Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 618

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

Episode 70.
The Velvet Invitation (31)
Maximian plucked a key from the bundle he held and unlocked the door, revealing that they had indeed entered the café’s kitchen.
The interior was, of course, a respectable ruin. The sink and countertops were cluttered with shriveled towels and napkins, torn curtains piled haphazardly. Dishes, cups, frying pans, and pots were stacked like mountains in a corner of the floor, blanketed in dust. The once-brilliant blue and gold patterns gleamed faintly through the grime.
“This way.”
Benet led the group out toward the café, crossing through the grand hall. Rose wall hangings and paintings of fairies adorned the walls, their colors faded. Velvet-upholstered gilt chairs that had once been quite comfortable, outdated tile tables, and wheelless trolleys lay scattered about in disarray.
In the center stood a shabby staircase with its carpet completely removed, its chandelier above stripped of every crystal, leaving only a skeletal frame.
Ascending to the second floor revealed private rooms that had once been part of the café. After passing several doors and climbing a corner staircase to the third floor, narrow corridors finally appeared, lined with small doors on both sides—befitting the aged building. Benet stopped before the most secluded door and gestured toward the key bundle Maximian held.
Maximian found the key with a somewhat irritated expression and unlocked the door. By then, the building had grown dim, so Benet lit a lamp he had brought and handed it to Maximian.
“Here it is. Take a look inside.”
“Does anyone actually live in this building?”
“Three of the third-floor rooms are rented out as offices, and the rest are vacant. I could open another room if needed, but I didn’t bring those keys today.”
Maximian had already stepped inside. Holding the lamp aloft, I could see the space was packed with things. Long chairs, armchairs, chairs with missing bottoms, tables, consoles, mirrors, stools, umbrella stands with nothing in them….
After circling the room and surveying the cramped conditions, Maximian frowned and turned back toward the entrance. He spotted Deborah and Pickled Herring standing awkwardly near the door and peered past their shoulders, but found no sign of Benet.
“Where’s Benet?”
“He left.”
“….”
The sun had set, the way back was hazy in my memory, there seemed no clear way to return, and besides, I had eaten a hearty dinner on the way here and was growing tired—everything felt bothersome. The three of them quickly reached a consensus to spend the night scattered throughout this makeshift room.
Compared to Pleasance Manor where I had originally intended to stay, this place had its advantages: the door had a clean lock, the large building housed only three tenants, and one had to traverse the ruins to reach it, making casual visits quite burdensome—in other words, it was decidedly gloomy. This made it particularly effective at deterring unwanted visitors.
The single bed inside went to Deborah, while Maximian and Pickled Herring claimed a long chair and an armchair respectively, then extinguished the lamp.
Maximian drifted in and out of sleep, his thoughts wandering. Did Benet own this entire building? He seemed wealthier than he appeared. But why leave such a large building in this condition? Two hundred elso a month for a room like this—the people of Keltika must be out of their minds. No wonder the rooms didn’t rent. And Benet claimed this was an office provided as compensation for some case Pleasance had resolved, but wasn’t it really just a warehouse? Tomorrow, should I ask Pleasance to fix the lock, or would it be better to clean this place up and make do? Deborah’s life was in danger, so that made sense, but why did Pickled Herring keep following along? At least Espin had somewhere better to stay, which was a relief….
While a peaceful and quiet night flowed through Strudel Street 9, Room 305, five shadowy figures walked along Archnober Street five blocks away.
They reached number 20 and casually tore away the notice reading “Trespassers will be held liable,” then shoved the door open. A hastily fastened lock clattered to the ground.
Once inside, they dispersed across the first and second floors, methodically ransacking the house.
They yanked out every drawer and dumped its contents, overturned cabinets and closets, sweeping items across the floor. Every piece of fabric—beds, chairs, cushions—was shredded without mercy. The dull noise continued until around 4 a.m.
Maximian was pleased with the room. In other words, he quickly recognized its advantages. Not a single person had shown up at Pleasance’s door claiming to have left something with him until the next morning arrived.
And thanks to the building’s lack of tenants, not a footstep was heard lurking about. It seemed I could sleep in as late as I wanted, but things didn’t unfold quite that way.
Around 8 a.m., Maximian was forcibly dragged from deep sleep by a suspicious sound.
