Liberi Reader

Honorable lady, I'm most privileged to inform you, the dinner party is all ready—

So slow. You aristocrats, taking your sweet time with everything you do. You're a nightmare.

...It was my inadequate reception. Please, permit that I express to you my most sincere apologies.

You can save your breath. How many will be coming today, exactly?

All of County Hillock's fine minds have received the invitation, including our most widely celebrated bard as of recent, Seamus Williams...

Bard? I'm bored dead already. What about the nobles and merchants you promised to find?

Of course... of course, they'll all be coming too.

For example, the leader within the south region's textiles industry, Sir Paulet, recipient of the McCaughey Prize, Dr. Bashir, and the owner of more than ten steelworks, Mr. Evans...

Oh? These people you mention, especially that last one, they're definitely coming?

Yes, and a portion of them have already arrived.

I hear a most honorable guest has turned up, and quite a few celebrity intellects from other cities have come flocking too, all for a single glimpse of you and your compatriots' presence.

Oh, yes, as per your request, I've drawn up this list of names, for your perusal whenever you should—

Bit too many words, but you've done good enough work. Alright, you can head off now.

Deeply grateful for your generous praise. Once you're ready, please, inform me. I simply cannot wait to see this ordinary little parlor of mine be dazzlingly belightened by your arrival.

Why are you still here? Weren't you done talking?

Ahem, please allow me to ask one last question—that most honorable lady there, have we even the sliver of a chance that she may alight on the venue too?

That's not yours to ask. Clear off.

Mandragora, what has you feeling all flustered?

Less of that—tongue-in-cheek, giving me reflux. We all know you'd never really give a shit about anyone, Harmonie.

Siiigh. Then I'll have to put it another way—you've been blocking my light with your halfwit ambling. I'd like to finish reading this lovely novel, dear.

Tch.

Are all of you rich people like this?

Hang instruments up a wall, buy a few books, act like you're filling the windows so nobody notices how you've got nothing at all in your head.

I'll take having a window to fill over having nothing of anything inside or out, wouldn't you say?

You—!

Now, now. You're not happy to calm down for a while, I see. How about this? If which foot forward first bothers you so much in this ball you know nothing about, I can be your lead for the dance.

What complete shit are you on about?!

I'm thinking of bigger things. With this many nobles and merchants coming, if we can get their support, then forget just occupying one scant little Hillock, we could snatch the whole of Londinium—

Mandragora, time to hold still.

At this point, can't you just let that grotty book of yours go? Do you even think for one second about anything important to The Leader or me?

I'm not saying anything about your oh-so-helpless gait. I'm saying, take your rollercoaster babble and hold it still, and all that absurdity you're exhausting your little brain with too.

You, telling me to hold it now? As if I could! Laying out and assigning roles, swallowing my sick to set this meeting up, how much of me do you think I've poured out for this plan?

I couldn't wait since forever ago! I can't wait! For Dublinn's fires to burn this city through, rip this lie of a titan under our feet apart!

And you, huh? You and that shameless fake taking what should be the glory of The Leader—

It is really, really, time for you to shut up now.

At what point—was your job to make decisions for The Leader?

......

Tch—

Mm, it's me. Yes, we're still here.

Oh?

Things have gotten a little interesting at long last.

Seems we've no need to scrap in here about whether your little schemes of insolence are feasible or not.

Is it news from that bastard?

Someone's sniffed out this location. I've a feeling it'll be more than your friendly little invitees coming to the meeting tonight.

...People from the army?

More or less. My, my, maybe some of my acquaintances too.

Tch. God on high, I want to—

Put away your staff. You'll get your chance. But it won't be now.

It's time we go, we've got other things to do. Leave it to her in here; we might be in for a good show before we know it.

Heheh... I was starting to fantasize about how it'd look if this horrible room broke down into slag.

Leader, I didn't imagine slippin' in would be as easy as this. Here I thought...

We'd have to find a way to infiltrate? Not out of the question. That said, go in the proper way, and it's more convenient to find a conversation partner.

