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Chapter 70
“Do… you like me too?”
Davitte quietly reflected on the words he had spoken earlier that day.
“Duchess, you were asking if you like my face too…”
He was curious. This cumbersome face, which everyone gawked at whenever he walked by—did it appear attractive in the silver-gray eyes of the Duchess as well?
The way her hand gently caressed his jaw suggested a certain level of affection… but liking him seemed difficult, that was her conclusion.
The Duchess regarded him with a hint of doubt, thinking him a man impossible to understand.
Davitte somewhat agreed with that.
He had too many things he wanted to hide. Though he wanted to know everything about the Duchess, he couldn’t fully reveal himself to anyone. Perhaps it was because he had never opened his heart to anyone besides his blood relatives.
By now, it was late at night.
Davitte once again slipped out of the lordly castle through the drain opening.
His escort, Sir Kirill, was not with him.
He wore a black robe with the hood pulled low, a scarf covering his face, and his sword strapped at his waist.
His destination was the pawnshop. The owner was Davitte’s only lifeline and the only way to check on the progress of the mission to rescue Melania.
He had received a promise that none of the entrusted valuables would be sold, but he still needed to make sure they were safely kept.
Part of him was curious. He hadn’t made a simple request, yet the owner hadn’t even asked for proof of identity. Though it was clear she found him disagreeable, why had she readily agreed to help?
He was also curious about the circumstances of the other people coming to borrow money.
The people of Blansk seemed to live well. There were no beggars, and the streets were full of life. Why would someone need to borrow money?
Around midnight, the tavern’s windows shone bright against the damp late-summer darkness.
Davitte pushed open the creaking wooden door and stepped inside.
He paused, surprised.
The atmosphere was markedly different from yesterday.
Previously, tables were placed at the edges, leaving the center free as a dance floor. Now, the tables were evenly spaced like in a typical tavern.
Davitte was bewildered. Without a stage, the atmosphere could feel so calm. The mandolin player offered a serene melody as if forgetting the wild frenzy of the previous day. People chatted quietly, raising their glasses in friendly conversation.
Young female clerks energetically took orders at the counter, which reached about waist height.
After confirming that the pawnshop below the stairs was bustling, Davitte sat on a bar stool at the counter.
He felt anxious thinking about whether Melania would be rescued safely and hoped to calm his restless heart with a drink.
“…One beer, please.”
A clerk smiled and handed him a wooden mug filled with foaming beer.
Soon, the same clerk brought a small plate with something neatly arranged: thinly sliced smoked salmon.
Davitte looked at her in surprise.
“I didn’t order this.”
“Salmon is good for burn recovery.”
Burns?
Davitte was puzzled.
After a few seconds, he realized why the clerk had acted that way. He was dressed in a full black robe from head to toe, with his face covered by cloth.
Occasionally, he had seen men on the streets dressed similarly.
He had wondered why anyone would wear dark cloth in the heat of summer. When he asked Sir Julio, he was told that many men from Dvorca had died in war, but a few had survived explosions and fire. They had full-body burns and covered themselves completely to hide the scars.
Davitte smiled wryly at the unintended misunderstanding.
“…Thank you.”
“It’s been a long time since someone ordered in Dvorcan, and with respect too. You’re the one who chased away the soldier causing a scene yesterday, right?”
The clerk asked shyly, her round face looking youthful.
“Yes. I’ll enjoy this.”
Davitte replied curtly.
Most of the male patrons seemed to be Levantean soldiers.
Had the soldiers been treating the clerks roughly?
Yesterday, one soldier had grabbed a clerk’s arm and tried to force her onto his lap. When she resisted, he threw bottles and dishes in a fit of rage.
Davitte had drawn his sword and quickly subdued the soldier, who had fled, wobbly as if he might soil himself.
The clerks had shown gratitude, and the smoked salmon on the table seemed to be their way of thanking him.
Davitte took a fork and tasted a piece. The pleasant smokiness filled his mouth.
