PDCOO Chapter 27

"I won't say another word about it. But I intend to keep raising the pig, and helping with the restaurant. Whatever odd jobs the village needs—I'll throw myself into those as well."

"What—what?"

"Therefore! Please simply accept me as I am, and be fond of me!"

Of all the incomprehensible things Bertram had ever said, this was the most incomprehensible. Karlah shook her head with an expression of genuine bewilderment.

"That's not how it works! I can't do that!"

"You can! Your daughter managed it!"

"What on earth has that girl been telling people!"

Karlah gave up on holding firm. She'd be better off grabbing her sensible daughter and demanding an explanation directly.

While she was gathering the first-aid kit to put it back where it belonged, Bertram crouched quietly on the floor and cleaned up the powder and blood drops that had fallen during the bandaging.

Karlah watched and let out a short, involuntary laugh.

"Bertram. Thorough cleaning is all very well, but— Is it all right to use that fur cloak for wiping the floor?"

Bertram had been using his black fur cloak as a cleaning rag.

He'd had little occasion to wear a cloak while staying in the village, true—but still. Using it to wipe the floor.

Using fur as a cleaning cloth was absurd enough on its own. That one had clearly been a valuable piece of work.

Bertram dusted the cloak off without the slightest concern.

"One side absorbs water quickly and dries fast. It turns out to be excellent for floor cleaning."

"It looked expensive."

"It was gathering dust in our family's storehouse. Better put to use."

The Cloak of Fenrir.

A national treasure, kept in the royal vaults.

To say it was 'gathering dust' would make the royal treasury keeper clutch their chest—but Karlah had no way of knowing this, and shrugged.

"None of my business. Stay until the bleeding stops, then come down for lunch."

"Ah—if you're heading back now, could you pass a message along to the watch? I believe I know why the goats and wolves came down the mountain."

"What? Really?"

"Yes. Looking at the hind legs of the wolves, I believe they were being driven by someone. Someone chasing them."

"Driven? Nomads, maybe?"

The villagers generally didn't trouble wolves unless wolves troubled their livestock first. The ones who actively drove wolves were the nomadic herders of the far plains, who grazed sheep and horses out in the open country.

But Bertram shook his head.

"The wounds are too clean for nomads. It looks as though trained soldiers attacked the wolves."

At the word soldiers, the color drained briefly from Karlah's face.

Three years since the war had ended, and the fear had not.

Bertram spoke evenly but quickly, filling in the rest.

"It shouldn't be anything serious. My guess is that a nobleman passed through the plains with an escort. The guards ranged ahead of him, driving off wild goats and wolves in the area, and the animals panicked and poured into this village."

"That's its own problem, isn't it. Surely a person of rank wouldn't actually come all the way to this village? I've never once seen good things happen when people like that show up!"

Bertram thought briefly of what had occurred in the city a few days ago.

According to Lara, only one knight had come looking for him—a man named Erich.

"...Surely not. Nothing should happen to the village."

But Bertram's hopeful prediction was wrong.

The 'person of rank' had already ridden into the village with four soldiers and proceeded directly to the largest building in it: Anna's restaurant.

At the sudden sound of hoofbeats, Anna came running out to the front yard.

It wasn't business hours yet, but travelers arriving in a group were a group of customers—and she'd never waste an opportunity like that.

Oddly, there were five people but six horses. She briefly considered whether she could charge the horses for their meal, then turned to greet the group with a smile.

"Welcome! How many of you are there? Have you come to eat? We have drinks as well!"

"...Eat? So even a place like this has something that passes for a meal."

The one who answered first was the one who most needed to learn basic social courtesy.

He muttered it to himself, then swung down from his horse.

Magnificent golden hair swept out behind him. Sharp blue eyes. Tall and well-built. The sort of face that would stop anyone in their tracks.

He addressed Anna in a cool voice.

"I am Franz Gerhardt, a knight of the capital. I'm looking for a man named Bertram. Have you heard anything?"

She knew Bertram.

Very well indeed.

While Anna hesitated over her answer, the knight who had introduced himself as Franz seemed to think the height difference was preventing her from hearing him. He bent down and tried again.

