibi. Half the meat and salad were already gone.

It gave the chef's testimony a convincing appearance.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I served His Lordship's meal about ten minutes ago. That's when he would have begun.”

I watched the elf anxiously, hoping the answer had been enough.

The elf's shoulders trembled.

Then she began to laugh under her breath.

It was a dreadful sound. The chef and I fell silent, unable to say a word. Her low laughter went on for what felt like an entire minute.

At last she stopped and parted her lips.

“I'm sorry, Master. I entered the dining room looking like this. I should be punished by going without supper today. Isn't that right?”

Had she ever been so insistent about what she wanted?

I had no idea what she was thinking, but she seemed furious enough already. I wasn't about to argue.

“Y-yes. That's right. Now go.”

“Yes, Master. Enjoy your dinner.”

She bowed deeply and left the dining room.

I held myself rigid until she had disappeared from sight. Only then did I tug at the brooch at my neck and release the breath I'd been holding.

I… survived…

Thank goodness my hastily prepared alibi and desperate improvisation had worked.

Otherwise, I might have ended up as the elf's dinner.

“Haa…”

As the tension drained away, my stomach turned over. I sat there with my mouth shut for a while, fighting the sensation, then sagged against the back of my chair.

“I think I'm going to throw up…”

The chef drew a sharp breath.

When I looked up, tears were gathering in his eyes.

“I'm so sorry, my lord! To think my cooking has deteriorated so badly that the head of the house feels sick after eating it! I can hardly show my face!”

He's misunderstood!

“No, that's not what I meant—”

“I'll use fresher ingredients! I'll devote myself to my cooking without the slightest negligence! Please, my lord, don't dismiss me!”

“Wait, Chef—”

“No, there's no time to waste! I'll develop an entirely new recipe right away. Leave it to me! I'll prepare dishes worthy of the head of this household!”

His resolve apparently restored, the chef bowed with wet eyes, turned on his heel, and strode away.

I felt bad about the misunderstanding.

On the other hand, I could hardly object to a chef deciding to take his work more seriously.

My appetite had vanished anyway.

I raised my left hand and pressed the ring on my index finger.

I wanted to know what the elf was doing now.

A faint hum sounded.

Blue light spread from the ring and opened into a square window. Beyond it appeared the elf's room.

She was sitting on her bed, staring vacantly ahead.

What in the world was going through her mind?

For a long time she didn't move.

Then she spoke, her voice tight with irritation.

“Who was it?”

Her red eyes narrowed, and a deep crease formed between her brows.

“Who was trying to harm my toys?”

Toy?

Was she assuming that someone other than me had planted the magical weapon in the courtyard? That an assassin sent by some unknown enemy had been targeting me, and she had happened to set off the trap instead?

It sounded absurd.

But if she believed I was innocent, perhaps that was how she was making sense of it.

Whatever the truth, I was simply grateful that she didn't seem to suspect me.

“How annoying.”

With an irritated click of her tongue, the elf lay back on the bed.

Her beautiful silver hair spread out across the sheets like a fan, catching the moonlight that streamed in through the window.

She continued staring at the ceiling, blinking those blood-red eyes.

I'd seen enough. I switched off the surveillance artifact.

Thank goodness she doesn't think I'm the culprit.

Her mood, however, had taken a distinctly unpleasant turn.

Until it improved, I'd do well to encounter her as little as possible.

If I insisted on performing sexual torture merely to placate her, she might decide to end my life instead.

And there's an inquisitor coming.

If the inquisitor happened to witness me subjecting an elf to sexual torture, I'd be handing him another reason to suspect me of heresy.

Until his visit was over, I needed to be careful.

I can have Havid arrange for the front courtyard to be cleaned up.

My study was some distance from the front of the mansion. As long as I took precautions, surely I could avoid trouble for a few days.

With something resembling a plan in mind, I sighed and picked up my cutlery again.

The chef misunderstood me.

If I finish everything, perhaps he'll feel better.

The elf had frightened away my appetite, but I couldn't bring myself to waste a meal someone had worked so hard to prepare.

---

Three days later.

“Hmm.”

The inquisitor whom the bishop had dispatched to the Deharem estate raised his head.

He wore black clerical robes, with a keen-edged sword hanging at his waist.

“A splendid mansion, even at a glance.”

The building was so vast that he could scarcely take it all in at once. Its grandeur was enough to overwhelm the average visitor and prompt a thought of just how important the master of such a house must be.

But Hamtarshin, an inquisitor devoted to the God of Light, was not particularly impressed.

Why should a structure built by mortal hands and mortal wealth inspire awe? It wasn't a house of God.

Poverty, chastity, obedience.

These were the teachings handed down to humanity.

To his mind, such extravagance on the part of the nobility was an affront to those teachings.

Do these uncultured nobles not understand that magnificence belongs in churches built to honor God?

They professed faith in the God of Light, yet ignored the precepts they were meant to follow.

It disgusted him.

Hamtarshin clicked his tongue and made his way toward the mansion's grounds.

He had arrived without advance notice, so no one had come out to receive him.

That suited him perfectly. He had no desire to exchange greetings.

Instead, he surveyed the carefully maintained grounds with an indifferent eye.

It seems the rumors weren't entirely false.

Round, meticulously pruned shrubs lined the path, and the lawn had been cut to a uniform height.

The orderliness of the grounds spoke well of the household's discipline.

If the front courtyard was maintained so carefully, its servants and slaves must have been properly trained.

Perhaps, he thought, they would even know how to give a guest an appropriately generous reception.

He was approaching the entrance when he stopped.

What's that?

A pointed-eared woman was taking pruning shears to what appeared to be an expensive shrub.

For an instant, Hamtarshin was captivated by her striking beauty.

Then he understood.

An elf…? A slave.

The ragged clothing she wore hardly deserved to be called clothing. That alone was enough to mark her as a slave.

With renewed composure, Hamtarshin approached her in a haughty stride.

“Hey.”

No answer.

The elf went on cutting at the shrub with an unreadable expression, apparently lost in her own thoughts.

“Can't you hear me?”

Still nothing.

She seemed so absorbed that she might have been wrestling with some great, insoluble question.

But whatever occupied her mind, she was ignoring a guest of the estate—and an inquisitor of the Church, no less.

An elf. One of those lesser races whom, in his view, God had abandoned to slavery.

Anger rose in him.

Hamtarshin strode forward, seized her wrist, and pulled.

“Don't ignore me, you impudent creature—”

He stopped.

The elf had tilted her head and looked up at him.

For some reason, the sight filled him with dread.

His instincts sounded an alarm. A prayer rose unbidden in his heart.

It felt as if an immense darkness had risen behind the woman and was closing over him.

Hamtarshin hesitated, his mouth suddenly dry.

The elf spoke in a flat, quiet voice.

“Let go.”

There was an overwhelming force in those two words.

Cold sweat broke out on Hamtarshin's forehead and trickled along his jaw.

How could an ordinary household slave exude such terrifying pressure?

O God, lead me not into temptation…

Standing there with her wrist in his grasp, Hamtarshin felt a fear beyond anything he could measure.