The opening time has not yet arrived. Camelia is wiping the tables of the inn with a cloth. Adapting to her old life is not at all easy for her. There is no running hot water in the house, no wood, and food has to be fetched from the market, and that ultra-modern device known as a refrigerator is too expensive for the small tavern's finances.
It's no bad thing that the neighborhood has a sewage system. In the northern area, people have sewers on the sides of the road.
The intensity of the smells is different. There are no flowers, but the fields overlook the other side of the road. Furthermore, the tavern is electrified, and therefore, there are electric lights and bulbs, saving the tedious work of replacing candles or oils in the lamps.
Wiping a sauce off the table, Camelia notices someone has entered.
“Sorry, we're still closed. Go back to—”
Black suit, slightly raised toe shoes, bow tie, and dolphin-dragon emblem on the sleeve and chest spear. The curled mustache and the light brown tuft that falls on the forehead.
“Massimiliano!”
The man smiles.
“Hello, Camelia. Nice to see you.”
Scrutinizing him for a few more moments, Camelia realizes that the dress worn by the servant is for a formal occasion.
A funeral. It won't be…
“Don't make that face. I'm happy to see you.”
“Sorry, it's just that…” Camelia points to the dress.
“This? Yes, sorry, I was at a funeral in Eggrio. Nothing important, for people like us, I mean.”
Camelia feels relieved. The idea that something serious could have happened at Delphine's house... luckily, they are fine.
“It's nice to see you again too. Come in. I'll offer you something.”
The butler sits at a table.
“Thank you but my stay will be short, how are you? The letters didn't help you, did they?”
Camelia purses her lips slightly.
“Not so much. Word must have spread. Everyone says I have to be good, but they don't trust me to hire me. So, I still help my parents.”
Scanning the inn, the butler becomes thoughtful.
“I understand. It's still a roof. There are those who—outside the palace—have nothing.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“I'm talking about the former Prince. The other night—I found him with a gang of jerks.”
Camelia nods. It was her fault. If only she had never given that slap. But, even now, she struggles to forgive that arrogant and naughty boy.
“Look… we don't have anything valuable here. Bitter beer or red wine?”
“There's no need. It's already a long time since you made me sit down.”
“Sure?”
“I bring you news of the Princess.”
A shock passes through Camelia's spine. She thinks back to the letter: the letters. She has not responded to even one yet, and a new one arrives any day.
In themselves, those letters talk about this and that. It is the subtext that disturbs the former maid. There is something behind the sweet words, something disturbing.
Camelia continues to think about Elea, the poor cat given to the Princess for her birthday. It had many accidents, and she died that very night.
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Camelia sits down, trying to hide her upset.
“The Princess, yes, I have to answer letters. I'm always so busy…”
“I don't know what you're talking about. Tomorrow, the Princess will be at the shop of that Mirco, the alchemist who sold the poison.”
Sure, the poison.
“Wait, don't be alarmed right away. The Princess will be there with the police and the Marquis Nereo, currently in charge given the death of the Witch Judge.”
“And what do I have to do with it?”
“She just wants to see you. She can't leave the palace freely, so she thought she'd take advantage of the opportunity.”
Camelia looks at his hands. He has tapered fingers, clipped nails, and a silver ring on his ring finger.
Camelia does not remember ever having seen it. Perhaps it is part of the mourning kit.
“At what time?”
“Around mid-morning, be in the area. Go ahead, but don't interfere with the arrest. Feign surprise.”
“I understand…”
Massimiliano stands up, and Camelia does the same.
“Um, listen…”
Massimiliano raises his hand and pauses.
“There's not much to say. We both know it's unfair. How things have evolved, I mean. But, at Delphine's house, they know. The Third Witch doesn't care, but the Princess does. Be patient.”
Camelia smiles slightly and watches the man leave. She sighs. Studying the room, the innkeeper notices the clean tables. For an hour, she has nothing to do.
A voice from upstairs comes down.
“Who was that handsome man? He seemed wealthy.”
“A friend, Mom, a friend…”
In the evening, Camelia waits listlessly at the tables. She has several thoughts on her mind, which also follow her to bed.
What does Viola-Maria want?
It could just be a meeting between friends, as suggested by Massimiliano. After all, Viola-Maria cannot leave the house at the moment. They keep her under surveillance, and there would not be anything strange. But it could also be something unpleasant that she aspires to.
What if I were like Elea? What if she was plotting something against me?
Rolling over on the stiff, worm-eaten mattress, the girl calls herself a fool. Viola-Maria is a good person. She is a good friend. She has always been kind. Unlike Crisante, she never wrongs her. Indeed, she filled her with attention and gifts. Together, they talked about crushes and gossip, about the Presidential Prince and…
… she never told me about her intent to poison her mother.
Maybe she did not trust her. In this case, the Princess did well. Camelia has a knot in her stomach. She would warn the Third Witch, it was part of her duty, it was right, and she did not want her friend to become a murderer.
Why did the Princess do this? Why didn't they talk about it, perhaps in other terms?
Tomorrow, I'll ask her why.
With that thought, having feebly removed a mosquito, Camelia falls asleep.
Passing through the fetid tannery street, Camelia reaches the shop indicated to her.
Four gendarmes, a short figure covered in a tabard and hooded, and a tall man with a handlebar mustache are talking. There is also a gentleman on his knees, his wrists tied behind his back. The gendarmes lift him by his arms, and his hooded figure raises an arm.
“And him, I have no doubts. He sold me the poison by passing it off as a spice.”
The girl's voice leaves Camelia in no doubt.
The man turns pale and curses. He tries to kick. But he is weak, and the gendarmes hold him back. The man with the handlebar mustache orders to take him away, and two gendarmes obey.
“Well, I will prepare the necessary in court. I am glad your mother opted for a less noisy solution. Until they assign a new Witch to the city... Among secessionists and rebels, it is a big nuisance. With your permission, Princess.”
The man walks away, leaving the hooded girl with the two escorting gendarmes.
Camelia takes a couple of steps to approach, and one of the gendarmes recognizes her. At that point, the other one also says hello. The girl with the hood approaches and takes one of Camelia's hands in hers, showing the Princess's face.
“Ho, I'm glad you came.”
Her palms are soft and warm. Camelia lets a few moments pass before retracting her hand. The Princess's green eyes are fixed on her face, her joyful expression.
“I came, yes. Sorry, I didn't answer the letters.”
“Don't worry. From the smell you give off... I imagine you're living in this bad place. The working conditions in the city make me turn up my nose.”
Camelia instinctively sniffs her armpit. The smell of the tavern, the sweat of the summer season, the dense atmosphere from the factories—maybe the Princess is not used to the city, she does not stink. Not particularly, at least.
“I'm sorry that my smell bothers you.”
“Ah, these details won't upset me. And then, I have a solution. Next time I write to you, I will send you some soap. I mean the good one, ours. Do you have your soap? Where did they hire you in the end? Did you manage to enter the house of some minor noble? Or a residence for wealthy travelers?”
Camelia lowers her gaze. Uncomfortably.
“No, none of that.”
“Um, too bad.”
“Princess, we should go back.” A gendarme approached. “Sorry Camelia, but there's no point in keeping the Princess around. It may be dangerous.”
“I am aware of this. I will let you go now. I heard that you would announce your engagement to the Presidential Prince.”
The Princess smiles at her.
“Indeed. I called you here to tell you directly. I invite you.”