The train whistles as it crosses the Great Western Plain. Towards the mountains, beyond which lies the West of the continent and where the tower of the Second Witch's gardens is erected.
Cross little rivers, fields of tulips, sunflowers, glimpse electrified villages in the distance, a power plant from which the twelve power lines of the plain spread.
Delphine watches in admiration, flushed, with the window open as she fans herself with the peacock fan.
She sighs again. She feels guilty. She feels damn guilty for how she treated that child.
Being a parent is difficult. She knows it. Being parents of a monster towards whom you feel no affection, she is even more so.
Grullo is playing solitaire with cards and, realizing he is being watched, stops.
“Your Holiness, may I help you?”
“What do you think?”
“To your safety and the solitaire. Within the limits allowed, obviously.”
Delphine smiles.
“Would you like to chat for a bit?”
“If that is what you desire, Your Holiness.”
As with Massimiliano, Delphine would also like to tell Grullo to stop using 'you' and that 'Holiness.' But the presence of the other gendarmes holds her back.
“What would you like to talk about, Your Holiness?”
“Tell me about yourselves. I know. It sounds stupid, maybe, but tell me what you're for.”
“To defend you.”
With no uncertainty in his voice, Grullo responds proudly.
Delphine hides her smile with her fan.
“Be serious. That guy in town doesn't count. I have so much power that I could exterminate the continent. Sell yourself better. You are my gendarmes, aren't you?”
The truth is that Delphine does not know what they are for. She was already asking about it at the time of reading. Adonic, powerful, elegant, and well-mannered, the palace gendarmes are an escapist fantasy. She does not doubt that some witches like to be surrounded by Herculean busts, but there must be more to it.
Grullo is a little embarrassed. He puts his hand to his chin.
“We are trophies of the past. We are elite men among the police elite. We instill fear in simple people. We can get in the way with our bodies. However, I understand what you mean, Your Holiness. I guarantee. Behalf of the entire gendarmerie that none of us has the arrogance to claim to be indispensable. We know well what gap separates us from you and all the other witches of the Empire.”
The other men nod and kneel, embarrassing the Third Witch.
“Oh, no-no. Get up, get up. I didn't mean any of that. I just wanted to tease you a little. Please don't be so serious.”
Those present stand up. Grullo stammers out an indecisive apology, then becomes more confident.
“Forgive me if I misunderstood. I am too old to understand the humor of a Witch.”
From his serious tone, Delphine deduces that he is not being sarcastic. She is a little sorry about it. At home, many things happened with a lightness of spirit absent from these people.
Of course, it takes recklessness to make jokes with a person known for being touchy, vindictive, and capable of exterminating a population by spending money.
“Listen, Grullo. But that game…” Delphine points to the cards on the table in the wagon.
“The solitaire?”
“Yes, they look like trump cards.”
“I am afraid I do not understand, Your Holiness.”
“Don't worry, come here. I'll teach you a game. Everyone, come closer. I'll teach you all a game. The journey will be long anyway, right?”
“Long. Sure.” Grullo nods.
A white mist with purple reflections invades the plain near the mountains. The sun is pale behind it, and the evil star follows it.
Delphine drops the game to look outside. She has a great hand, but she is tired of playing by now.
“Fog in summer?”
She does not know. The atmosphere and the cycle of seasons of this world, but something tells her that it is not a normal fog.
“The Phantom Mists. Rumors that they are the work of a Witch capable of manipulating the weather. Strange things happen when they appear.”
“And is it true?”
“Your Holiness, you know better than me that there is no such Witch. Central fogs due to a complex phenomenon. The cold of the West, south, and the mild and humid easting climates. Besides, the Sixteenth Witch would know.”
“Yeah, Carola would know.” Delphine thinks back to the President's call. Meanwhile, the wagon is slowing down. The railroad roars, and it stops completely.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“The fog is too thick to continue.” Grullo frowns out the window.
Delphine picks up the phone to call the Sixteenth Witch. She remains still, realizing she does not remember the number.
“Who do you call? Your Holiness.”
“No one. I wanted information, but I think it will clear the fog.”
“Better not. You know that the continent's ecosystem laws are strict in this regard. The President could call back. You know that better than me.”
Delphine turns in her seat.
Isn't that ironic? Perhaps he has trained for years to mock witches with apparent seriousness.
However, it is reasonable. If every Witch got into bad weather, I doubt the Empire would be livable.
Of course, that fog remains a nuisance.
The wagon's door opens, and a sweaty man, covered in ash and with a beer belly, enters.
“Your Holiness, sorry for the stop. The fog is too thick, and we will wait for it to dissipate.”
“Are you afraid of fairy tales?” Grullo tries to tone himself down, but Delphine remembers they exchanged words. He hopes to stop, too.
“No, not fairy tales, My Lord. I fear animals on tracks or damaged tracks when we get to the top. There are tunnels and difficult slopes. It is better to face them with an unobstructed view.”
“You are right, Sir,” Delphine speaks and stands up. “How long do these mists last?”
“Hours, Your Holiness. Sometimes days, but it is rare.” The conductor speaks with confidence.
Hours, or days. They are very different things. With the preparations for the next party…
“Maybe it's time to go back. Try the crossing again another day.”
“As you wish, Your Holiness.” The conductor bows and starts to leave.
