I paused before the chapel’s door.
All around , the confusion of farrs ca in the form of rry humming, queries about the weather and groans as they repeatedly bumped into each other while trying and failing to walk around.
Indeed, I was wrong.
Not even drunkards were this uncoordinated.
No matter how inebriated my hoodlums were, their stumbling was still predictable. They gravitated towards the nearest flat surface.
Now they careened like boastful nobility in a soirée, chins flailing in every direction. And that ant only a well-tid spoon against a glass could demand their attention.
To my surprise, sothing ca close.
Pling.
A light and clear musical note.
The delicate pluck of a string, lingering like a bell in a hall.
A mont later, a soft lody filled the air, replacing the chirping of the bluebirds, the swaying of the fields and the confusion of my farrs. I recognised the instrunt at once. The slight resonance and those gentle notes.
Sowhere behind the chapel door, a harp was being played.
I listened carefully.
It was a lullaby sweet enough to still the world. But not my judgent.
“3.5/10,” I said with a nod. “Dull and uninspired, useful only for falling asleep and drowning in the bath.”
Coppelia puffed up her cheeks, all the while pressing an ear against the chapel door.
What that was supposed to an, I had no idea.
“Coppelia/10!” she said, leaning away with a smile.
“Excuse ? What is a … Coppelia/10?”
“A Coppelia/10 is a really high score. So say it’s even higher than slightly above average.”
I gasped, shocked that she’d upend the delicate scoring system everybody understood.
“Wha–! You cannot give out such a high score! Doing so is needlessly cruel!”
“Eh? Why’s that cruel?”
“It gives hope where none exists! If my own handmaiden was known to offer such high praise, even the bards who plague our inns would forget to retire. Such a threat cannot be allowed!”
Coppelia giggled, having no idea the power she had.
“Most of them deserve a Coppelia/10 just for showing that lutes can be used as percussion weapons. But whoever’s playing this harp is also genuinely good. I should know. I’m really good at it.”
I blinked, stunned at this new piece of lore.
“Hm? You can play the harp?”
“Sure! I spent months learning as part of my librarian duties.”
“Truly?” I clapped my hands in delight, ignoring the mories of her murdering a trumpet. “… My, I had no idea! Did you learn in order to serenade guests?”
“Nope, I learned to get them to leave. I morised the exact sequence of notes to optimise suffering in human ears. Once it’s closing ti, I can get everyone through the gift shop in under 3 minutes.”
I humd in thought.
It was a sowhat unorthodox skill … but also highly useful!
Why, if I could permanently equip Coppelia with a harp, then I could ensure my mandatory tea parties ended the exact mont my mother stopped counting the seconds!
“H-How wonderful! … I’ve now another task for you once we arrive at the Royal Villa!”
“... Eh?”
Coppelia’s smile slowly faded. But that was only to be expected.
The lullaby was getting worse.
Lazy and andering, the notes drifted as though the lody had run its course and the harpist was simply making the rest up.
Thus, I went to offer my assistance.
Creaaaaaaaaak.
Opening the door, I was greeted by the sight of sunlight flooding a tiny hall.
Cramped, dusty and weathered, it was no different from any other chapel ant to shelter the vagrants of the road. Faded pews lined the wooden floor in orderly rows, while cabinets empty of anything but cups and bowls distracted from the treasures the Holy Church squirreled away within all its walls.
What there wasn’t, however, was a sister narrowing her eyes as Coppelia whistled.
No … there was a far less welcoming sight instead.
Painted in her own shaft of sunlight was a woman who didn’t need a harp to distract my farrs.
She had one, anyway.
Sitting beside her large, golden instrunt, she smiled with her wavy hair drifting beside an open window. Her slender fingers weaved amidst the strings, plucking them with the grace of a petal caught in the breeze.
As she played her song, her wings lightly unfurled, casting her silhouette in a halo of gold.
I was almost impressed.
Why, she’d managed to hide the wheelbarrow behind the altar. A perfect fit.
“Salutations,” I said politely. “I apologise for the interruption. May I trouble you with a query?”
The woman paid no heed.
Instead, she increased the pace of her playing.
The lullaby beca a song so serene that the sunlight sparkled and wavered through the window. A bluebird fluttered past and sat upon the harp, remaining even as the lody fell silent.
As the woman turned to her audience, her fingers trailed across the strings in a final flourish.
