Hyland poured more wine into the cup and spoke.
“I’m sure he cannot tell the difference between the church and his home. So though he is wholly committed to his sacred work for himself, on the other hand, he considers the church his own and lives so deep in selfishness. It’s likely that he does not even see it as selfishness. But from the outside, it’s clear. They say the most affluent woman in this town is the archbishop’s wife, after all.”
“That’s…”
“Of course, she’s not his official wife, but everyone knows it. That being said…”
Hyland shrugged.
“There is no honor in attacks against me as an illegitimate child.”
It was not uncommon for nobles and royalty to reach out to women who were not their wives, and the similar activities of priests who vowed to stay single were an open secret.
That was how it was.
“However, the archbishop here has not quite managed to do it successfully. My father was forced to marry the pope’s niece or something like that, but the people saw true love between him and my mother. And even from my perspective, he is quite charming.”
Hyland’s words hinted at something, but Col understood what he wanted to say.
“On the other hand, because the archbishop is so dedicated to his work, he often becomes overbearing. It is necessary that he be used to wielding power, but it seems he does not understand. He is strict with the sins of capriciousness and adultery, but the people wonder what right he has to say such things considering his own actions. When he preaches of moderation, one can only listen with a smile.”
The bear of a craftsman had also said that the suppers at the church were always extravagant.
“And yet they recognize the passion for his work when he cries for someone’s passing, cries in the joy of a wedding, cries at birth. That is why the people wish to do something about these twisted feelings they have for the Church. The clergy are worryingly two-faced: They live in licentiousness with the money gained from the heavy taxes on the people, yet they are reliable when it comes to their holy work.”
“It is not that the people don’t want to respect them.”
“Or rather, to borrow the words of God, they want to love them. Well, perhaps ‘esteem’ might be better.” Hyland smiled.
Once the water of faith flowed properly, the world would become clearer.
“That is why the Our Book of God plan is so well received among the people. Some are already pestering me to show them any part that has been finished.”
“When I went to the workshop to prepare paper and ink, the boss there was cheering me on.”
Hyland smiled and gave a signal to his chamberlain waiting in the corner of the room. Then, a young man around the same age as Col, with the airs of a civil servant about him, handed him a bundle of parchments.
“My father agreed with this plan from very early on and is in the process of gathering all the idle priests throughout the country. For the most part, in the name of lecturing on God’s teachings. They cannot eat if they do not work, and they have a favorable view of my father, so it is going well, it seems. However, those living in their ivory towers have some trouble when it comes to the vernacular. They eagerly want to hear the opinions of opposing scholars.”
He did not say “sage,” but it still made Col uncomfortable to hear “scholar.”
As though he had noticed his feelings, Hyland chuckled.
“Col. I, too, recognize humility as a virtue, but you will find that how others around you see you very much depends on who speaks up first.”
He was telling him to be proud of himself.
“I will devote myself to it.”
Hyland smiled in relief.
“The translation is going well, and parts from earlier are written on this parchment, but I need you to move it along, too. Once I send it home, it will be a great help to them.”
It was awe-inspiring, but this was what it meant to face a grand prospect. Col braced himself and took the parchment. Translating the scripture into the common language would educate the people, and it might be fair to call it one of the battles for correcting the ridiculousness of the Church. When he thought about how this work would be his weapon, his shield, it felt much heavier.
“I understand,” he replied with strength, and Hyland smiled, satisfied.
“And I expect you to work hard for all the candy the young lady has eaten.”
With a kind gaze, Hyland watched Myuri lick the sugar off her fingers over an empty tray. As they all watched her while her finger was in her mouth, even she seemed a bit uncomfortable.
“The only ones who have ever done such a thing in my presence are clowns protected by privilege and their daughters.”
“I sincerely apologize…Myuri!”
Col scolded Myuri, and she ducked with a defiant look.
“No, that’s all right. We are sticking our necks into a fight against authority. Authority makes people blind and takes away their ability to think. Not to mention their courage to call out oddities when they see them. I do not lie when I say I expect great things from you. So…can you read?”
Myuri stared back blankly at Hyland’s question.
“Letters. Not the Church’s script.”
“Ah yes, a little,” Col answered for her, and Hyland rejoiced.
“I see. Then, I’m sure this is quite boring for young ladies like you, but I want you to look over the scripture. I’m sure you may perceive some truths that are much beyond us.”
Myuri wore an expression of slight pride, but Hyland was likely overestimating her.
“Heir Hyland, you say that, but—” Col began to give advice.
“It’s not flattery. I feel something about her. The mistress of the bathhouse I stayed in was the same…Perhaps she’s from some sort of distinguished house?”
He was startled when he heard Hyland’s speculation. If Holo and Myuri’s bloodline were to be called a distinguished house, then it would quite literally be something beyond human comprehension. Including supernatural beings in the establishing tales of a family line was done by only the highest of the many high-status royal families in the world.
