APIBAGS Chapter 49

I see.

Dolly took Henna's advice very much to heart.

Henna walked her to the door. Through it, scattered cherry blossom petals filled her vision completely. The end of spring, and yet the cherry trees at the Rohanson estate showed no sign of stopping. The body of Evangeline Rohanson hung by the neck from the branches of a cherry tree and swayed gently in the wind.

"Thank you for your hard work today. Take care going home."

Dolly tried to collect herself at Henna's farewell. She wiped her mouth and nose. White powder came away on her hand. She didn't notice.

'What was I doing?'

Right—she'd collected her pay from the butler and come out. Her pocket was satisfyingly full when she pressed her hand to it.

"Ahem. Ahem. You too, Henna. See you next time."

Dolly bid farewell to the gloomy maid and left the Rohanson estate. When had she been hurt? A dull sting, then she saw it—her knee, scraped raw.

What had she been planning to do when she left.

Right. She was going to send a letter. That way she'd be able to receive holy water.

But a significant problem had arisen. Dolly had to observe the estate rules, and the estate rules meant she could not disclose anything that happened inside its walls.

What to do. If she didn't write the letter, she wouldn't receive holy water. She turned this over as she sat down and wrote a letter regardless. The letter, naturally, never reached Bishop Jabaniya.

It simply stacked up, neatly and in order, in the drawer of Dolly's desk.

To Bishop Jabaniya,

Bishop, I have entered the Rohanson estate safely.

The Count is away, and the estate is being managed by a butler named Phloxse. The interview was very simple. They say the butler isn't of noble birth—perhaps because of that, his education is lacking, and he didn't notice the documents were forged—but he evaluated me very favorably. Rather funny, isn't it. A drug addict as an etiquette tutor.

This estate has a great many rules. Seeing them impose such rules even on a tutor when they're already short on staff, Evangeline Rohanson must be quite demanding. I'll attach the list I received. I've decided to begin proper instruction from the next visit. But, Bishop—what etiquette should I actually be teaching?

Dolly Fonor, who has successfully obtained the position.

To the Bishop, who gives no reply,

Yes. I understand your intent. Not to write personal asides, and to figure things out for myself—that must be what you mean. So I managed entirely on my own. I went to the library and borrowed a book called 'Basic Etiquette Education'. It's written for ten-year-olds, but that should be sufficient to fill out the appearance, shouldn't it? I hope you appreciate the effort a person of my habits is making.

Dolly Fonor.

Bishop, have you grown old enough that death is approaching?

Please understand that I'm beginning a letter this way. It's entirely your fault. When I asked what sort of person Lady Rohanson was, you brushed it off with 'not ordinary.' In my view, you must have developed cataracts. I cannot fathom what you were actually looking at when you made that assessment. Holy water seems more necessary for you than for me.

You live in the temple and see the angelic sculptures placed throughout it every day. That is presumably why Lady Rohanson seemed unremarkable to you by comparison. But what if the sculpture moved? I would faint. That is precisely my situation at present. Please try to understand my circumstances, wherein I am teaching ten-year-old etiquette to a living sculpture.

Dolly Fonor, recommending you seek medical attention.

To the Bishop,

I am applying myself fully to this task. There seems to be more to learn about Evangeline Rohanson from those around her than from the lady herself, so I've been making quiet inquiries. The people here at the estate tremble at the mere syllable 'Eva —.' One staff member, a person named Lantana who seems to enjoy showing off, has told me several things.

Apparently Lady Evangeline is frightening, but as long as one doesn't cross certain lines, she never reprimands—so there's no reason to be afraid. The two maids beside her handle all the chores, so there's no need to get close either. I'd seen three maids, so I asked whether there wasn't another called Kanna—she cursed, said the same as some person called Olive (I don't know who that is), and told me never to bring that name up.

She then proceeded to tell me everything: about the two creatures the Lady keeps, about the maid called Daisy who quit and then came back, about all the new staff recently hired at the estate. I have honestly never encountered anyone with so little capacity for discretion.

When I asked why she was telling me all this when I could go about spreading it freely, she said—and I quote—'you won't be able to.' What did she mean by that. I must seem trustworthy enough, I suppose.

Dolly Fonor, hoping for a show of gratitude.

Bishop. Are you even reading my letters?

You promised to give me one bottle of holy water in advance once I started at the Rohanson estate. Thinking it would look like nagging, I waited and waited. Do you know how many letters I've sent by now?

My withdrawal symptoms are getting worse. At this rate, I may not be able to carry out your request properly. I'm not threatening, of course— what would someone like me, in my circumstances, say to a bishop? So please, send the drugs—I mean the holy water—send it quickly.

