The Fat Aristocrat Waltz in the Labyrinth - Chapter 97
Chapter 97: The Fat aristocrat talks with a man
On the way back from the large bath, Mitrof headed towards the inn Canule was staying at. Canule’s inn was located in a back alley, and the public’s safety was not great.
There were also people who needed a place to sleep in dark areas, and the inn that welcomed anyone as long as they paid was part of such a place.
Even if there were no issues with Canule’s character, her appearance alone could be mistaken for a monster. Despite the poor treatment and surroundings, it seemed that staying in an inconspicuous inn gave her peace of mind.
Mitrof, who had already visited many times, opened the door with a familiar attitude. There was a middle-aged man sitting at the reception desk, using a candle to trim his nails with a small knife. When he saw that Mitrof was a visitor, he jerked his chin upward. They had barely talked before, but it seemed like the man had remembered his face.
Mitrof nodded and went up the stairs. Because of Mitrof’s weight, there was a creaking sound like a scream with each step.
The second floor corridor was even darker, and although there were windows, they were all blocked by shutters. The light leaking through the gaps formed slender rectangular shapes, and the meager brightness barely illuminated the lined up doors.
Before Mitrof could react, Canule came out of the room.
“W-What a coincidence.”
“I knew it was Mitrof-sama.”
“…? How did you know?”
“By the sound of your footsteps.”
“The creaking of the stairs—I always worry the bottom will fall out.”
Mitrof pursed his lips, and Canule chuckled.
“I’m sorry for the sudden visit—is this a good time?”
“Yes—was there something you needed?”
Mitrof tried to broach the subject, but he was still struggling.
He had been ordered to be disciplined and rest due to his injured right arm. If he went to the labyrinth alone and opened up about it, he would surely be scolded.
Mitrof tried to speak several times, but he couldn’t find the words.
Since his mother and grandmother had both passed away, Mitrof couldn’t remember ever apologizing to anyone for the many times they had reprimanded him when he was a child. He didn’t know how to behave, as he had experienced so little scolding or being reprimanded, and he didn’t know what to do.
“Ah, um, I was thinking of going to check on Grace, and I wanted to ask Canule about her schedule.”
Mitrof instinctively tried to change the subject. As soon as he spoke, he cursed his own weakness of will.
“That’s a good idea—I have free time too, so let’s go together.”
Canule replied pleasantly, and without being able to say that it was not what he meant, the two of them walked down the stairs together. The receptionist didn’t even look up but examined his fingernails.
As they walked down the street outside, Mitrof was afraid of the awkward silence and spoke to Canule.
“The accommodations at that inn aren’t very comfortable, are they?”
“Indeed, I can’t say they’re good.”
Canule smiled wryly.
“But, no one really cares about each other or interferes with each other, so it’s comfortable in that sense.”
“Is there no noise or commotion?”
“It’s usually very quiet—to the point where you might not even know if there are any residents—however, occasionally, there’s a great commotion at night—there have even been times when the authorities kicked down the door and burst in.”
“…I’m envious of how quiet it is, but I don’t think I’ll sleep peacefully—you have a strong will.”
Mitrof shrugged as if giving up.
“Mitrof-sama’s lodging is affiliated with a guild, isn’t it?”
“Yes—thanks to that, there are no criminals, but there’s a high turnover, and it’s always noisy—last week, there was a party on the floor above, and it was incredibly loud—they celebrated their successful first exploration, but some adventurers yelled at them, and the rest of the night was a brawl until the morning.”
“That must have been tough.”
Canule chuckled.
Mitrof was not accustomed to sharing his own story with others. He watched Canule’s reaction, but, of course, couldn’t see her expression. He felt glad that Canule enjoyed his story and laughed, but at the same time, he felt deeply guilty for keeping secrets from her and not confessing.
The two of them came out from the alley and headed towards the orphanage where Grace was staying. The backstreets were too complicated and could be a labyrinth for those unfamiliar with the area. Mitrof and Canule also lacked knowledge of the area, so despite knowing they would be taking a detour, they needed to go through the main street at least once.
They turned onto the backstreet from a familiar street and proceeded to walk while relying on memory to navigate. Whenever Mitrof struggled with choosing a path, Canule would show him the correct way. Mitrof was impressed with how good Canule’s memory was.