“See, Brother? People that know, know.”
However, Myuri had puffed out her chest, unaware of his worry. There was no hint of humility.
“Ha-ha-ha. This young lady here understands how the world works.”
Had her tail been out, it would have been swishing right about then.
“Don’t take it at face value,” he warned her, but she did not show any sign of responding.
“Well, I won’t investigate. It is in the scripture, too.”
Hidden things would someday be let loose.
He could not tell if it was a good thing at this point in time.
“And I have confidence in you.”
He heard Hyland as someone who stood above others, taming his vassals. It was not that he held any contempt for Hyland himself, as he was a noble, but if he did not warn himself that he and Myuri were different, they would be swallowed whole. Hyland was an enchanting person, and it would be wonderful if he could become a priest with his own cathedra under the man’s dominion.
However, he wanted to cooperate as much as possible without self-interest. At stake was something far greater than the profits of any individual.
“To the first step of righting the world.”
Hyland cheered and raised high a glass of wine.
CHAPTER THREE
That night, after receiving the parchment with the translation of the scripture, Col barely slept. He was glued to the desk, absorbed in reading it and referencing the original as he went on. He was inundated with intellectual stimuli, constantly surprised by some of the interpretations and wordings.
He vaguely remembered Myuri becoming upset about being unable to sleep because of the bright candle, but she had gone silent at some point.
Then, he suddenly realized he could hear a wagon passing outs
ide. He felt like he had been reading the translation until that very moment, but apparently he had fallen asleep, and a blanket was draped over his shoulders. He looked at the bed where Myuri was curled up sleeping. She somehow seemed exasperated.
Having fallen asleep in the same position in the cold, his body felt like a dried branch. He slowly loosened up, and after deciding to take a quick snooze, he crawled into bed. His tension eased when he felt the warmth under the covers from Myuri’s body heat, and he instantly fell asleep.
When he next awoke, he bolted upright in a sudden wave of regret and fear.
“The lunch preparations!”
The sun was already high in the sky, and from the color of the light, he could immediately tell that breakfast had already finished at the bathhouse and it was time to get ready for lunch. He instantly felt a cold sweat and the need to apologize to Lawrence, who was likely working hard making arrangements. Lamenting how he had broken his streak of never waking up late over these past few years, he got out of bed, and that was when he realized—
“…Good morning?” Myuri, sitting at the desk and combing her hair, raised a perplexed greeting.
“Oh…Right, this isn’t the bathhouse…”
He could hear the sounds of a bustling town from beyond the open window.
There was a faint scent of salt.
“You really like to work, Brother.”
Myuri smiled, astonished.
“Oh, and while you were being Mr. Sleepyhead and snoozing your time away, a package came.”
Myuri was typically the one being scolded for sleeping in, so she was enjoying her chance to nip at him. It was perhaps too much to expect her to wake him up. There was no doubt that she gloated upon rising and finding him still asleep.
He could not forget to inspect his face and clothes for pranks.
Then, he looked at the package, and his sleepiness immediately evaporated.
“Myuri, move.”
“Wha—?”
He picked up the parcel that had been laid next to the door and placed it with a thud onto the desk. Myuri, shooed away, reluctantly sat down on the bed.
“This is enough to…”
Inside, there were many sheets of paper made from rags and as much parchment made from sheep as he could carry. The ink was practically overflowing, and there were enough quill pens to carry him into the air.
“Are you going to use all that by yourself, Brother?”
Myuri looked astonished, sitting cross-legged on the bed and tying her hair back.
“No, there are scribes who should be working with us…Myuri, did anyone come to visit?”
“Hmm, oh, someone came and asked if you were here, but when I told them you were sleeping, they were all, ‘okay, we’ll be waiting.’”
“That’s them!” he said and was about to exit the room in one big stride when Myuri called out to him.
“Ah, hey, Brother! What about breakfast?!”
“As you like!” he said and exited the room.
The day’s work at the Debau Company had started long ago, and it was still just as crowded as it was the day before. After Col described things to a passing errand boy, the boy brought him to a corner of the unloading area where several men sat idle. When they noticed him, they heaved themselves up as though with great effort. They all had stooped shoulders and bandages wrapped around their right hands. They each carried a worn-out bag on their shoulders, and their clothes were stained as though they had been dragged through mud and water. Their hands and faces were just as mottled as their clothes were.
To someone who did not know who they were, they seemed nothing but poor travelers or farmers escaping a heavy tax on their village. However, just as mercenaries proud of their demonic strength would be covered in the blood of their victims, excellent scribes were covered in ink.
Though every other part of these men seemed impoverished, their eyes shone brightly.
“We hope we may be of some use in sharing the correct teachings of God.”
“Of course. Thank you so much for coming.”