“Wait.” Grullo stops him. “Your Holiness, not because I want to disobey you. But I know a village around here. We could stop there for a few hours, and hear from people how long the fog has been there. Based on the answer, decide what to do.”
“Is it worth it?”
“Your Holiness, soon it will be the summer rainy season. The pace, as you well know, will be much worse. It is no coincidence that you scheduled the party before that period. You risk having to postpone the trip until autumn.”
The summer rains. A phenomenon that mainly affects the plains. Yep, Delphine had forgotten them. It is a turbulent time, where Clea will destroy Ampra and drown some Archdevils. It will be their first direct clash, in which Clea will survive.
Of course, the summer rains. It will be better to be near the palace on those days.
There is also the poisoning disease.
The first symptoms will start to show right there. Too much time later to suspect of Viola-Maria. It is an unpleasant net that knots itself around Delphine's neck. It chokes day after day after day.
But maybe the Second Witch has the answers I'm looking for.
Delphine glances at the hard case that Grullo is carrying with him. The pieces of the enchanted wand are kept there. It is the work of someone capable of spending 10,000,000,000 Lire to evoke her in this world.
“Grullo, you're right. Let's hear from the villagers. Train conductor, the rest of you, I ask you to excuse us. You will remain to supervise the vehicle and the line.”
There is general agreement. Grullo gets off the train, followed by Delphine. The cold of the fog takes the Third Witch by surprise. She rubs her shoulders, blowing puffs of breath.
The two walk away into the fog, Grullo in the lead and Delphine in tow. The ground is damp, and the pale grass reflects the pale sun. Delphine can only see an inch from the nose. The cicadas do not sing, and silence reigns supreme.
“It feels like sudden winter.”
“Your Holiness, please stop making fun of me. I am always afraid of offending you.”
“Hm, you should relax. Now we are alone, call me Viola.”
Grullo sighs and changes the subject.
“I am afraid I will not be able to orient myself properly. I am not asking you to manipulate the weather. Your Holiness, would you mind showing me the way?”
“Sure.”
Delphine whips her fan through the fog. From the small whirlwinds, bright blue and black butterflies generate. They form a small swarm that rests on the fan on the shoulders of the two and in the hair.
Grullo looks at the butterflies impassively.
Delphine closes the fan, and the butterflies take off. Even a few meters away, they are visible in the fog.
“After you, my knight.”
Delphine uses a flirtatious tone, but the man does not catch on. He makes a half bow and walks away.
Delphine follows him, all excited with happiness. She went off the cuff. The Third Witch had no idea how to cast a spell. She was afraid of making a bad impression. Instead, it was easy, as easy as breathing.
Who knows how much a trick like this costs?
The town is close to the railway. After a few minutes of walking in absolute silence, Delphine spots a stone well. The smell of humidity and mold fills the air while butterflies rest on the structures, creating trails of ghostly spotlights.
Delphine continues to think about the price of that magic. Is it an immediate payment? Does it have a fixed cost every T time? Or are there variable conditions? The butterflies have also increased, giving shape to at least seven structures.
“No lights, no sounds. It looks like an abandoned place.”
“This is a bad sign.”
“Do you mean because of the rumors circulating regarding these phenomena?”
Grullo shakes his head. He approaches a door and knocks. No reply. He hits again with more force.
“In the name of Your Holiness, the Third Witch of the Empire, Duchess of the Eastern City of Ampra, of the Reserve and—”
“Grullo, I think they understand.”
“Excuse me, Your Holiness.”
Again, no response. A butterfly rests on the door handle.
Grullo turns and shrugs.
“Your Holiness, I fear inhabitants have abandoned the town.”
“For a little fog?”
“Desolate. I fear it is a sign that the fog has lasted too long, forcing them to migrate.”
Delfine taps her closed fan in the palm of her hand.
“Hmm, what you say doesn't add up. If the fog has lasted so long, why isn't anyone saying anything? We are a few hours by train from Ampra. Are there no traders?”
“Your Holiness, this is the only local railway route. It is a private line that connects your palace to the Second Witch Tower. Merchant routes and railways pass far away from south and north, avoiding the central Pial Mountains.”
“Okay, that makes sense. But these inhabitants must have spread the word, right?”
“It is difficult to say, Your Holiness. Maybe they have lost their bearings. I do not know.”
Delphine nods. Around her, she sees her butterflies perched on the structures, the porches, and the windows of those few houses. They flap their wings feebly.
“I am cold. Let's go back. I will call the President to obtain special permission.”
“Do you want—”
“Sure. We can't wait. They cast a stratospheric spell right under our noses, and we don't even realize it. It's a safety issue, right?”
Grullo says nothing, expressionless.
“Come on, get there. We throw it on the fact that there will be important personalities at the engagement party. It is good to clarify what such magic was doing and how it happened on my property. Maybe it was a rehearsal for an attack!”
Delphine nods to herself, satisfied with the obvious excuse she just invented.
“I doubt there are such stupid and strong people. To attack a witches' party is to make oneself a martyr. There were no martyrs since the war, more a legend than anything else.”
Delphine sighs. Why does he have to take everything this way? Of course, it is probably his duty. However, it would not be bad to joke or take things with optimism sometimes.
“Let's go. If the President bans me from playing the small environmental disaster, we find another solution.”
The butterflies resume their weaving and disorderly flight, tracing the path.