Delphine Inland

The sanctuary of the Priscilla family, Marquis of Eggrio, is an obelisk in the center of a spiral stone staircase. The staircase is uncovered for the occasion. Otherwise, it would be covered by a circular wooden sculpture. The two-piece sculpture depicts people massing to climb the obelisk.

Under the scorching sun and the evil star, a coffin on the lawn. It is between the obelisk and the crowd.

There are various witches from the duchy, especially from neighboring cities. They come from Celce, Ipzacena, Ampra, and others. They are a mass of about fifty witches with servants, escorts, husbands, and some even children.

Massimiliano's eyes are more interested in the young girl alongside the coffin. Everyone is elegant, but only she dresses in mourning and wears a circle of three curved black feathers. Like her mother, she has full breasts, and her laces open to show her new inherited aegis. It is the porcupine-snail aegis. Now it is she, twelve-year-old Gertrude Priscilla, the Witch of Eggrio.

“Thank you for coming. My father died when I was little, and my mother said I was enough. I owe her a lot… a lot. I… I…” there is a pause, a restrained sob that elicits a chorus of hilarity. “As the new Witch of the city of Eggrio, I will uphold the name of Priscilla. Those rebels did not understand their place in harmony with the state. I will contribute to their understanding to ensure that all humans understand. I am Gertrude Priscilla. And on the family tomb, I swear to all of you that I am…”

“A beggar, now.”

The voice of a Witch behind Massimiliano distracts him from the conversation.

“Yeah, I heard she managed to squander her entire fortune before she died. You realize?”

“Millions wasted, which we will never get back.”

“I wouldn't worry about that. The world is still full of gold. Rather, it is ridiculous a Witch spent so much to quell a revolt.”

“True, a few hundred thousand would have been enough for me.” The two witches laugh, but Massimiliano does not turn to observe them.

It is easy to think like this. Priscilla surely fought to save herself.

“However, the seat in parliament will now be vacant. I heard that the Sixteenth is ready to remove her. She doesn't have enough money. And she's too small to remain at the top. Poor thing, she's almost pitiful.”

“Ho, so will there be room for a new parliamentarian?”

“Number 20,002 will take it. That one has money to make the Fourth Witch gnaw.”

“Hmm, if she didn't have those secessionist ambitions. Have you heard of a fanatic's attack on the Third Witch?”

“No, but I didn't know anything about it. But I know that the secessionist principalities are stockpiling cannons and meat. They will probably invade the plain before the rains. The Third Witch would have to decide to act if I commanded the duchy…”

Massimiliano sighs. The two witches are not the only ones talking. For them, a funeral is a political event that consolidates friendships, weaves new networks, and tests the current situation.

For everyone, except her.

Massimiliano returns to focus on Priscilla. They have just closed the coffin, and the girl is trying not to cry. Regardless of what those two handsome crows say, Priscilla will certainly get funding from the Delphine family.

The Third Witch already has too much to think about, and the Praetor-Duke prefers to keep a friendly seat in Parliament rather than give it up to some new face.

Massimiliano turns towards his Lady and his Lord. Both are standing. She holds his arm and covers part of her face with her fan. It is a typical move. She does not want anyone to read her expression. So, the servant returns to observe the coffin.

Four porcupine-snails carry her on their shoulders down the stairs until she disappears. At that moment, the funeral ends, and the crowd begins to move. They all go to leave a 5 Lire gold coin at the heir's feet as a sign of acceptance.

Once it was Delphine's turn, the butler and the guards began to walk towards the exit, having tossed and jingled the coin into the pile. The smell of incense is intense near the pile of money and comes from the candlestick censer placed to indicate the point where to throw it.

Massimiliano still has one thing to do, so he gestures to Grullo to precede him, and the gendarme captain nods.

Overtaken by the group, the butler climbs the line to join his masters. They remained to discuss on the sidelines with Priscilla, as assumed. Other witches are waiting, ready to do the same as soon as the Third Witch gives them passage.

“Your Holiness and Beatitude, here—”

Delphin does not have time to respond when a scream interrupts the butler.

“Your Holiness, here you are. I beg you! Please have mercy!”

A limping gendarme makes his way through the crowd. He carries the emblem of the porcupine snail and advances with a crutch, his leg bandaged. His beard is poorly maintained. He has not had to shave it for a couple of days. The deep circles under his eyes dig into his face, and finally, next to the Dukes of Delphine, he bows deeply.

“Your Holiness, Your Beatitude, I pray and trust in your clemency and the friendship that bound you to my lady.”

Delphine whispers something in the Praetor-Duke's ear, then looks at the young Priscilla. She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head.

“Who are you, and what do you ask, good gendarme?”

Judas' voice seems confident and gentle, but no one would notice a hint of gravity. That gendarme is not the first-person Massimiliano sees begging the Third Witch, and it never ends well.