"I asked whether you've seen a man named Bertram, little lady."

"I'm not little."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. I've been over twenty for several years now, so I'd appreciate not being treated like a child."

Franz blinked, looking genuinely surprised. Behind him, one of the soldiers had started to reach into his pocket for a candy and then pushed it back in. Anna felt a brief pang of regret.

'I should have kept quiet and at least gotten a candy out of it.'

Franz moved his mouth—giving nothing, yielding nothing.

"Miss. I am looking for a man named Bertram. Very tall. Black hair, blue eyes. Have you seen him?"

"Goodness! Is he some kind of dangerous criminal?"

She didn't know their purpose. She couldn't give an honest answer until she did. Anna slipped sideways with the conversation, and Franz caught it immediately.

"How dare you call him a—!"

"Pardon?"

"Ahem. Hmm. No. He is not a criminal."

"Then why are you looking for him?"

"That I cannot say."

Anna considered what to do.

They had the look of the people in the city who'd been searching for Bertram—the first priority was getting word to him. And to do that, she needed to keep these people in one place.

Anna's customer-service smile settled into place.

"I haven't heard of anyone like that. But you all look exhausted—will you have something to eat before you go?"

"We're not at a mealtime, and I have no time to waste."

"This is the only restaurant in the village. If you sit down, the locals will wander in and talk among themselves—you'd have information coming right to you."

"Hmm..."

"We have cold water too, just drawn fresh from the well! Let me start with that!"

Franz hesitated, but the soldiers behind him were practically panting at the words 'cold water,' and his mind changed. Anna gestured quickly toward the side of the building.

"Horses go that way—the stable!"

"A place like this has a stable?"

"This building served as the army's mess hall during the war. You've come to exactly the right place. I'll get the cold water ready!"

The soldiers made for the stable immediately. Franz watched Anna manage his entire party in an instant and fixed her with a sharp look. But after several days of Bertram's expressionlessness, Anna was impervious. A golden-haired man glaring at her with blue eyes merely read as a fairy-tale prince in a bad mood.

'He's handsome... Mother would absolutely loathe his type.'

The manners were no good either.

From the moment Franz stepped inside, his expression held a sustained and evident how does anyone call this a restaurant. He laid a handkerchief on the chair before sitting down. Even when Anna brought out what she privately considered the finest glass in the house, his brow did not relax.

The soldiers coming back from the stable, at least, brightened immediately at the sight of water, and that helped.

Anna was smiling back at them when Franz said, sharply, "What are you looking at."

"Oh—nothing! What would you like to eat? There's no menu board, but what we make here is—"

"A village restaurant like this won't have what I want. Just bring whatever is edible for five."

"...Yes, right away!"

Anna spun away before her expression could betray her.

What she actually wanted was to announce the most filling dish on the menu and deliver a fist to go with it.

'But the consequences of that would be considerable.'

The soldiers were all in good health. One of them was even wearing spectacles—an uncommon sight out here. They'd all been raised with money behind them.

The golden-haired man leading them was at minimum a nobleman. And given that truly exceptional quality of temperament—

'He can't actually be royalty, can he? A prince or something.'

Anna didn't know what the prince looked like. She didn't even know the color of his hair. Getting so much as a glimpse of the royal family was the privilege of city people—out here, even finding a portrait was no easy thing.

'Handsome, high-ranking, terrible personality... ah, but he doesn't seem actually unhinged, so probably not a prince.'

The late king had died during the war leaving one son. That prince had gone mad in the fighting—that was the sum total of what reached villages like this one. Anna kept half her attention on the dining room while she cooked, watching to make sure the golden-haired one didn't do anything sudden.

What she eventually produced: a mountain of fried onions. Omelettes. Sautéed vegetables. Simple. A great deal of it.

The soldiers were initially taken aback by both the simplicity of the menu and the sheer quantity of it, but hunger won out soon enough and they started eating. Their expressions were not unhappy.

Franz's expression, which had stayed thoroughly sideways throughout, was its own exception.

"Excuse me, miss—"

"Welcome! What can I get you?"

Franz's voice drowned in Anna's. The village chief, who had ambled in scratching his stomach, looked baffled at the enthusiasm of his reception.