plumnovel #244 - Shilov's New Year's Day
#244 - Shilov's New Year's Day
The stove blazed, the heat battling the damp chill at the window, condensing a layer of mist on the panes.
Seated before the window, Hirof's fingers, clutching the quill, were numb with cold.
The ink flowed from the nib onto the hemp paper, blurring into a large stain, yet she seemed not to notice, staring blankly at the wall, lost in thought.
It was the crackling "pop" of the kindling in the stove that finally roused Hirof from her reverie.
Looking down at the ink stain on the paper, Hirof showed no expression, for she scarcely knew what expressions were.
Her mother never showed any, and neither did her close companions, the puppets and Afu.
It wasn't until she met Horn and these unexpected guests that she realized humans possessed so many facial movements to express emotion.
Discarding the spoiled paper, Hirof instructed Afu to shovel a load of peat into the stove.
The manor villa was mostly deserted, with few remaining; nearly everyone had gone to the town across the Para River.
Before retiring to the study to write "The Holy Path Salvation Doctrine," she had spent a long time on the terrace.
When thunderous cheers erupted from the theater, she knew the townsfolk and citizens were putting on a show.
When deafening jeers followed, she knew it must be the six elders' judging round.
Then, after the octagon battle concluded, amidst Elder Sachis's lingering defense, "I didn't hit him on the nose," a melodious flute began to play.
Hirof knew that was the ball described in books, except the books spoke of noble balls, while this was a commoners' ball.
Such vibrant, lively scenes, yet none of it was hers.
Descending the stairs, Hirof wandered aimlessly through the palace, through dark corridors, past stiff puppets, and wind-stirred curtains.
Everything felt as it had before Horn's arrival.
"Afu, I'll wander alone; you needn't follow," Hirof commanded, and the loyal, blindly devoted blood servant released the handles of the wheelchair.
Passing through the garden, past the little angel with the rotating birds, descending from the elevated aqueduct, the wheels of the wheelchair crunched over the brittle, frozen grass.
Dark clouds shrouded the night sky, revealing not a glimmer of starlight or moonlight, and Hirof wandered aimlessly alone in the garden.
This garden palace was vastly different from a month ago, for instance, the original open space now held a laboratory shed for spring-powered rifles, and in a corner of the courtyard, several piles of scattered parts lay heaped.
Several miserable craftsmen were also frantically adjusting a large clock in front of the main hall.
According to Horn, these large clocks would be placed one in the prayer hall, one in the mechanical palace, one in the barracks, and one in the workshop area.
The four clocks would synchronize with each other, and Hirof glanced at one as she passed; according to Horn's 12-hour system, it was now just past 11 PM.
She knew not how long she had traveled in the darkness before she realized she had unknowingly arrived at the palace gate.
The brass rooster outside the gate was still broken, yet Hirof dared not touch or repair it, for it stood outside the gate.
The wide gate stood open, with two sentries standing guard at the entrance.
Looking out, she could see some craftsmen carrying things, hurrying back and forth across the small bridge over the Para River.
Turning the wheelchair, Hirof stopped a foot away from the gate, her gaze fixed quietly on the steps and pillars.
Her stiff fingers gripped the wheel rims, and the wolf girl mechanically pushed her forearms as if she were a puppet.
The wheels turned slowly, gradually propelling Hirof closer to the gate.
The cold wind caused the fur on her wolf ears to sway, her back was ramrod straight in the wheelchair, her tail covering her lap, its fur seemingly bristling.
One inch, two inches, three inches, the edge of the wooden wheels drew closer and closer to the line of the gate, until finally, only a short inch remained.
But the wheels seemed locked, and Hirof felt as if she had run into an invisible wall, unable to move forward, frozen in place.
She smelled blood; that night, the red longsword had sliced through her knees, and in the pink flesh, she had seen her own grayish-white leg bones.
Her two severed white calves had been devoured by Afu under her mother's command, and she could only lift her head, so she could see outside from the doorway and avoid seeing her empty legs.
Since then, she had come to love reading, because books could take her to places her legs could not.
