The Inquisitor Who Might Die (3)

I didn't know exactly why the elf was so angry. But if I couldn't calm her down, there would be a murder in the chapel of my own estate.

An inquisitor murdered by a slave in the church of the esteemed Viscount Deharem.

I could already imagine the ridiculous story spreading from one gathering of noble ladies to another.

Absolutely not! Such a disgrace would shame my ancestors and perhaps even bring about the downfall of the house.

Besides, a murder born of a simple clash of tempers could never be justified.

But what am I supposed to do…?

What could I possibly say to settle the conflict between the elf and the inquisitor? I ransacked my memory for anything that might help, but not a single useful idea came to mind.

My mouth was dry. The blood seemed to drain from my face.

The inquisitor apparently took my distress for something else. He looked at me triumphantly.

“The weight of your sins seems to be bearing down on you. I understand. However, I have no authority to pardon a sin already committed. You would do well to give up and confess. If you do, the benevolent saintess may yet show you mercy.”

If I give up now, you'll be the one who dies, you idiot!

My frustration turned toward the inquisitor. Unfortunately, a man as confident in his own judgment as Hamtarshin had no way of knowing what I was thinking.

That left me with only one approach.

I stood up, resolved to be as brazen as necessary.

“I wonder which of us ought to be worrying about the other.”

A noble must preserve his dignity in all circumstances. Remembering the lessons passed down through generations of my family, I slowly turned to face him.

“Did you just declare me guilty, Inquisitor?”

His eyebrows twitched at the change in my manner. Nevertheless, he straightened his back and held my gaze.

“I have received eyewitness testimony. The circumstances point unmistakably to you, Lord Theorad.”

Damn it. There was a witness after all.

“And who claims to have seen what?”

“I cannot disclose that. Testimony given during an inquiry is strictly confidential.”

“Not even to the head of this household?”

“Unless the God of Light Himself permits it, I will protect that witness even with a blade at my throat. That is not merely my personal decision. It is the will of the Church of Balance.”

There was an edge beneath his courteous words. He plainly disliked the suggestion that I should interfere in Church affairs.

He had misunderstood my purpose, but I could use his pride.

I raised my chin, painfully conscious of the elf's gaze boring into me from behind.

“How far the Church of Balance has fallen.”

Hamtarshin clenched his jaw. This time his anger was unmistakable.

“Lord Theorad. Unless you can justify that remark, I will be obliged to report your conduct to the higher authorities of the Inquisition.”

“You needn't worry. I said it because you, a priest of the Church of Balance, seem to be disregarding its teachings.”

“I am disregarding the Church's teachings?”

“Of course. As I understand it, the Church of Balance does not accuse someone of heresy merely because that person is suspicious. It requires clear evidence. Am I mistaken?”

Hamtarshin fell silent. Evidently, he could find no fault with that.

“And yet look at what you've done. You speak of witness testimony as though it were a revelation from the God of Light Himself. You've even threatened to question me on the presumption that I'm a heretic.”

“…I spoke too hastily.”

“I'm glad you recognize that. I bear you no ill will and am happy to forgive the lapse. In fact, I'm perfectly willing to answer your questions.”

I couldn't let the elf find an opening to intervene.

Without waiting for further argument, I walked past Hamtarshin toward the confessional. He hurried after me.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I'll enter the confessional and submit to your questioning, just as everyone else did. Wouldn't that be fair? I see no reason to demand special treatment.”

“I can't disagree.”

He still sounded displeased, but his voice had softened. At least he was no longer rejecting everything I said out of hand.

“Then I'll go in first.”

I opened the confessional door, stepped inside, and sat down.

A moment later, the opposite door opened. A partition divided the two compartments, so I couldn't see the inquisitor's face, but his silhouette was unmistakable.

“Very well. We shall now begin the interrogation—”

I was desperate. The instant I heard his voice, I blurted out everything I'd been unable to say in front of the elf.

“I confess! I was the one who ordered the slave to urinate on my father's statue! But you've misunderstood! I never wanted to dishonor my father's memory!”

“…My lord?”

“That wicked elf has been tormenting me! She's playing the part of a slave, but you have no idea what she's capable of! Please, whatever you do, don't provoke her! You'll die! And it won't stop with you—the entire household could be slaughtered!”

Silence.

Hamtarshin seemed unable to decide what to make of my words.

Impatient, I took the stone control plate for the monster-hunting weapon from my coat and slid it beneath the partition.

“What is this?”