“This is delicious. By the way, what happened to the soldier who caused a scene yesterday?”
“They caught him this morning, as someone reported him. He’ll probably rot in the guardhouse for a few weeks, and like a cockroach, crawl out again unharmed.”
The clerk sighed while polishing glasses under the counter.
“Do the soldiers often cause trouble?”
“Well, it’s partly because of what we used to do. They might find it amusing, but it still feels unfair. We don’t do that anymore.”
“What do you mean, ‘what you used to do’?”
What kind of job could she have had before?
The clerk spoke as if Davitte already knew.
“…Don’t know? Everyone in Blansk knows. Are you an outsider? It’s a bit awkward to say it myself.”
A short-haired clerk making cocktails suddenly interjected.
“Ah, we worked in the red-light district.”
“The red-light district?”
Davitte raised an eyebrow. He thought he misheard.
“Yes. All the clerks here used to sell their bodies, mainly to the Levantean garrison soldiers. But when the Levantean witch lady was appointed as the lord, the first thing she did was shut down the red-light district. Overnight, we lost our jobs.”
“….”
So the Duchess had abolished the red-light district after becoming the lord.
Davitte felt a slight shock. The district hadn’t contributed positively to society, but throwing these people onto the streets overnight was harsh.
“While wandering without a place to go, we met the pawnshop lady. She asked if we wanted to work with her.”
“You mean the woman managing funds in the basement of this building?”
“Yes. The deaf lady.”
The short-haired clerk smiled brightly as she continued.
“At first, I thought she was a fraud. She didn’t even know my name and suddenly asked me to work with her. I said I only knew how to serve drinks and deal with men, but her sign-language interpreter explained everything.”
“….”
“If you were good at serving drinks, she said she would let you do that. But she asked for one promise: never sell your body or heart. She’d pay much more than the red-light district did, and we should learn to make drinks properly.”
“Did the pawnshop lady keep her promise?”
“Of course! We make more now than before. Selling delicious drinks and chatting with customers is fun. When we used to deal with soldiers, our bodies were exhausted and we often didn’t even get paid properly. They treated women selling their bodies terribly.”
How could she speak of her painful past so calmly? Listening, Davitte’s heart ached.
“…Isn’t it still tough like yesterday?”
“Nah, yesterday’s guy was mild. When we first opened, many soldiers tried to harass us. But the pawnshop lady drove them all away.”
“She is skilled in combat?”
“Yes! When she swings a sword, even men run for their lives. Soldiers new to Blansk cause trouble, but those who’ve served long are scared of her and don’t dare touch us.”
The round-faced clerk shrugged, clearly proud of the pawnshop owner.
The clerk continued, “Girls orphaned in war used to be sold to the red-light district when they grew up. No skills, no assets, only their bodies. But now, the pawnshop lady finds jobs for orphans. My little sister is about to graduate, she’s really smart, and she’s coming to an interview with the pawnshop lady later. If she passes, the lady will help her become a school teacher in the village!”
The round-faced clerk jumped excitedly while the short-haired clerk beamed and said, “It’s all thanks to our Yeba!”
Davitte felt his eyes grow warm.
Melania inevitably came to mind.
“You’ll succeed. I’ll support your sister. Thank you for the drink. And…”
“Yes?”
“You are not a witch.”
With that short remark, Davitte stood. He felt as if he might burst into tears if he stayed any longer.
Clink, clink.
The tavern bell rang clearly. The calm atmosphere made it sound louder than usual.
At that moment, five young girls hurried in. Too young to be in a tavern, perhaps, but they headed straight for the pawnshop under the stairs.
“Oh, Yeba! Your sister is here!”
“She must do well…”
Davitte overheard the clerks’ conversation behind him.
He followed the girls down the stairs.
For some reason, he wanted to hear more. What people hoped for at this pawnshop, what they lived for, what they desired.
He felt he needed to know. To understand their pain and truly become their lord, even without knowing war firsthand.