Finally, they saw the orphanage with its low spire, maintaining the dignity of the church despite its dilapidated condition.
As they approached, they could hear the children’s singing voices. A detuned harpsichord played accompaniment, but it didn’t disturb the joyful voices of the children. They were singing freely without paying attention to things like musical scales.
Mitrof noticed a man squatting in front of the half-broken gatepost surrounding the church’s fence, smoking a cigarette with his back against the pillar.
Despite Mitrof and Canule approaching, the man did not react at all, staring blankly at the lavender smoke that wafted around him.
“… Did you come alone today?”
He was the man who had come to this church yesterday. A well-built beastman addressed him as “brother,” as Mitrof remembered.
The small man lazily turned his gaze to Mitrof. His drooping eyelids and thick eyelashes gave off a sleepy impression, yet there was a sense of dignity that made one feel like taking a step back when he looked straight in the eye.
“——I hate this song, you know.”
The man said this, exhaling smoke like a sigh.
The smoke that the wind carried tickled Mitrof’s nose. It had a unique scent, like smoking wood.
“Even the poor can be saved and rewarded if one has faith; let us be kind to others, for God is watching over us… It becomes tedious just listening to it.”
“Don’t you have faith?”
“No, I am a pious believer—I offer prayers for money and power.”
“That… is that faith?”
At Mitrof’s hesitant voice, the man chuckled softly.
“Have you read the story about poor people? It’s a story about a plain, middle-aged clerk and a poor young girl exchanging letters. It’s a touching story about how they care for each other while they struggle to make ends meet. But over time, the man’s life deteriorates. He falls in love with the woman and even borrows money to buy her gifts. He can’t even afford to replace his worn-out shoes, and he becomes the target of ridicule from his peers. He falls into alcoholism… But even so, the woman begs him for money.”
“… Why did the man lend the money even when he didn’t have much himself?”
“Because he had nothing else—is it true that even though he had no money, he had a rich heart? That’s just a loser’s excuse—hearts cannot be seen, so they give things and send money—those who are poor in spirit rely on things that cannot be seen.”
“What happened to the man and woman in the end?”
“The man’s boss took pity on his poverty and gave him some money—the man was overjoyed, thinking that his life would change with it—however, the woman chose to marry a rich man to escape poverty. The end. That’s how it ended.”
“…I see—there are stories like that too.”
Mitrof did not think there was no hope. He had a detached way of thinking that was common among nobles. For the benefit of the family, they would marry the person their family chose for them even if they already loved someone. Some people might choose a marriage partner based on their dislike of poverty.
“If there is love, even if you are poor… wouldn’t it be enough? What would happen if the two of them came together with such ‘faith’? It wouldn’t make any difference even if two uneducated and poor people got together. If their love cools, they will be left with only poverty—It is unfortunate for poor people… to have neither money nor power.”
The man lazily laughed and rubbed out his cigarette on the ground.
“This church has faith, but it is poor—it has no money or power. Unhappy children are gathered here, and unhappy adults take care of them. That’s why it’s like this.”
The man spread his arms wide while still sitting.
“By the whim of someone who has money and power, they will be kicked out of their homes.”
“Who is trying to buy this church, and why? It’s… horrible.”
“Don. We don’t know anything about Don’s thoughts. We just do what we’re told. This may also be a matter of faith—the Don’s words are absolute, like a divine revelation.”
The man spoke and crossed his hands in front of his chest, like a devout follower making an offering in prayer. He raised his eyebrows and looked up at Mitrof.
“The ‘poor people’ gain freedom, but that freedom is made of sand—it is easily blown away by the whims of those in power. I think we should write a song about that.”
The man stood up and walked towards Mitrof.
“Give my regards to the poor adults.”
He reached out his fist as if handing something over, and Mitrof instinctively held out his palm. It was a cigarette butt that was placed there.
“Throw it away for me.”
Mitrof turned around as the man passed by to watch him leave. With a walking style that seemed to be dragging one foot behind, the man walked away slowly.
“… What did that man want?”
Canule said curiously.
“Literary discussion, religion, and social issues.”
Mitrof picked up the remaining cigarette butt and gazed at it. Frowning, he sighed. He put the butt in his pocket and walked towards the church.