Guess my friend at the barracks got some real precious information. Can't be that many who know about this meeting.

A lot of secret aristocrat parties are held this way—they usually think of invitation letters as passé.

So long as you have a channel to tap for info, plus a token as proof of identity, you have what you need to pass the doorstep.

You never told me your family was all big famous nobility.

Does it make a difference?

When I was in school, the noble students always stuck with their own. Course, they studied together, but after school, they never did much with the rest of us if they could help it.

Don't tell me you actually like all the pomp and formality? Ceremonial gowns you only wear once, the trending look changing every week, courtesy greetings ad nauseum.

Don't even remind me. Actually went to that kind of thing once or twice with a good friend, and just tryin' to remember which fork you use to eat first made my head want to explode on the spot.

Perfect, I'm not much of a fan either.

Even if I'm loath to admit it, just having this family name does come in handy once in a while.

Leader, the people comin' here today, are they all supporters of the spectre force?

...I don't necessarily think so.

Mr. Williams, I finally get to meet you! I heard you were coming, and came bolting right over from County Peninsula, just to ask if you could sign the anthology in my collection here.

Of course, fine Lady, it would be my honor.

Seamus, my dearest great bard! Here you were.

I just finished reading your newly published tales from history. Such fascinating writings. It was the first I learned that us Tarans had such a grand, storied past.

Thank you, but they're works of fantasy, adapted from an array of folk legends. The greatest value in my work is simply unearthing gems buried by sandstorms, all the better for more to see.

You truly are too modest. The Draco King Gaeil you penned, founding by himself the most radiant culture that was Tara—he stood grand and wise, so much so that my dreams are flush with emotion and he's part of them all—

Yes, too true. In my eyes, you're alike to Leithanien's grand musicians, with the chance to make change to an entire era!

Ha, ha... I must say you exaggerate.

So long as you wanted, all of Victoria's publishers would be wide open to you, every one of them waiting to translate your works into the ink of different languages.

And when that happens, every country across the land will realize our Taran culture has its own unique charm, not to be stifled by the ever-same grumble of Victoria's machines.

If only things could be so wonderful. If more and more international figures come to support us, our voices will be so much more easily heard by the dukedom and Parliament.

Right you are! I'm a Victorian citizen same as anyone else, but just because some great-great-great-grandfather of mine was King Gaeil's subject, suddenly I'm being asked to pay so much more inheritance tax! How preposterous!

Even so, Mr. Evans, you still give vigorous employ to plenty enough of our fellows, providing everyone the chance to gain their footing upon this city of grace.

No wonder you and your clan are the pride of us Tarans.

Ahah, quite right, our fellows. It's far from easy for them to find any respectable work. I hear they toil in the factories for a week, and only earn yea little coin.

Yet Victorian workers from other backgrounds are able to earn twice as much, in your factories.

Eh-hem...

Allow me to say something perhaps a little out of fashion—it's far from simple to have our neighbors of strength acknowledge us, isn't it?

Please, think about it, everyone. Were it only with its music and poems, how could Leithanien become the Leithanien of today?

Just as Leithanien has Casters that intimidate—

We Tarans must depend on more practical power if we want to gain recognition. Such as the... technological support of some friends from far away.

And by pure luck, I have just the tiniest means by which I receive sponsorship, and I would be overjoyed to take the opportunity to let the friends of the Baron share in it.

Hahah, you're absolutely spot-on! Any subsidy is of great importance. If you let it all pass you by, then no matter how deft your tongue, you watch for the day it dries up and lacks the power to express.

From that perspective, I'm the same as everyone here. We are all yearning for a whole new era—so, why not give a toast to this common dream of ours?

Truly, an evening to inspire... how strange, where did Mr. Williams get off to?

Good evening, Mr. Williams.

Greetings, ma'am.

I hope I'm not bothering you. Are you writing?

Ha, ha... Just a small poem. It's been several days now, and I still haven't finished it.

