Chapter 18 — Viscount Andrew
Blade of Dawn · Page 2 of 4
Sitting in a broad, comfortable velvet chair and gazing at the exquisite silver tea service before him, Gao Yang could not help but think of the poor outside, in their rags and with their gaunt faces, and of those hovels they called homes. He had to admit that his sense of this fantastical world of swords and magic had suffered something of a... disillusionment.
"Ancestor," Rebecca whispered, poking the elbow of her Mystic Meridian Sect elder, "how are we going to introduce you in a moment?"
"Just as we agreed. Say it straight out," Gao Heng said without the slightest change of expression. "Here, it suits us to be conspicuous."
"Ancestor," Heidi spoke up as well, jerking her chin in Amber's direction, "do you really think... she's fit to appear here?"
Amber sat directly across from Gao Yang. The half-elf lady was at that moment studying the silver tea service before her with great earnestness. Her principal method of study was to pour out the tea and stuff the cup into her bosom—and while Gao Yang happened to look up, she stuffed a soup spoon in after it.
Gao Yang glared across the table. "Amber!"
"Wah!" The thief gave a slightly theatrical yelp, then sheepishly fished the things out of her bosom and set them on the table: two teacups, three soup spoons, a silver platter, a pocket watch, a handful of nuts, two wine cups, and the monocle that had, until moments ago, hung at the chest of the steward.
Gao Yang: "?!"
Holy hell, Miss Dora-Per, how did you even manage that?!
At that moment Gao Yang could not resist touching the Pioneer's Sword at his side, and he offered up heartfelt thanks for this Thief Saint's earlier forbearance in not robbing him while digging up his grave...
"She is an important witness to my resurrection," Gao Yang said, forcing down the twitching of his face and keeping his tone perfectly grave. "And don't you think that leaving this one somewhere we can't keep an eye on her would only make more trouble?"
Heidi nodded at once, thoroughly convinced.
Just then, Viscount Andrew finally entered the reception hall.
The oak doors were pushed open by attendants, and a thin, tall man stepped into the room. He wore a close-fitting black tailcoat; his dark brown hair, pomaded, lay flat against his scalp; a pair of meticulously tended little mustaches spread to either side beneath his nose; and his complexion was pale with a faint, unnatural flush. This somewhat sickly look was in fact very common among nobles—especially those who lacked any gift for magic or martial skill.
To experience supernatural power beyond their own gifts, and to indulge in more unrestrained pleasures, such men dosed themselves heavily with expensive potions to "sharpen their senses"—and the side effects of those potions showed plainly in their faces.
They even took pride in it, regarding a pallid complexion as one of the marks of nobility.
In this respect, the descendants of Cecil—who still obeyed the ancestral teachings, honestly honed their skills, and relied on their own efforts to practice martial arts (or magic)—had become the odd ones out in noble circles. But there was no help for it. The Cecil family had fallen on hard times; never mind the potions that were always scarce and dear, Rebecca could not even afford to patch the holes in the family castle. Of course, now she had no need to patch those holes.
"Ah, the beautiful Lady Heidi, and the equally beautiful Miss Rebecca—I do apologize for my lateness," the Viscount Andrew announced in a ringing voice the moment he entered, his tones rising and falling with practiced cadence and his face wearing what seemed sincere regret. "But I have been so very busy. The calamity in the Cecil domain has spread throughout my lands, the people are in a state of panic, and I have had to spend the greater part of every day arranging the defense of my domain and hearing reports from the patrols."