BPOTWC Chapter 11

That night, back in her room, Clarisse was able to hear all sorts of things from the kindly stone of the inner wall.

〈Sir Outer Wall takes pride in having guarded Sheridan for far longer than any human being, young lady.〉

"Yes, that's a very wonderful thing."

〈But that, too, is becoming a thing of the past. Ever since his mana grew scarce, he hasn't been able to ring the bell properly...〉

"That sounds lonely. I wish someone would help him, whoever it might be."

〈But ordinary people can't tell the difference between stones that hold mana and those that don't. The only one who could possibly help us is a Golem Master with genuine, gifted talent!〉

"I see. I hope His Grace finds a Golem Master with genuine talent very soon."

At the answer Clarisse gave with a beaming smile, the inner wall seemed somehow flustered. It even asked, "...Beg your pardon—?" in reply.

"If it's the Duke, he'll surely find one, so don't worry too much."

〈—ah, n-no, young lady, we of the inner wall had rather presumed His Grace had already found and installed such a person here, if it might please you to know...〉

"Ah, more than that—could you tell me about snowmen? I heard that in Sheridan, people put a snowman in front of the manor."

〈Goodness! Young lady Clarisse is going to put a snowman in front of the manor?〉

"Yes. Didn't you hear, earlier, when I was talking with the Duke here?"

〈I'm rather embarrassed to say, young lady. When my mana grows scarce, I tend to nod right off to sleep—〉

"Sleep?"

〈—and my, my, how long it has been since anything of the sort has occurred... A snowman standing before the manor is a thing most worthy of boast, if I might be so bold, young lady.〉

"Why is that?"

〈Why, it means there is a child growing hale and hearty within these walls! It is the very finest medal any roofed building could ever hope to earn, young lady!〉

"A child growing up healthy...?"

That, as it happened, was exactly the kind of child Clarisse meant to be. Falling sick for no reason before she turned eighteen—and failing to keep her promise to the Duke because of it—that would be a real problem.

〈Yes, exactly that, young lady!〉

And the inner wall, in a truly delighted voice, went on to explain in great detail how to build a snowman.

Clarisse finally understood, completely, what a "snowman" actually was.

For one thing, she was somewhat relieved to learn it wasn't a living thing the way Mallangie was.

"I might end up making a rather pitiful one. It's my first time, after all."

〈What are you saying, young lady! Just the fact that you're willing to make one for us is a joy in itself. I daresay Sir Outer Wall might even get excited enough to ring his bell, ding-dong, ding-dong.〉

"Do you really think Outer Wall would be happy if I made a snowman?"

Clarisse asked her question carrying a small measure of guilt.

It seemed, after all, that the reason the outer wall had had to hear those unkind words from the soldiers today was because Clarisse had spoken to him and made him ring the bell in the first place.

〈Of course, young lady. He'll go around boasting about how the snowman was made by a child under the protection of Sir Outer Wall—you'll see.〉

"For that, I suppose I'll really have to make a wonderful snowman."

〈It'll be fine. If it's a snowman made by Lady Clarisse, I'm certain Sir Outer Wall will be delighted!〉

Would that really be true?

Clarisse couldn't be entirely sure, but she decided that tomorrow, without fail, she would succeed in making a snowman.

The next day, Clarisse finished the breakfast Rosalie brought her.

After scraping her soup bowl clean without leaving so much as a drop, she scrub-scrubbed her teeth and washed her face with great care.

After that, she put on her fluffy, fur-lined clothes and, standing at the door, raised one hand high.

Soon Benson approached her with a solemn expression.

"Good morning, Sir Benson."

"Hm. Night duty."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

When Clarisse made to bow, he stopped her at once.

"I—I'm not trying to get an apology out of you. Ahem! If you were keeping track of the knights' duty roster, that would be the real problem!"

"Ah..."

Clarisse nodded quietly.

It was true that a prisoner knowing the knights' duty roster would be a rather odd thing.

"In any case, what is it?"

"I'd like to go out to the garden to make a snowman."

"Hm, understood. You have leave to go out. The knights are looking forward to seeing your snow—ah, never mind that."

He seemed to be about to say something important, then let it drop, and led the way one step ahead of her, guiding Clarisse toward the central staircase.

Once she'd passed through the far more comfortable stairs and made it outside, Clarisse followed the inner wall's advice and settled in a spot with fewer footprints.

"It said I needed to make a small snowball first."

She gathered the newly-fallen snow into her hands and pressed it firmly, and it packed itself tight, like a stone.

"There!"

But her joy lasted only a moment; when she rolled the snowball across the snow, before long it split cleanly in two.

"What do I do?"

Clarisse stood before her fifth cracked snowball and made a thoroughly woeful face.