As always, at first I kept my eyes firmly shut. I assumed the noise came from outside the window or the corridor. With daylight, children might be playing, new tenants might be moving in, or perhaps someone had taken such a liking to the empty café below that they’d purchased it outright and were now inspecting it for repairs. Rats and their families might be living in the attic….
But the sound progressed beyond creaks and squeaks, rustles and crackles, to scraping, gurgling, and hissing—growing increasingly vivid and clearly emanating from beneath my feet. Even someone as resistant to waking as Maximian could not keep his eyes closed.
Beneath him lay only one thing: his bag.
A sturdy travel bag provided by the Nenyaple Professors, studded with brass rivets. Inside were money, a few travel items, miscellaneous things I had decided to discard upon arriving in Keltika, a bottle of 974-vintage wine, and a violin.
As for the violin—I had once thought it was junk, later discovered it possessed remarkable magical power, subsequently used it for extraordinary purposes, and as a result, it had lost its strength and reverted to ordinary junk. Its name was Capriccio.
After removing the strings of the now-powerless magical instrument, it was hardly worth calling a treasure anymore, scarcely even a violin in its current state. Yet Maximian had not discarded it. He had no intention of doing so. It was his sole possession, so to speak. The Nenyaple Professors understood this, which is why they had packed it among his meager belongings.
Maximian glanced down at the bag, fully prepared to drift back to sleep if the sound stopped.
But contrary to his hopes, the sound came again. Tap, tap-tap-tap, a rolling sound. Up to this point, it was predictable enough, but what came next was not. A voice came through, clear and unmistakable.
‘Open it.’
Maximian’s sleep vanished entirely. Had I really just heard a human voice? Was there a person trapped inside this bag?
That couldn’t possibly be.
Maximian stared intently at the bag, his thoughts churning. The bag wasn’t particularly small, but it certainly wasn’t large enough to fit a person. Unless it was a three-year-old child.
But that was far too horrifying an imagination. To dispel such a terrible thought, the quickest remedy was to open the bag immediately.
Maximian sprang to his feet, glared at the bag, then stepped back. He cautiously extended his hand, swiftly flipped the latch, kicked it open, and retreated further.
And he felt somewhat relieved. No three-year-old child had crawled out from inside. Only the head of a violin protruded slightly.
Calm yourself. It might have been a hallucination heard in a drowsy state.
But at the same time, he recalled the letter he had received from Juspian. So after steadying his breathing, he rummaged through the bag searching for any unfamiliar objects. When nothing of the sort appeared, he looked around the chamber just in case, but having arrived last night without time for careful inspection and having slept through the entire night, it was difficult to discern what had changed.
“What’s wrong?”
Deborah, who had not fallen into deep sleep due to the instincts of someone in danger, had somehow awakened and was watching Maximian. He turned toward the bedroom and held up his palm, signaling her not to come closer and to wait. Then he listened intently again.
‘Listen.’
‘Hear.’
‘Speak.’
‘Say.’
Maximian stepped forward to the bag and bent down to peer inside. Then, with courage, he extended his hand, pried open a small pocket within, and extracted something. A small, square object gleaming with a reddish-golden sheen—the brass business card engraved with “M. de Pleasance” that Professor Loreldin had given him at Nenyaple.
He held it between his thumb and forefinger, raising it to eye level. Behind his spectacles, Maximian’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his index finger moved as though to snap. With a sharp sound, what he held separated into two. The card was not one—it was two. And….
Three.
Four.
Maximian’s expression as he stared at the four cards, now transformed as though he held playing cards, seemed both angry and bewildered. He remembered clearly. The card Professor Loreldin had given him was certainly only one. With an object as distinctly thick as a brass card, there was no possibility of miscounting. Were the cards multiplying of their own accord?
Then the voice came again. It sounded like that of a child barely four years old.
‘Grasp.’
‘Grasped.’
‘Was grasped.’
What is this… verb conjugation practice?
Contrary to the thought that crossed his mind, Maximian stared intently at the cards. Just as he thought the cards seemed to be warming, perhaps from his body heat, a breeze swept past, and three of the cards vanished, leaving only afterimages. Only one card remained in his hand.
Maximian’s eyes widened.
“What is that?”
Deborah asked, but Maximian was too bewildered to respond. He hurriedly looked around, searching for where they had gone, when something unexpected caught his eye. Maximian stood speechless, peering at it. Because it was the sole precious object he had carefully preserved for so long, he could not help but immediately notice even the smallest change—but a change of this magnitude would be apparent even to the blind.
The violin had strings.

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