The first day of the Grand Market was blessed with clear skies again this year.
Like last year, the year before, and all the years before that, this particular day was, for some reason, always sunny.
As far as Marcel knew, this had always been the case. At least since his great-grandfather’s time, not a single drop of rain had fallen.
However, the cold was severe. Clear skies in this season meant frigid temperatures. Old and frail, Marcel had gathered all the clothes he could find, even merchandise, and was bundled up to a comical degree.
Marcel secretly breathed a sigh of relief that the Grand Market seemed to be starting as usual.
It wouldn’t be a good feeling if something bad were to happen the moment he became the chairman of the City Council.
After all, his predecessor, Backeshoff, was now a criminal. Marcel, who had been pushed onto the City Council as the least offensive among the master weavers of the textile guild, only wished to get through this without any major incidents. That was his one and only desire.
Marcel ascended the stairs of the Great Gate, soon to greet the sunrise, and recited a prayer to the goddess.
Please, let many merchants gather this year.
The Grand Market’s trading volume directly affected the tax revenue of the ancient capital, Aitheria. He wanted as many merchants as possible to attend.
Rubbing his hands together against the cold, he reached the top of the stairs and entered the bell tower. Here, the chairman of the City Council would ring the bell, signaling the start of the Grand Market. This honorable task was both a right and a duty of the City Council chairman.
Marcel had another worry on his mind, but starting the Grand Market took priority.
Holger and Gernot, this year’s guards, were already waiting at the observation window that overlooked the outside of the Great Gate. Both seemed busy watching the scene outside and didn’t even notice Marcel’s arrival.
“Ahem.”
Marcel cleared his throat, putting as much dignity into the sound as he could muster. Although vigorous for his age of sixty, Marcel was something of a figurehead in the City Council. He maintained his influence by floating between the old Backeshoff faction and the current mainstream.
Holger and Gernot were the only two who seemed willing to listen to him. He had chosen these two for this year’s duty for precisely that reason.
However, for some reason, they didn’t turn around, even after his cough.
Thinking they might not have heard him, he coughed again, but was still ignored.
Having no other choice, Marcel lowered his voice and greeted them.
“Good morning, you two. Has the line of carriages stretched past the first hill?”
Three hills were visible along the road from the bell tower: the near hill, the middle hill, and the far hill.
If the line of carriages and their escorts reached the middle hill, the Grand Market would be a great success. However, in recent years, due to the Northern Three Territories issue, the line hadn’t even reached the near hill.
Marcel hoped that this year, with the north calmer, things would be different.
“Ah, Chairman. This is… a bit…”
“It might be a little tricky, sir.”
Holger and Geernot both said something ominous, causing Marcel’s stomach to clench.
Had the carriages failed to gather even at the first hill? If so, the tax revenue would be even tighter than he had anticipated. The City Council had a mountain of issues it wanted to address, such as repairing the city walls and dredging the canals. He hoped they could secure enough tax revenue to tackle at least some of them.
“…I see. I was somewhat prepared for that. So, how many are there? Surely not so few that you can count them on your fingers?”
“Count them on our fingers, eh? Can we count them, Geernot?”
“It might be a little difficult.”
Geernot’s gesture of actually counting on his fingers made Marcel’s shoulders slump. He might need to buy some stomach medicine from that trendy apothecary that recently opened on Stable Alley.
He had been caught in a terrible mess in his first year in office.
He felt sorry for the citizens who were looking forward to the Grand Market, but this year, they would have to proceed quietly and use the experience for next year.
“But still, it’s been a while since we’ve had over ten carriages with family crests, hasn’t it?”
“At least not in the records for the past decade or so.”
“…Family crests?”
Marcel tilted his head at their exchange.
Carriages carrying nobles usually displayed their family crests.
Traditionally, only Duke Sachsenburg and Baron Brantano visited the ancient capital’s Grand Market. Some nobles came incognito, but it was rare for a noble to officially visit in a carriage with a family crest.
“Duke Sachsenburg and Baron Branton are here as usual… Whose crest is that, Gernot?”
“That would be Count Johann-Gustav of Badenburg. Next is Count Windelmark, Count Calsenmark, and Count Sistynmark from the Northern Three Territories. There’s also the minstrel Baron Krowinkel and the Archbishop of the Diocese. And there’s a Cardinal’s flag from the Holy Kingdom of Lupicia. Quite unusual.”
Marcel couldn’t immediately believe the impressive names Gernot was rattling off, and he stuck his head out of the observation window.
An unbelievable sight unfolded before him.
Carriages bearing family crests and the banners of the knights leading them fluttered as far as the near hill, and beyond that, an endless line of carriages stretched on. The number of escorts was often exaggerated to advertise the goods being transported, but this year was different. Royalty and nobility were truly entering the city with their vassals, and the scale was unlike anything in previous years.
The line of carriages stretched to the far hill without a break, and it was almost certain that it continued even further beyond. What on earth was happening?
“See? It’s become a big deal, hasn’t it, Chairman?”
“There aren’t enough lodgings for the nobles being officially welcomed. We must urgently convene the City Council and decide who will host whom in their homes. Of course, we also need to figure out what to do with the merchants and escorts who are left over.”
“Ah, yes… We also have to prepare for the banquet.”
“Well, we might want to hear their preferences first.”
Marcel was suspicious of Gernot’s reserved tone. They couldn’t possibly tell the nobles to just go to the tavern and eat and drink as they pleased.
There were only a limited number of relatively prestigious establishments that they could secure on short notice. It was a headache.
Marcel reached into his pocket for parchment to jot down what needed to be done. As he did, a letter fell to the floor with a rustle.
“What’s that letter, Chairman?”
“It looks like very high-quality parchment.”
“Yes, yes, I wanted to consult you two about this too.”
He unfolded the letter and saw elegant writing that contained something he couldn’t understand.
“Let’s see… ‘The man named Damian, imprisoned in your city, is under the protection of the Eastern Kingdom of Oiria. He must be released immediately. -Celestine de Oiria, Princess Regent of the Eastern Kingdom’…”
Princess Regent Celestine was a prominent figure who governed the country in place of the young King Hugh of the Eastern Kingdom. Why would such a person be concerned about the fate of a common criminal in the ancient capital?
“We do have a man named Damian locked up in the dungeons…”
“What’s the charge?”
“He’s the ringleader of the witch hunt incident. He was under the protection of the Archbishop, but he’s been disowned.”
“A rather incomprehensible story.”
The three men nodded in silence. This must be an elaborate prank. The parchment was impressive, but the fact that the Princess Regent’s seal was missing made it even more suspicious.
“In any case, the Grand Market is more important right now.”
“That’s right. Chairman, please ring the bell.”
“Ah, yes.”
After clearing his throat again, Marcel reached for the rope hanging from the bell.
Pulling it would start the Grand Market.
He had lived his life being swept along by the current, but he would at least pull this rope with his own will.
Thinking so, Marcel glanced out the observation window one last time and saw something that shouldn’t have been there.
Depicted on the large flag fluttering atop the hill was “a three-headed dragon with eagle’s talons”…
“T-The Late Emperor!”
Marcel, so agitated that he almost fell, frantically grabbed the nearest thing.
Lingon, Lingon…
The bell, pulled by the rope, resounded with a solemn sound, and the waiting guards unbarred the gates of the ancient capital.
As the head of the procession slowly began to move towards the gate, the flow of carriages behind it rippled like waves across the hills beyond.
Someone whistled, and as if drawn in, gongs and drums began to sound.
And so, the Grand Market of the ancient capital opened its curtains.