Of all the tutors hired at the Rohanson estate, all of them have quit except for myself and one other. None of them lasted through the first day. You can see the effort I'm making, surely.

Dolly, hoping for your grace.

To the Bishop.

Bishop. Are you simply using me. You bastard! What did I tell you? I said my withdrawal was getting worse! I hear voices telling me to die all day long. The drugs I have left are nearly gone, and I have to take them just to stay barely coherent. I'm going to have to teach etiquette while medicated! They say Evangeline Rohanson has amnesia. Did she take something too? This place is wrong. When I walk I'm stepping on pieces of flesh. I saw Evangeline Rohanson's corpse hanging by the neck, and today I accidentally stepped on an eyeball and it burst. That's all for now.

Dolly.

To the Bishop,

I am afraid of Lady Evangeline Bishop, Lady Evangeline is a kind person. I have been delivering her private life to you like a spy, but she says she will forgive me. I love her more than I love you, who doesn't even write back. This is my last letter. I like this estate. I worship Lady Rohanson. She will save me.

Dolly Fonor, at the Rohanson estate.

"Butler, a letter has arrived for Miss Dolly. What should we do with it? Should we inform Lady Evangeline?"

"No. If Lady Evangeline were to find out, things could become complicated—just deliver it to Sir Gabriel directly. He happens to be visiting this afternoon. Daisy, please see to it."

"Yes. I'll take care of it."

"Well... One can only hope that God's beloved manages to show some sound judgment."

To Miss Dolly Fonor,

Dolly, are you handling the task I requested properly? I'm not rushing you, but not a single letter has arrived from you—I received word of your hiring but have had no progress reports since, and I've been worried you might have come to some harm. Are you getting along well? I find myself quite curious how you're spending your days at the Rohanson estate. Tell me about your employer, Lady Rohanson—that would be quite all right. I hope you haven't forgotten the promise between us.

From where the sun shines brightest, Jabaniya, cherished of God.

It was the hour when shadows were shortest—the hour when the Rohanson estate would ordinarily hold its breath and hum a soundless lullaby for Evangeline, who still slept late if left to herself.

Today it was anything but quiet.

Four carriages stood at the estate gate, and the staff moved luggage from them in a steady procession.

"The second-floor guest room is prepared for you. I'll help with the bags."

"Oh, thank you so much."

"The fabric—it's dragging on the ground! Please be careful!"

Embroidered cloth in elaborate patterns. Bolts of fabric in every color imaginable. Lace trim in quantities that defied reason. Catalogs alone—materials that hadn't fit in the carriages themselves—required two people carrying together, and their hands were still not enough.

"This is a genuinely obscene amount of material..."

Converting to monetary terms, selling those fabrics alone could probably purchase a modest estate in a regional territory.

Watching the procession, Raphaela let out an involuntary sound—somewhere between awe and dismay. The woman commanding the operation struck him across the back at the sound. Thwack—a crisp, decisive crack—and Raphaela twisted and dropped.

"That hurt. Misha!"

"Did I hit you hoping it wouldn't? What are you doing just standing there? Go and help."

"What? Me? I'm a knight."

"Then are those men my personal porters?"

The pointed finger indicated his colleagues—dressed in the Pharalos Knights' uniform, the kind that made passersby instinctively stand up straighter, the envy of all those who beheld it—now reduced to worker ants hauling crates. Being knights meant they had the stamina for it; they were carrying twice the load without showing any sign of strain.

"Uriel. Seraph."

Even Jeremy, for whom breathing itself was apparently a burden, had been pressed into service. The only exception was the Commander, who had gone inside to see Lady Rohanson first. Everyone else: no exemptions.

Raphaela had no choice but to drag himself toward the nearest crate—then stopped.

"Misha. But why aren't you saying anything to your brother?"

"...Michel has a slight headache right now."

Artemisia looked at Michel with the expression of someone watching the saddest, most pitiable thing in the world. To her credit, when it came to her own brother, she had moderated her vocabulary somewhat. Raphaela recognized targeted sympathy for what it was, and decided to become the kind of person who drowns and takes someone with them. A headache left the rest of Michel perfectly functional. No reason to let good labor go to waste.

"...Haah."

Michel stood with his eyes closed, drawing long, slow breaths.

Raphaela ignored Artemisia's glare and slung an arm around Michel's shoulders.

"Michel. What exactly are you doing."

"I am taking the air freely. Perhaps because Lady Rohanson is present—it seems particularly clear and fragrant here. This is also the first time I have ever seen cherry blossoms bloom with such extravagance. It is my deepest wish to become part of this scenery, though I must accept that I am a man who must work out his atonement within the Pharalos Knights. That, I suppose, is simply unfortunate."

This lunatic.

Goosebumps.

Raphaela quietly removed his arm from Michel's shoulders.