Afterstory: The Warmest Winter in the World (12)
The next morning.
“Mmm…”
Beynon sat up in bed, rolled his stiff shoulders, and yawned. Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he reached toward the bedside drawer until his fingers found a white eyepatch.
Small flowers had been embroidered across it.
Roselia and Raylin had saved their pocket money to buy it for his last birthday. The workmanship was, to put it kindly, rather rough. But it was a gift from two adorable children, so Beynon wore it with pride.
“Hah…”
He settled the patch over his eye, tied it securely, and adjusted it one last time. Then he slipped into his slippers, rose, and made his way toward the wardrobe as morning sunlight spilled through the window.
Creak.
Beynon opened the wardrobe, pulled out his usual shirt, and buttoned it. As he turned, his gaze caught the mirror on the wall. He stopped without quite meaning to.
“Hmm…”
Had that much time really passed? His once-white hair seemed to be turning gray and thinning at the temples. There were pale strands in his beard, too. He frowned at the sight—then immediately tried to smooth out his face.
The frown had made the wrinkles at his forehead and around his eyes all the more obvious.
He didn't consider himself an old man. Yet compared with five years ago, the difference was undeniable.
Am I going to end up like old Havid?
He sighed. Havid had aged with an enviable dignity, but Beynon had always prided himself on staying young. The prospect of growing old was much harder to accept than he'd expected.
It was enough to make him envy witches. Witches seemed able to keep the appearance of their prime right up to death, thanks to their pacts. If only men could be witches, too…
“Beynon. Are you in there?”
The voice outside broke his thoughts. Beynon opened the door in his half-finished morning clothes and found Havid standing there with his hands clasped behind his back.
“…Grandpa? What are you doing here so early?”
“What do you mean, what? Don't tell me you've forgotten what day it is.”
“Of course I haven't. It's the young master's birthday.”
“Then you know why I'm here. And here I thought you'd sleep through the morning after staying up so late…”
It was the birthday of Theorad Deharem, seventh head of House Deharem and husband to the Count of Pelgaroin. House Pelgaroin had rented a villa for the day, and a banquet would be held there in his honor.
The entire mansion was busy with preparations. Naturally, Havid had come to recruit another pair of hands.
“Since you're up, come and help with the banquet.”
“Grandpa, there's something wrong with that. I'm a household knight. My duty is to escort the young master, not do chores.”
“You rascal! Haven't I told you that everyone in a household shares its work, whether the matter is large or small? Besides, this birthday is a question of the family's standing. We need every bit of help we can get.”
“I understand it's important, but that doesn't mean we need to make such a fuss over—”
“Her Majesty the Emperor will attend.”
Beynon stopped breathing for a moment.
He blinked, certain he had misheard, but Havid's expression remained grave.
“The emperor herself has promised to attend the young master's banquet. Do you see why we're taking this so seriously?”
“Uh…”
Why would Her Majesty come to the young master's birthday? To strengthen ties with Pelgaroin?
He had no answer. But now he understood Havid's agitation. They were preparing to entertain the sovereign of the empire, someone accustomed to banquets of a standard few private households could hope to match. The head maid of Pelgaroin must have been just as anxious.
Beynon swallowed and nodded.
“All right. Tell me what needs doing. I'll help however I can.”
“Thank you. Go to the courtyard and look after the two young ladies.”
Beynon's thoughts ground to a halt for the second time that morning.
After that speech about receiving the emperor, Havid's most urgent assignment was… minding children?
“Grandpa. You're not making up the emperor's visit just to get me to do what you want, are you?”
“Do I look like a man who lies so readily? Her Majesty really is coming. And the two young ladies really have been entrusted to you. You're their escort, aren't you? The job suits you perfectly.”
“Well, yes, but… you know I don't spend all my time playing with children.”
“I'm not asking for much. If they quarrel, stay close and settle it. Surely you can manage that.”
How was he supposed to refuse when Havid put it that way? Beynon had his misgivings, but the occasion called for cooperation.
“Fine. I can manage that much…”
Out in the courtyard, Beynon let out a long breath and watched it turn white in the air. Cold air cleared his head, and he liked that part of winter well enough. The sting at the end of his nose was another matter.
He sneezed and pulled his cloak more tightly around himself.
Ahead, beneath a cherry tree blooming improbably in the cold, Roselia and Raylin were arguing. Both wore thick, adorable winter clothes and were pointing accusing fingers at each other.
Beynon approached with a smile.
“You two little rascals. Why are you fighting when you look so much alike?”
They wheeled around and shouted together.
“We're different!”
“We don't look alike at all!”
Even their angry faces were remarkably similar. Beynon resisted the temptation to say so again.
“All right, all right. Tell me what happened. What are you upset about now?”
