The rain, which had begun to fall softly before dusk, was wetting the streets of Coachman’s Lodge.
A young lamplighter was pacing back and forth in front of a sign that read “Izakaya Nobu.”
He was no ordinary lamplighter.
He was Enrico Berardino, one of the Archbishop’s most trusted aides.
A young priest who had made a name for himself as a brilliant member of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, he was one of those who had distanced himself from the Holy Kingdom in sympathy with the Archbishop’s classical revivalism.
Enrico was watching Izakaya Nobu because of a certain tip-off.
“Izakaya Nobu is a witches’ den.”
This information had recently been brought to him by a small man named Damian, who was close to the Archbishop. Enrico had thought of him as a vulgar man, like a boss of ruffians, but he was surprisingly well-educated. Therefore, the Archbishop also valued him as a pawn that wouldn’t wear out its use.
“To think there really are witches…”
The existence of witches was important to those advocating for a return to the classical teachings.
By hunting down the witches of this land, he could demonstrate the corruption of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith and show that people must return to the old and correct teachings.
If they returned to the old and correct teachings, the evil ones would immediately disappear.
For this reason, Enrico’s responsibility was grave.
He had to find out if witches were really gathering at this tavern.
He had been exposed to the rain for some time, but he had not found any clues.
He did not expect the witches to easily reveal their true identities, but he was at a dead end.
If he continued to hesitate here, he himself would be in danger.
Thinking that he must take a bold step, he pulled open the glass door. At that moment, Enrico was enveloped in a strange warmth.
“Welcome!”
“…Welcome.”
Perhaps because he had been alone in the cold rain, the welcoming voices resonated comfortably.
“Don’t be fooled,” Enrico muttered to himself.
The lovely waitress, the girl washing dishes, and the woman who looked like a newlywed wiping the tables could all be witches. The owner of the shop could also be a witch.
According to the lore of past witch hunts, male witches were not uncommon.
He could not afford to be deceived.
When he sat down at the counter, a warm cloth and a small appetizer were brought to him before he even ordered. It seemed they were called oshibori and otōshi.
This hospitality was welcome to his hands, which were frozen to the core from the rain. Was this a ploy to disarm him and sneak into his heart?
“What would you like to order?”
“…Hot water. I don’t drink alcohol.”
He regretted it as soon as he answered.
Would a mere lamplighter say such a thing?
Enrico, who had spent a long time in the training yard, was visiting a tavern for the first time today. He wondered if not ordering alcohol when visiting a bar would be considered incredibly rude.
Such anxieties slowly crept into his chest.
However, his anxieties seemed to be unfounded.
The waitress smiled and brought him a cup of hot water in a ceramic cup.
When he held it in his hands, the warmth gently melted his numb palms.
The appetizer was a small, simmered fish.
Enrico was not used to eating strong flavors, but this small, sweet and savory simmered fish strangely suited his palate.
He was tempted to order the same thing, but he suppressed the desire with the self-control of a sculpted stone statue.
Attachment is corruption, and corruption is the defeat of faith. While warming his body with hot water, he quietly observed the inside of the restaurant.
Could this place really be a witches’ den?
Strange decorations and furnishings that he had never seen, not even in documents, occupied every corner of the shop.
Menus written in foreign languages, colorful sake bottles, and a model ship in a bottle.
In particular, he could feel a strong force emanating from the altar of a foreign god enshrined on the back wall of the shop.
There was a rational reason why Enrico Berardino, a man of impeccable purity who had never set foot in a tavern, was chosen to carry out this reconnaissance mission.
He could sense forces beyond this world.
Evil forces, holy forces, and forces that were neither.
The natural world, beyond the reach of human power, is full of various forces, and they are constantly changing.
In reality, even among monks who have undergone rigorous training, only a handful are able to sense these forces.
For this reason, the mission imposed on Enrico was grave.
“What would you like to order?”
The same waitress asked, but Enrico couldn’t answer.
When he thought about it, he didn’t know what was served in a place like this.
While undergoing the strict training of the classical revivalists under the Archbishop, he had eaten only bread, stew, and wine diluted with water. Other than that, the most he would have was pudding.
He ate very little meat or fish, preferring instead a higher proportion of vegetables.
“Something… to warm me up.”
He thought it was a stupid order after he said it.
But, surprisingly, the waitress smiled and nodded.
He wondered if his disguise as a lamplighter had given the waitress a good misunderstanding that he was a young man who was not used to this kind of establishment. In any case, it was good. He didn’t seem to have aroused suspicion.
Looking around again, the restaurant was moderately crowded.
Fortunately, he had not yet been looked upon with suspicion.
He could not let his guard down. There was a good chance that this was a witches’ den, a place where heretical beliefs swirled.
However, Enrico could not bring himself to condemn the mysterious power he felt from the heretical altar as evil.
“Here’s your chawanmushi!”
“Thank you.”
He received the bowl, almost overwhelmed by the cheerful smile.
The dish called chawanmushi that was brought to him was a pudding with ingredients.
Translator’s Note
Chawanmushi is a savory egg custard dish.
Although the name sounded foreign, this was something he was familiar with.
Moreover, a pudding with ingredients was perfect for determining whether or not this was a witches’ den.