“The other day, I was fighting the rebels at the mills alongside the Blessed Archdevil Priscilla. A fragment. A splinter that is now infected. My young lady cannot afford to heal me, so I thought, well… if Your Holiness…”

Delphine closes the fan with a snap.

“Holy Priscilla, is what this man says true?”

Priscilla is catatonic and visibly undecided. She rubs her fingers in her fingerless lace gloves. The answer she has to give is not challenging, but Massimiliano assumes he knows what the young woman is thinking.

She fears appearing clement. And clemency is the etiquette of the weak.

The gendarme was wise. Asking today, knowing about the funeral, he thinks no one would blame Priscilla for being a weak girl at her mother's funeral.

But moving a Witch to mercy is a risky and fine art. In this specific case, it was a foolish move. Massimiliano looks pitifully at the bent gendarme with that painful and hopeful expression.

The other witches watch and judge. Priscilla will take it as a test for recognition in society.

Maybe behind closed doors, under some affection... but in this way, it is equivalent to condemning oneself to ridicule.

At that moment, the young Witch raises her head and puts a hand to her side.

“What you say is a lie.”

The gendarme's eyes widen. The witches still laugh, Delphine hides her mouth with her fan, and the Praetor-Duke inhales deeply.

“Your Holiness, I…”

“The gendarmes of the Priscilla family don't run away. They don't medicate until they win. My Blessed Father and Holy Mother died the day while you received medicine.”

“Your Holiness, yes, it is true… but…”

Delphine gives a round of applause.

“Unnamed gendarme, you heard your lady. If you need to have your leg amputated, you can go to some city surgeon.”

The gendarme turns to the Third Witch, ignoring her lady.

“Your Holiness, I would. I have money, but the wound is infected. I know that you are Witch of Infection.”

“One of my many titles, right.”

“So, I thought—”

“You thought wrong. My role is to trim the excess. And this year, we have excess. You know what I mean, right? Good luck, nameless gendarme.”

With those words, the Delphine heads towards the exit in a sea of ​​generalized murmurs and giggles. Massimiliano sees that even Priscilla laughs, rubbing her bare arms.

The gendarme is paralyzed, but the butler has no time for him. He does not have time to think about that kind of injustice, or it would affect him too. The task that awaits him is different, and he joins his master now close to the exit.

The carriage rented to reach the palace is still there, the gendarmes already saddled on the horses.

Massimiliano gets on last and takes a seat next to the window. The carriage leaves, leaving Priscilla manor behind.

“Poor guy.” Praetor-Duke's voice is dark. The man sits with his back straight next to his wife. Up close. He can see the sweat beading on his face and neck.

The dress uniform is certainly not designed for this season.

“Sometimes I don't understand our customs,” Delphine replies absently, looking out the window at the fields.

Massimiliano notices the bracelets encrusted with precious stones, the tiara made of rubies and sapphires taken up by the diamond-patterned checkerboard of the open skirt, and the crystals in the laces of the sandals.

He also does not understand their uses. Witch funerals are different, similar to jewelry parades in a hot period. But he is just a butler, dressed in fine clothes, but always the same.

“You say I should have saved him? He would have cost almost nothing. If I remember correctly, the powers I exercise for Parliament are reimbursed.”

“True, My Holiness. However, you would have embarrassed young Priscilla, poor things. She behaved correctly.”

“It will be as you say, My Blessed One.”

For a long stretch, the creak of the carriage and the pounding of hooves are the only noises he can hear on the road. Having reached the Eggrio station, the guards and the Delphine take the private train waiting for them.

“Holiness.”

Massimiliano bows deeply.

“I have to ask you a favor too.”

Delphine observes, and Judas responds.

“I guess it is a big deal.”

“It is Your Beatitude. The Educators' Guild complained to the Court over the sudden dismissal of Crisante's tutors. I like to go to their headquarters personally to close the matter.”

The Praetor-Duke appears doubtful. Angry? Bothered? Perplexed? Massimiliano is unable to say it.

“Let him do it, My Blessed. For such insignificant things, it shouldn't even matter to ask.”

Judas agrees with his wife's words. Massimiliano bows.

“Thank you, Your Holiness.”

The Delphine and the escort get into the carriage, and after a few moments, the locomotive emits black jets from the chimney.

Massimiliano hears it whistling and rattling. The vehicle picks up speed and disappears beyond the station, hidden by people and other arriving trains.

He finally feels relieved. The issue of tutors is true but far from being discussed. The Work Corporations avoid conflicts with the State as much as possible.

Leaving the station, the butler feels all eyes on him. Just as Cinzia can track down demons, he never knows she can track him down. What he is doing is a secret, a favor requested by Princess Viola-Maria.

And it's the first time I've acted secretly.

But the situation does not make him uncomfortable. He has earned a valuable book to resell. Furthermore, the risk of being discovered is low. And he is not doing anything wrong.

He has to deliver a secret message.