Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 570

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 22.
The Princess and the Detective (22)
Orange Buck’s eyes widened as he flailed his hands dismissively.
“Oh my, wherever did you hear such nonsense? We only sell cheap beer here.”
“I know you brought in that Arajon Blue from twenty-eight years ago. Let me taste it and see if it’s gone bad.”
Buck chuckled, making a show of ruffling Maximian’s hair.
“You’ve got a keen nose, you rascal. Do you know how much that costs? I sell it by the drop, you know.”
Even as he spoke, Orange Buck discreetly slid open the corner of the display case behind the counter, revealing a hidden shelf from which he withdrew a bottle half-full of wine. Maximian caught sight of five more bottles of identical shape arranged there.
“Quite a collection. I could slip one into someone’s coat pocket and send them on their way.”
“True enough—though not for someone like you. Perhaps for the Young Duke himself.”
“That fellow doesn’t drink.”
“Does it matter? A man of his station would surely pay handsomely to have a beautiful twenty-eight-year-old delivered in an oak barrel, wouldn’t he?”
“When did that bastard become a mark in your eyes?”
As Buck poured wine into a glass with measured restraint, Maximian gestured for more while Buck insisted it was already too much—their silent debate resolved dramatically in compromise. Maximian lifted the glass, now a quarter full, and had just brought it to his lips when he froze. The tavern door behind him swung open, and a silhouette reflected in the curved surface of his glass.
As befitted his station, Maximian had many enemies, but there was one particular type he should never encounter in a place like this at such an hour. The silhouette suggested no school uniform, so not a student; the fact that someone entered a tavern at this hour meant no local resident either. That left a professor as more than likely—though the remaining possibility remained uncertain.
Rather than employ the simple solution of turning around, Maximian wasted his considerable deductive faculties on the wrong problem entirely. Orange Buck pressed his shoulder firmly and spoke.
“Welcome.”
He would never greet a professor in such a manner. Maximian straightened his shoulders and shot Buck a look that was neither gratitude nor reproach. As the newcomer took a seat two chairs away from Maximian, Orange Buck tilted his head curiously.
“Though I must say, friend, you seem a bit young to be visiting a place like this?”
“Not at all.”
The voice sounded genuinely youthful, prompting Maximian to glance over. The young boy was just removing his half-cloak and setting it beside him. To Maximian’s eye, he appeared to be no more than seventeen years old. Of course, Maximian himself had frequented taverns regularly at seventeen, so he had no intention of interfering. Yet the boy’s next words made his initial attempt to disengage fail entirely.
“If you sell alcohol to that person, there’s no reason you shouldn’t sell it to me.”
Orange Buck’s expression shifted to confusion as he looked from Maximian to the boy and back again.
“How could that possibly be?”
“We’re the same age.”
Now even Maximian had to lift his head. His eyes met the boy’s—Maximian’s brow furrowed as he pushed his glasses up, while the boy drew back his chin and opened his eyes slightly wider. Three seconds passed before the boy smiled broadly. Those large, round eyes, the dimpled cheeks, the slightly upturned mouth—such a curious, childlike face claiming to be the same age created a profound sense of discord. Compared to Maximian, who had always been told he looked older than his years, this boy appeared at least three years younger. But that wasn’t the important part…
“Who are you?”
Careful observation led to a final conclusion: a complete stranger. The boy raised his eyebrows and smiled faintly.
“I’m Ispin Charles.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Of course not. But I recognized you the moment I saw you.”
Ispin continued, his gaze sweeping over Maximian’s impeccable fashion sense.
“You look exactly like the description people gave of you. I can’t imagine two people like you attending the same school. You’re the special admission scholarship senior who works as a detective at this tavern, aren’t you?”
Later, upon reflection, this would prove to be the first crack in their relationship. Maximian had developed enough resilience that hearing those words didn’t nearly make him shatter his glass. From Ispin’s perspective, however, there was no way to know that Maximian despised that nickname. Everyone he’d met so far had called him exactly that. Annoyed at being interrupted, bothered by the intrusion, and too weary to correct each misconception individually, Maximian seized on a peripheral issue instead.
“Senior? I don’t have a junior like you.”
“You will next year.”
“Is that so? Then call me that next year.”
Maximian attempted to return to the world of grapes and alcohol. But Ispin’s eyes widened further as he spoke.
“Oh no, that won’t do! I came all this way specifically to ask you something. Just a moment—ah, I’ll have the same as that gentleman, please.”
Suddenly faced with an extraordinarily expensive order, Orange Buck scratched the back of his head and spoke.