"Roll it gently. Carefully, carefully."

Just then, someone's whispering voice came to her.

It sounded just like a fairy's voice, so Clarisse lifted her head and searched carefully all around her.

But there was no one there.

'Did I mishear?'

Just as she thought so and went back to packing the snow tight again, the voice came once more.

"Roll the small packed snowball gently over the deep-piled snow. You have to be very careful at first."

This time she was able to tell clearly which direction the sound was coming from.

It was coming from behind an enormous tree, wide enough that five people couldn't circle their arms around it.

"Are you a fairy, ma'am?"

Clarisse asked carefully, toward the unseen presence.

".........."

No answer came.

Clarisse decided to try doing as the fairy instructed, for the time being.

When she carefully rolled the fist-sized snowball over a patch of deep-piled snow, the snowball's shape began to change, wonder of wonders.

"You have to change direction as you roll it. That's what makes it round, like a ball."

Soon a new instruction came down from the fairy.

Clarisse changed the direction of the snowball, which had grown long and lopsided, and rolled it further.

The snowball, growing quickly larger, soon reached the size and shape of a watermelon.

Delighted, Clarisse made a second, smaller snowball as well.

There was a small disaster in the process of lifting the smaller ball up onto the larger one—a chunk of it broke off and fell away—but once she'd finished and patted it gently into shape, it came out looking reasonably respectable.

Clarisse was quite pleased with the snowman she'd made.

"Amazing! I finished it so quickly, just by doing what you said, ma'am!"

Clarisse, overjoyed, trotted over toward the place the fairy's voice had come from.

"It's so, so wonderful!"

She darted around behind the tree, hoping to meet a fairy with silver wings.

But no—she'd been mistaken.

What Clarisse found was a woman with long silver hair streaming in the wind and eyes like blue jewels.

"Ah..."

Fortunately, she could easily recall who this must be.

The inner wall had mentioned her once before.

'Her Grace the Duchess is a truly beautiful lady, young lady. That shining silver hair of hers is more dazzling than any Sheridan snow.'

Clarisse quickly bowed at the waist in greeting.

"Thank you for helping me."

At that, the woman shook her head. Along with a very gentle smile.

"Are you going somewhere, ma'am?"

Clarisse asked, taking in the woman's outfit, which somehow looked meant for going out, but she regretted it almost at once.

The Duchess's eyes went round, and her face turned bone-white as she shook her head.

"N-no! Absolutely not—"

Just then, the Duke's voice came from the entrance, calling for Clarisse.

"—!"

At the very same moment, the Duchess startled violently and looked hastily around her.

Just the way Clarisse herself had, the very first time she'd heard the woman's voice.

Why was she so startled? Clarisse only stared, puzzled—and then the woman lifted a single finger to her lips.

It seemed very much like she was asking Clarisse to keep this moment a secret.

"Ah."

Clarisse nodded, small and quick.

Now that she thought of it, it was strange for a lady as elegant as the Duchess to be having a friendly conversation with someone who was merely a prisoner.

It would likely reflect poorly on her reputation, so Clarisse decided to keep this secret carefully.

"Clarisse."

As the Duke's voice drew a little closer, the Duchess turned and went off in the opposite direction.

Clarisse watched her retreating back from beneath the great tree for a moment, then turned to go to the Duke who had come looking for her.

He was accompanied by Sir Benson, who was just returning from his night shift.

"Your Grace."

He glanced over the snowball Clarisse had made and nodded, satisfied.

"Things seem to be coming along quite well."

"As promised, I've brought this along."

Benson held out a carrot he'd gotten from the kitchen, its end whittled to a sharp point.

"Ah..."

Clarisse took the carrot and answered carefully.

"Um, snowmen don't need to be fed."

"What? That's not feed."

Benson took the carrot back and went and stood in front of the snowball Clarisse had made.

"Watch closely. This is how you give the snowman a nose. In Sheridan, a snowman isn't considered properly finished unless it's got a carrot on it."

Benson answered with his chin held high, and knelt down in front of the snowman, which came up only to his knee.

Then he drew his carrot-holding arm as far back as he could and, in one motion, plunged the blunt end of the carrot straight into the center of the upper snowball.

It really did look like a nose had appeared, and Clarisse clapped her hands.

"Amazing!"

"How's that? Any Sheridan-born human learns this skill!"

But even as Sir Benson stood there preening—

His snowman's face couldn't take the force of it. It split clean down the middle—crack—and came apart, pattering to the ground.

"...Ah."

Sensing something was wrong, Benson turned around—and the color drained clean out of his face, corpse-pale.

The Duke, who had been quietly watching from the side, went stiffer still.