“The stone control plate for a monster-hunting weapon recently developed by the principality. I tried to use it to incapacitate the elf. But you've seen her. It didn't weaken her in the slightest. It didn't even leave a scratch.”

“There was a report recently of a flash and an explosion in the courtyard…?”

“Then one of the servants must have witnessed the weapon going off.”

“Hmm. If your account is true, why does the rest of the household know nothing about it? And why didn't you seek help?”

Oh, come on.

“Telling everyone would only throw the entire mansion into confusion. Do you think an elf who takes pleasure in pretending to be a slave would welcome that? And if I carelessly asked someone for help and she found out, the consequences would be disastrous.”

“Then why tell me?”

“Because I'm placing my hopes in you. The Church may have the power to subdue her. I'm begging you: tell the saintess what I've told you. If the Order's knights came here, they might be able to stop that elf.”

A muffled sound came from the other side of the partition.

Hamtarshin still didn't seem to believe me completely. But if I'd managed to move him even a little, perhaps that would be enough.

“I've heard your account,” he said at last. “But I can't judge its truth so easily. I must consider the possibility that you're lying to escape an unfavorable position. I'm afraid we'll need to summon the elf slave and question her as well.”

“Inquisitor…!”

“Rest assured. I'll ask only indirect questions, so as not to cause the danger you fear. If her answers convince me, I will report the matter to the bishop.”

I was about to protest, but stopped myself.

Put in his place, I would have thought my story absurd too. I couldn't demand that he believe me without question.

The rest would have to be left in the inquisitor's hands.

I sighed and opened the confessional door.

“Very well. Bring the elf here.”

---

After Theorad left, Hamtarshin remained alone in the confessional, looking down at the stone plate he'd been given.

The elf slave is behind all of this?

Admittedly, she hadn't seemed like an ordinary slave. The presence she'd displayed when they first met was certainly unusual.

But to claim that knights of the Order were needed to deal with her?

What a ridiculous bluff.

Is he trying to talk his way out of trouble?

Hamtarshin had encountered nobles like Theorad before. They would buy an unusually powerful slave and use that slave as a convenient excuse whenever their own wrongdoing came to light.

Most slaves, however strong they might be, could not defy the marks placed on their bodies by the black magicians of the Devil's Eye. They had no choice but to obey their masters.

And so the nobles would blame their misdeeds on the slaves under their control.

Theorad's case looked much the same.

What a brazen man.

Perhaps cunning was the true nature of the supposedly upright young viscount. After judging so many cases of heresy, Hamtarshin found the nobleman's intentions all too easy to suspect.

Even if everything he said is true…

Ordering someone to urinate on his own father's statue was still a grave offense. Nor was Hamtarshin inclined to forgive the insults Theorad had directed at the Church and its representative.

Either way, House Deharem would have to face punishment, and Theorad would owe him an apology.

With that resolve, Hamtarshin lifted the stone plate again.

The confessional door opened. Someone entered the compartment opposite him and sat down.

Here she is.

He knew he was about to confront the elf slave, but he felt no particular anxiety. A few straightforward questions should be enough to expose whatever deception was at work.

With one hand resting on the stone plate, he spoke in a stern voice.

“Listen carefully. From now on, you will answer my questions—”

Fwoosh!

Heat brushed the side of his face.

Hamtarshin turned in astonishment. The partition between the compartments had been reduced to a scattering of ashes.

Beyond it sat a beautiful silver-haired elf, regarding him with cold indifference.

“What do you think you're—”

Crack.

His hand froze as he reached for his sword.

An impossible cold flooded the confessional. His breath came out in white clouds, and frost spread across his fingertips.

What is this?

No ordinary slave could wield magic like that. Even accomplished human magicians could hardly produce such a sequence of spells with that kind of ease.

Was the viscount telling the truth after all?

Hamtarshin's breath quickened. His pupils widened, and his lips trembled with fear.

The elf glanced down at the stone plate in his hand. Her gaze was filled with contempt.

“Insolent, short-lived creature.”

Her emotionless words seemed to take shape as magic and fill the space around him. The temperature kept falling until it was difficult to draw breath.

“You.”

Something invisible tightened around Hamtarshin's throat.

His teeth clenched. His hands shook. Saliva slipped between his lips and trickled down his chin.

The elf watched without relaxing her magic. Her only concession was to keep the pressure just low enough that he would not quite die.

The casual authority with which she did it terrified him almost as much as the suffocation itself.

“Why?”

She regarded the inquisitor as he wavered on the edge of consciousness. Then, with terrible calm, she asked:

“Why did you try to kill Theorad?”

His thoughts went numb beneath the pain.