“Well…”
“My sister keeps saying Santa doesn't exist!” Raylin burst out.
Her red eyes flashed accusingly toward Roselia. She looked deeply offended by the suggestion that Santa was imaginary.
Roselia returned her glare with an expression of complete disbelief.
They're arguing over something like this?
At least it was a proper children's quarrel. Surely an adult could settle it with a little common sense.
Before Beynon could speak, however, Roselia folded her arms.
“Idiot. Does it make any logical sense for Santa to exist? One person delivering gifts to every child in the world is a contradiction. What is he, a doppelgänger?”
“I never said there was only one Santa! There could be branches all over the world, with lots of Santas taking turns delivering presents.”
Hold on…
“Fine,” Roselia retorted. “Let's say Santa has branches everywhere. Then how does the headquarters that manages all those branches make any money?”
“Making money isn't the point! Santas work to give children dreams and hope. You should think of it as welfare or community service.”
Wait just a moment…
“You can't provide welfare without funding,” Roselia said. “Do you think sleighs, flying reindeer, and Santa costumes are free? What about food? Where does the money for the gifts come from? And how are you paying all the workers?”
“Sponsors and donations could cover that. They raise money every year. Once headquarters has its infrastructure in place, the fixed expenses wouldn't be so high.”
What on earth are these two talking about?
“You're ignoring depreciation. Capital assets don't last forever. Even after you've built the facilities, you have to pay for repairs and maintenance. You think donations alone will cover everything?”
“Donations won't come from just one place. If there are branches everywhere, they can all raise funds at the same time!”
Beynon was beginning to fear these children.
No matter how he looked at it, this was no ordinary argument for five-year-olds.
Lady Ashley has been responsible for most of their education…
What kind of lessons had the Count of Pelgaroin been giving them? Beynon felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter air.
“Even with all that fundraising, you couldn't buy presents for every child in the world,” Roselia continued. “And Raylin, you've been using straw-man arguments this whole time. You keep distorting what I say just so you can argue against it.”
“No! You started it, Sister…! Fine! Let's ask an adult.”
Raylin turned abruptly toward Beynon. Roselia uncrossed her arms and looked at him too.
Cold sweat sprang up on his forehead. He had scarcely followed their debate. How was he supposed to judge it?
“Er… well… Santa…”
Beynon scratched his cheek, trying to buy a little time.
“Ah! Uncle Beynon!”
The voice came from overhead.
He looked up to see a cheerful young woman in a witch's hat descending through the air on a broom. It was Pares, who had recently joined the Imperial Reagent Office.
Tap.
She landed lightly and lifted the broom beside her. Her expensive-looking robe and the official witch's badge on her chest gave her an unexpectedly professional air.
“Oh, is that your Reagent Office uniform? It looks good on you.”
Beynon gave her a thumbs-up. Pares puffed out her chest, visibly delighted with the compliment.
“Well, I suppose it does. Everyone says so. The Imperial Reagent Office is very competitive, you know. It's hard to get in, so naturally people look at me with admiration, and—”
“Sister Pares!”
“Sister!”
Roselia and Raylin ran to her and flung their arms around her. Startled, Pares broke off her boast, then laughed and hugged them both.
“Hello, my sweet little ones! Have you been well? I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit often. Work has kept me terribly busy.”
“It's all right. We know you're busy.”
“Yes!”
Such sweet girls. Pares looked from one to the other with shining eyes and gave a self-important nod.
“Right, then. How would you like to hear the story of the Witch of the Black Flame again? You both like that one.”
The girls' eyes lit up. Santa, the economics of gift delivery, and their quarrel were instantly forgotten.
“Yes! Tell us!”
“Me too!”
Pares cleared her throat. For the next ten minutes she recounted the Witch of the Black Flame's battle, making the details rather more suitable for children than they had been in the actual fighting.
“…And then there was that enormous spear—whoosh! I was sent flying! You know what else? The name of that technique was really impressive. I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but perhaps I can tell you two. Promise to keep it secret from your mother?”
Both girls nodded eagerly.
Pares stroked their heads and lowered her voice.
“It's called the Gale—”
An icy sensation ran down her spine.
She stopped and looked up. Across the courtyard, in the corridor, Linea was watching her.
W-what? How long has she been there?
The mana around Linea was disturbingly intense. Pares began to sweat. She could neither look away nor finish the name.
Then Linea smiled and silently formed two words with her lips.
Keep going.
Pares understood the message as a threat to her life if she said another syllable.
She swallowed, steadied her breathing, and forced a smile at the children.
“A-actually, that technique doesn't have a name.”
“Aw. That's boring.”
“Really? No name at all?”
Linea's gaze seemed to grow even colder. Pares hurried to nod.
“Y-yes! Really! None at all!”
In order to stay alive, Pares lied with all her might.