Then, she reached out with a tidy smile … just as she also pointed to a plaque in the corner.
Donations are required for all performances.
“The recomnded amount is 10 silver crowns,” she said matter-of-factly.
Ohohohohoho!
Here it was! Straight to the scam!
Very well! I could appreciate brevity! Why waste words on aningless idle chatter? She was clearly up to no good!
“You!” I said, jabbing my finger towards her. “Who are you and what are you doing?!”
“I am a naless angel of the heavens, sent to soothe the hearts of the devout.”
“Then why are you asking for money?!”
“My performances are not free.”
“Why are they not free?! Why does an angel need crowns?! Are there debt collectors in the heavens?!”
“The crowns are not for . It is for you. Avarice is a vice, as per line 218(b) of The Hymns Of Lumielle. By offering a donation, your heart will be lifted and your soul purified.”
I raised a hand to my lips, barely hiding my smile.
“Ohohohohoho … behold, Coppelia! The absolute shalessness! It is almost refreshing! Finally, here is soone who doesn’t waste our ti! I can appreciate a blatant scam!”
“This isn’t a scam. This is a holy institution. And all donations will go to a good cause.”
“Cause? What cause? Ensuring your wings don’t fall off? I see those appear to be real feathers. What are they? Snow owls? How much does it cost to purchase such a fine set?”
“A considerable amount. But I didn’t purchase them. These are my own feathers.”
“My, how excellent. Then let’s put this to a test. I will punt you away and you can fly back. If you do, I will acknowledge the authenticity of your wings and angelic status.”
The woman narrowed her eyes slightly, even as her smile remained fixed.
She glanced at my sword, then at Coppelia as she began asuring the horizon through the window.
“... The donation, of course, is purely optional,” she said, her voice suddenly gentle. “And so I welco you, dear pilgrims, to this sanctuary of peace where the word ‘punting’ is not often said. Have you co to seek the blessing of the heavens this day?”
“Not in the slightest. But I am seeking their missing taxes. Will I find that here?”
“Taxes?” The woman tilted her head, having never heard the word before. “I’m afraid such financial matters are quite beyond … although if I had to guess, I’d assu that divine beings are not expected to surrender their donations, but rather to offer them to those in greatest need.”
“Exactly. And those in greatest need are innocent maidens who lack a 16,729th pillow because the Holy Church certainly doesn’t pay its fair share. Is that not why you’re here?” Googlᴇ search noveⅼfire
“No. I am a humble ssenger of the heavens, here to reward the faithful.”
Ugh.
If I could roll my eyes any further, I’d be seeing yesterday’s sunset.
“Please. The only thing you’re rewarding is your coin purse. You may shed your disguise and false wings, sorceress. If there was an angel here, I would know. They’d be apologising to .”
“To doubt is to fear. But you have no need to mistrust my words. Although darkness shrouds the hearts of all mortals, here you will find only truth in this sanctuary of calm.”
“Oh? Because all I’ve found is a shady woman loitering in a chapel. And while there’s calm now, there won’t be once the fields have dried up because there’s no sweat nourishing them. I’ve utterly no idea what you’ve done, but you will fix it. As long as the farrs are smiling, then they’re not working. This is unacceptable.”
The woman plucked at her harp, causing the bluebird upon it to finally fly away.
It was the wiser one.
“Ah,” she said, her smile brightening. “You refer to those who ca seeking the sound of my harp. You’ve little to fear, then. All I’ve done is offer them the gift of song. Their only burden now is joy.”
“The bumps on their heads say otherwise. You have bewitched them and in the process, cost ti that will need to be repaid. I see you’ve already a wheelbarrow. You can begin by working in their stead.”
The woman paused.
She glanced to the side, clearly seeing that she should have placed it sowhere less convenient for her to quickly haul peasants away.
She shrugged regardless.
“The wheelbarrow is for practical reasons.”
“Ohohohoho! Very well! Go on! What practical reasons does an angel have for using a wheelbarrow?”
“I have weak upper body strength.”
“Why? Because your hands only know how to abuse the harp?”
“No, because I use my legs instead.”
The woman stood up from her seat.
However, there was no shuffling of feet as she turned to face .
Instead, there was the sharp clicking of talons as they scratched the wooden floor.
A mont later, her wings fully unfurled.
“As you can see,” said the harpy, nodding smartly. “My wings are very much real.”
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