Col shook hands with all three of them and thanked them for reaching Atiph.
“Are you not busy around this time of year, though?”
“Ha-ha-ha. I suppose. My notary master ordered me to come, however.”
“I am from the tax collector association in the port.”
“I’ve come from the city council library.”
Those who could read and write were treasured, and those who could copy books were priceless. That work was more difficult than anyone could imagine, and it was taught as a way of penance in monasteries. It was a task not many people would offer to carry out, and those who would do so with perseverance and without complaint were few indeed.
Hyland must have gone through those papermakers to gather these scribes, so they were probably quite skilled. The places they had been pulled away from were in all likelihood incredibly busy.
“Still, by helping Heir Hyland, and by extension the Kingdom of Winfiel, our masters supposes that the benefits will outweigh our missing services. The tithes are applied to many things, after all. It would not be odd for one or two craftsmen like myself to earn their fortunes should taxes vanish.”
“And it seems other large craftsmen associations are having their subordinates spread Heir Hyland’s ideas and sending people out to collect funds in front of the Church when the time calls for it. However, by the nature of our work, we do not have very many potential masters to work for. If we didn’t contribute at all and then the tithes were actually repealed, we would lose our place in town.”
“In addition, everyone is simply interested in what is written in the scriptures. They are not satisfied by the Church’s excuses and wonder what God is really saying.”
He could clearly tell from their responses that Hyland’s plan was going well.
He felt an indescribable excitement when he thought how the world might change.
“According to Heir Hyland, you are a very knowledgeable theologian.”
“Please, teach us.”
“Oh…ah…oh no, far from it. I am honored.”
It seemed Hyland was praising him everywhere, but it was also possibly a bluff to encourage the people. Hyland was not a noble with only a good personality to his name.
“Well, well, this is the first time I’ve met a priest who has adopted the virtue of humility.”
“Indeed, how inspiring.”
Col had a feeling that this was also part of Hyland’s strategy, and he could do nothing but smile dryly as he stood before the awestruck scribes.
Then, securing a workspace for them was another trouble. The Debau Company trading house appeared to have been simply thrown together by connecting a number of different buildings with corridors, and it was so complicated and big, they would be lost without a map.
Even still, every room was full of people, and they ended up using the room Col and Myuri were borrowing.
“Myuri, hold this.”
They pushed the bed and furniture all up against the wall and brought in desks from other rooms.
The room suddenly transformed into a copy room of a workshop or a church, and only Myuri sat on the bed, hugging her knees.
“So what is it we will be copying?”
“Here it is. Please divide the work among yourselves.”
“I hope all the spelling has been corrected. I cannot read, you see.”
It was not unusual for a scribe to be illiterate. Letters were like pictures, and those who could copy them could do the work. Rather, this was preferred, since they could more faithfully re-create the original. The problem was that any mistakes would also be perfectly copied.
“I have for everything I was able to understand…”
If the scribe did not know how to read, then he would not know what parts had already been corrected. That being said, it would not be good to scribble notes directly on the parchment where the translation was. As Col wondered about how t
o approach the issue, the man produced a pincushion from his bag and said, “Please rest assured. Insert the pins onto the words that have spelling mistakes, and then I will refer to them and fix the spelling.”
“Excellent.”
He admired the craftsman’s rational wisdom. He quickly began placing pins into the man’s allotted parchment.
The other two men were wrapping cloth around their wrists and preparing small armrests that they seemed to typically use while they worked. They truly called to mind warriors preparing to go into battle, which was promising. Before long, their setup for work was completed.
“Then, let us stir life into the Church.”
One of the craftsmen spoke, and each began to work.
When Col was about to return to his translation work, he realized that Myuri was nowhere to be seen. He then remembered she had asked about breakfast. Perhaps she had not eaten all morning while waiting for him to wake up.
He hurriedly exited the room, and there was Myuri, leaning against the window frame in the hallway, gazing into the courtyard, and feeding the little birds.
“Myuri.”
When he called to her, the birds suddenly flew away.
“Wow, the animals really hate you, Brother,” said Myuri, with the blood of wolves flowing through her, and she bit into the bread in her hand that the birds had been pecking at.
“Your breakfast…Where did you get that bread?”
“I got it by dancing a little outside.”
She wiggled her hips.
It seemed she was slightly angry with him.
“That was a joke.”
“I know, however—”
“I have traveling money of my own. Here, this is for you.”
She interrupted him, reaching into the bag dangling from her hand and pulling out crumbly, dry bread and jerky. She gave it to him.
“They called that a biscuit, and boatmen eat it. It’s so hard, it’ll break your teeth.”
She grinned, showing off her canines. It certainly seemed hard enough, but that was not what he was concerned about.
“Ah, Myuri, I have work to do, so…”
“I know. It would definitely be weird if I were in the room with you.”