"Ah—that's a bit of progress," Hirof murmured to herself in self-consolation, beginning to reverse the hand rims, "This time next year, I will definitely go out."
Forcefully turning the wheelchair, Hirof turned around and headed towards the palace.
"Afu, Afu!"
Hirof called Afu's name, but felt a rush of footsteps behind her.
She turned her head to the side, only to see Jeanne rushing towards her like a runaway ox-cart.
"Jeanne, why are you here? Tonight… Ah—" Before Hirof could finish, Jeanne suddenly leaped, her hands passing through the wheelchair to lift it high above her head.
"No time to explain," Jeanne lifted Hirof high, striding towards the villa.
Sitting in the wheelchair, Hirof finally understood the feeling of a small boat in a stormy sea described in books.
She gripped the wheelchair's armrests tightly, her tail tucked under her bottom, her back pressed against the wheelchair, afraid of falling from such a height.
The wheelchair sped forward, the cold wind hitting her face.
Hirof's nose twitched, and she leaned out from the edge of the wheelchair, sniffing again: "Jeanne, have you been drinking?!"
"A few small glasses of potato root liquor mixed with mead," Jeanne's face was flushed, and she smiled foolishly, "Hurry, hurry, I'll show you something good."
Hirof sat in the wheelchair, terrified and helpless, carried by the drunk Jeanne on a wild dash.
When Jeanne leaped into the main palace gate, Hirof even felt for a moment that her buttocks left the seat.
Bumping and bouncing, Hirof and Jeanne finally arrived at their destination—the terrace.
Due to the height of the door in the middle, Jeanne could only put Hirof down and push her to the terrace.
"Jeanne, why did you bring me here?"
"You'll see," Jeanne confidently pushed Hirof to the edge of the terrace, hands on her hips.
Helplessly, Hirof turned her head forward, and then she was stunned.
The Mechanical Palace was situated on a small hill, and below the hill, a long line of torches and lanterns was slowly ascending the slope.
Thousands of young men and women, still filled with the passion and joy of the ball, wore expressions Hirof had never seen before.
Leading the way was Horn, holding a torch high.
Under Horn's guidance, these subjects of the Papal State were entering the Mechanical Palace for the first time, passing through the gardens and pools, walking past the aether spire, and arriving at the Mechanical Palace.
"Dong!"
Hirof heard the sound of the walnut mechanical clock, the sound that represented 11:59 PM on December 31, 1444.
Thousands of young men and women gathered inside the Mechanical Palace, and the once empty, dark palace was instantly filled with the noise of voices and flickering torchlight.
Many people saw Jeanne and Hirof on the terrace, and those who recognized the two holy maidens raised their hands high, waving at them.
"Lady Jeanne, I'm here!"
"Your Highness, come down and countdown with us."
"Lady Hirof, come play with us, I'll teach you to dance."
Jeanne leaned her upper body over the terrace, happily greeting them and answering their questions.
Holding onto the terrace's edge, Hirof looked at the youths of the Papal State below, her tail and ears drooping softly.
"Countdown, countdown," Horn shouted, and under his leadership, all the young men and women present shouted.
"Five!"
"Four!"
"Three!"
"Two!"
"One!"
"Dong——"
The New Year's bell rang suddenly, and everyone present cheered and embraced each other: "Happy New Year's Festival!"
"Happy New Year's Festival! Hirof!" Jeanne raised her hands and cheered, turning around to hug Hirof in the wheelchair, asking drunkenly, "This is the New Year's Festival gift Horn and I gave you, how is it? Do you like it?"
"…"
"Hirof, are you, are you smiling?"
"Is, is this a smile?" In the flickering torchlight, a stiff smile appeared on Hirof's previously poker-faced face, she touched her raised嘴角, "Is this a smile?"
Jeanne did not answer Hirof's question, but rather the subjects below shouted.
"What was that just now? Is it raining?"
"No, it's snow."
"It's snowing, it's snowing!"
Everyone looked up at the sky.
Almost simultaneously with the ringing of the bell, snowflakes, one after another, slowly fell from the dark clouds in the night sky.
The first snow of 1445 arrived quietly at the end of 1444.