I was thinking this meeting would give me some inspiration, but it seems now there's still no forcing the muse.

These settings always like to use up a person's energy too quickly. Do you also feel a little worn out?

Ha-ha... caught red-handed. If it weren't for Charles—I mean, the Baron inviting me so ardently, I would've preferred to spend the night reading by my own fireplace.

Wouldn't we all? I bet every person willing to participate in this sort of thing is forced to for a living.

I like that way of putting it. You're not a Taran, ma'am, are you?

You guess correctly. I imagine a Lupo's a rare sight among the residents here.

Ha-ha, I've inadvertently judged background by race.

Though you're deliberately choosing vocabulary we're more used to, your accent still exposes you—it's the accent only a Victorian noble receiving a standard Londinium education would have.

No wonder you're a great bard. Extremely sharp.

The first step to writing is observation. I can even tell, you and they have differing purposes for coming.

You're suspecting me?

Suspecting what? I'm only here to exchange some ideas, and you're exchanging with me right now.

No matter if I'm not a Taran?

Precisely because you're not.

A glass of malt liquor, thank you—would you like anything to drink, ma'am?

I'll be fine. Standing in the window breeze is plenty enough for me.

Then we'll continue our merry chat. What were we just saying?

Right, yes. Words and writing were born for the purpose of exchange, including both conversations past and future, and this talk between you and I, here and now.

You're the one allowing for me. If you used Taran, I'd be as good as deaf.

Ha-ha—in this party, you'll be hard-pressed to hear any Taran.

It just clicked for me, actually. All the works of yours I've read are written in Victorian.

Rhyming confines a poet's imagination. Characteristically, Victoria's poems, when you read them, are very unlike Leithanien's.

I much love reading poems written in Old Taran. Reading the writing is like touching upon, feeling another face of history.

But I've no plans to pass myself off as anything.

I grew up speaking Victorian, my thoughts are molded by the language, and if I started to write in Taran instead, I'd be a clown dancing in shoes far too big for him.

I hear there are many longing for the revival of Taran culture—

Of course, I'm one of them.

Our city roams upon the land, this soil unchanging, yet at the same time, change constantly happening.

Perhaps a day will come when Taran once again becomes the building blocks of our children's minds, and I'd be willing to embrace such a transformation.

And if—there were those who wished this change to be rapid, an explosion even reversive of the natural trend?

—

'What is the use of an idea? You are planting a feather in the ground, imagining it growing into a fowlbeast.'

From the first poetry anthology you published. It's one of my particular favorites.

That is my answer to this question of yours.

In my own view, I can't, and have no thought to alter this soil. I'm simply the one trying hard to plant feathers.

And ideas fundamentally ought to be free, with no one who can interfere—each feather that grows in each person's heart may be totally unalike, just as we all have different hopes for the future of this great swathe of soil.

I understand, Mr. Williams.

Allow me to speak from the heart—it's been truly pleasant to chat with you.

Leader, somethin's not right.

What is it?

Cello's lot have gone over forty minutes without sendin' anythin'.

Weren't they meant to be dealin' with the troops at the barracks? You told them they were to send a message every half hour. Right as we set off, Cello was even gripin' at me how this mission was too borin'.

......

And on top of that... don't you feel it's a little too quiet all around?

I've been keepin' watch at the window. Ought to be able to see people goin' in and out of the plaza. But then all of a sudden, it was like somethin' happened, and everyone scarpered away.

Don't tell me... the ones tailing us before were the barracks'...

Good heavens, what's happening? Why the sudden show of force?

You have the audacity to point weapons at me... do you understand who we are?

Who is it? Who let the secret out?!

Damn and blast... we need to get out of here, quick!

(Hurry, go inform Madam Mandragora, just say we've got trouble...)

(What?! You mean they're all gone? When did this happen? A whole hour ago?!)

(You useless...!)

All of you, stay where you are!

—

Ladies and gentlemen, yes, no mistake, you have been—utterly captured.