“That one? Oh dear, what a shame. It’s the last bottle, you see.”
By his age and appearance, he hardly seemed the type to afford Arajon Blue. Yet Ispin Charles reached into his pocket, produced two Goblin gold coins, and placed them on the table with a disarming smile.
“Could you perhaps ferment a fresh batch from the grapes we harvest in the Backyard?”
Orange Buck’s eyes widened, but he quickly shook his head and collected himself. Whether the boy possessed some mysterious ability to discern wine quality by scent alone, or whether his coin purse simply overflowed with wealth, gold remained gold. A villager surrounded by Mages and aspiring Mages could hardly afford to be startled by such a transaction.
“Ah, yes. Well, the world does produce such miracles from time to time.”
Buck snatched up the coins with alacrity and whistled his way toward the cellar. Ispin Charles turned his attention back to Maximian.
“Detective, might I ask you a few questions?”
“Questions during business hours.”
“When do you open today?”
“Already closed.”
“Then may I book an appointment for tomorrow?”
“No, I’m fully booked.”
“What about the day after?”
“That’s my regular day off.”
Ispin Charles’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“I see. Well then, when would suit you? Tell me an available date, Detective—I know you’re terribly busy.”
“Same time next year.”
Ispin Charles could not have known of Maximian’s habit of throwing out careless remarks whenever his mood soured and everything felt tedious. At last, the smile faded from Ispin Charles’s lips.
“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but it seems you’re treating people rather dismissively. Is it because you think I’ll bring up something trivial? Since you normally handle only major cases?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Is this a matter of life and death? If not, forget it. I’m going to have a drink. This is a tavern, after all, isn’t it? I only work over there.”
Maximian gestured toward the corner of the tavern, then turned his entire body away.
“….”
Ispin Charles fell silent for a moment—more precisely, he was bewildered. Every expectation he had harbored about this man had proven wrong. He had not anticipated such a person existed, nor such a response. In fact, he had never experienced such blatant disregard in his entire life. Just then, Orange Buck set down the drink Ispin Charles had ordered and leaned in slightly, offering consolation in a whisper.
“You’ve come at a bad time. He’s planning to close shop, you see.”
Ispin Charles frowned and looked up at Buck.
“Close shop?”
“Well, it’s not that business is failing—he’s just tired of it. I’ve got a good idea though. Buy that fellow another drink, and I think he might suddenly feel like working again.”
Ispin Charles saw through the scheme that would benefit only the two of them. Instead, he lifted his cup, took three light sips, and relocated to the seat beside Maximian. Since his predictions had failed, his approach required adjustment.
“Detective, just a moment.”
Maximian made a show of cleaning his ear. Ispin Charles paid no mind and nodded slightly.
“You said you needed a matter of life and death. I could find one for you. What do you think?”
Ispin Charles glanced around the tavern and spotted a lamp hanging in the corner of the bar. He stared at it intently, then pointed at it with his thumb.
“There’s one inside this, you know? Can you see it?”
Maximian glanced in that direction but yawned before responding.
“Sure, if you smash that onto the floor and set the tavern ablaze, that would become a matter of life and death. Though you’d need one more lunatic to pull it off. Then again, throw a madman into anything in this world and it becomes a matter of life and death, doesn’t it? Are you saying that madman is you?”
“….”
One corner of Ispin Charles’s mouth twisted upward—not quite a smile. The affable expression vanished, and with it, the boyish charm that had made him appear endearing. It was as though a mask had been removed. Rising from his seat, Ispin Charles reached out and detached the lamp. Orange Buck’s eyes grew suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
Ispin Charles did not answer. Instead, he swung his arm lightly and hurled the lamp onto the wooden floor.
Crash!
Orange Buck sprang to his feet, and Maximian leaped from his chair in nearly the same instant. Their cries erupted simultaneously.
“What are you doing!”
The lamp shattered as flames burst forth in a brilliant flash. Yet the oil within the lamp was scant, so the fire remained modest. Just as Maximian, hastily stripping off his coat, hurled it over the flames and rushed to stamp them out, Orange Buck—who had ducked behind the bar—pointed with a tense expression.
“Hey, what is that?”
Something surged upward from beneath the coat. At first it appeared as a shapeless mass, but swiftly it took form. Soon it rose to its feet and looked about in confusion. Though the coat obscured its features, it possessed a head and shoulders, and it stood upright. Its size was perhaps that of a monkey a circus troupe might carry upon their shoulders? Maximian froze mid-step, then scrambled backward. He spun toward Ispin Charles and cried out.
“Hey, what is that thing? Where did it come from?”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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