Dia was lounging around Moon Mansion’s living room with a glass of apple juice when the bartender walked inside, a letter in hand. The unusually officious air around him was somewhat startling; Schwarz was someone who was generally laidback.

Risti and Farah, who were playing Moon Phase, noticed the anomaly seconds later and gathered around the large table in the middle.

“What’s wrong?” the countess asked.

“It seems that we’ve finally gathered the attention of Count Nightfall.” The bartender’s face was grim. “I knew that the day would come, but wasn’t it a bit too quick? My estimations had placed it around the first week of the new year, but…”

“A nasty new year, eh?”

“Better a nasty new year than things turning nasty in the middle of this year,” said Schwarz. “By that time, we would have gathered enough people and strength such that we wouldn’t need to show our faces. However, it seems that fate has a nasty plan for us.”

“What exactly does that letter say?” Farah asked.

The bartender cleared his throat. “To the rabble gang that calls itself the Moon Lords, the master of Licencia hereby orders you to present yourself before his palace by Greengott, lest he be forced to move his forces.”

“Greengott…is there some point of asking us to meet him on the fourth day of the week?” Risti asked. “Some noble thing?”

“There is. We’re not important enough to visit on the weekends, nor are we such an unimportant group that he can put it off to the first day of next week. At the same time, tomorrow’s too hasty for either side,” said Farah. “That’s why he decided to host us two days later.”

Dia glanced at the countess, whose words had once again reminded her that Farah was someone used to ruling a territory. Indeed, even something as simple as scheduling in and of itself was an art of its own, designed to maximise one’s use of time, as well as to convey attitudes. In fact, the way Farah had interpreted it made Dia wonder if she had scheduled meetings improperly.

It was a worrying thought.

“How complicated,” said Risti. “Just find some free time and invite whoever you want to over. Why do you nobles like to be this convoluted?”

“It’s called etiquette,” Farah replied. “Everyone knows that the most important meetings are always on the weekends proper. Inviting a duke or a count on any other day is just utter disrespect.”

“Is that why the nobles get all mad when Dad gets them to come on a Redgott?”

“Your father’s gutsy, I’ll give you that. No one wants to have important meetings on the first day of the week.”

As the two bantered back and forth about the issue of dates, Dia turned to Schwarz. “What should we do?”

“I was about to ask you guys that. By the looks of it, Lily and Claud won’t be able to make it back within two days, so it’s down to us,” said the bartender.

“What would Claud do, if such an invitation fluttered in while he was here?” Farah asked. “I believe his response would be the most appropriate one…or at least one conducive to our survival.”

“Knowing him, he would probably hole up in Moon Mansion and beef up the defences here,” said the bartender. “That punk has the habit of setting traps around any and all points of entry right before he sleeps. A threatening letter like this would probably set him off.”

Dia found herself nodding along. That was so in-character with Claud that she couldn’t imagine anything else either.

“Is that a good idea?” Risti asked.

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“I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not, but the actions he takes is probably the most conducive towards survival and liberty,” Schwarz replied. “Of course, this will probably harm our interests outside Moon Mansion, so I had to ask you guys about this.”

“We should think on our feet for now,” said Risti. “For one, we’re just making assumptions — lots of them — without seeing the situation for ourselves.”

Farah thought about her words for a moment, and then bobbed her head. “You’re right. Let me go and do some analysis for a moment. Master, do you have any information on the count’s military strength?”

“I’m not in the bar now,” Schwarz replied, before taking out some papers. “But I had a feeling that you wanted things like that anyway, so here you go. It’s rather up to date, inclusive of recent additions to his troops, so it should be of great use in helping you understand what he has.”

“Thanks, master.”

“Like I said—”

“Can’t a countess have her fun?” Farah rolled her eyes, before retreating into her own room. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, hopefully.”

“Sure,” said Risti, “knock yourself out.”

After the door slammed shut, the bartender cleared his throat. “For now, I’ve already issued a general summons to our members. At the same time, I’ve already retrieved the instructions that Claud left to us if an enemy army wanted to siege us.”

“He left instructions?” Dia asked, surprised.

“He left instructions for all kinds of contingencies,” the bartender replied. “We’ll open it now and see what they say.”

“Why didn’t you keep Farah back, then?”

“I wanted her to make her own judgement, independent of Claud’s instructions. After all, he’s not here right now. As much as I respect that punk’s ability, I cannot quite believe his plans can account for the myriad changes that occur around us now,” said the bartender.

“Alright,” said Risti.

Dia nodded, expressing her agreement. “We’ll weigh them both, and see what they say.”

Taking out a small brown envelope, Schwarz passed it over to Risti and Dia. There were some instructions written on it, as well as a heading that read ‘If we are threatened by Count Nightfall’.

“Instructions,” Risti read out loud. “Do not open unless described scenario plays out or is at hand. Do not look at other branching options until you reach an initial decision. Do remember to save some apple juice for me.”

Dia felt her lips twitch. Claud, as the person who had designed the various mechanisms and defences of the Moon Lords’ headquarters, had some rather…odd priorities.

“Incidentally,” said Risti, “how many of these letters are there?”

“You don’t want to know,” said Schwarz. “The guy can devote hours to writing weird things like these, even though he also spends hours on imbuing skillsticks and skillstrips. He has lots of free time when it comes down to it; I’m betting that the bugger’s busy writing more of those letters right now.”

“Not if Lily had her way,” Dia replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Schwarz asked.

“Well, I told Lily to learn swordsmanship, and since she needed a partner, Claud was a good one. His sword’s not for decoration, and he does look like a good fighter,” said Dia.

“Him? A good fighter?” The bartender chuckled. “I don’t know what kind of swordswoman you wanted Lily to be, but if she’s sparring with Claud, she’s going to become a dirty fighter who resorts to the lowest of tricks to win. But enough about these two for a bit.”

Dia, who was beginning to feel worried, placed aside her feelings and turned to the brown envelope. “I’m opening it, then.”

“Go ahead,” said Risti.

Paper rustled as Dia opened the envelope, and a bunch of envelopes —green, red and orange — fell out, along with a small piece of paper.

“Huh?”

“It’s his first instruction,” said Schwarz. “Read it.”

Dia glanced at the bartender and cleared her throat. “Consult Farah, and ask her to measure up the forces Count Nightfall has at his disposal with ours. If our chances of making it out safely are lower than half, mail the green envelope to Count Nightfall. If it is higher, give the orange envelope to Farah. After she reads it, take the red one and mail it to the count.

“That’s it?” Risti asked.

“Wait, there’s a postscript,” said Dia. “Ahem. ‘Do not open the red envelope under any circumstances whatsoever. I’ll force-feed Triple-D style pure water to anyone who does.’ That’s it.”

“That’s awfully specific. But what’s in the red envelope?” Risti asked.

“Knowing Claud, it’s probably a way to enrage the count in such a way that he would charge into Moon Mansion,” said the bartender. “I remember that punk asking me for blackmail material on the count a few years back; this envelope might have it.”

“Should we open it and see what’s inside?” Risti asked.

“You do it,” said Schwarz. “Not me.”

“…I won’t, then.”

Dia turned to Schwarz. “But it’s your drink. Why wouldn’t you open it? At most, you’ll just need to drink your own creation. What? Do you not have faith that you can’t stomach your own brew?”

The bartender bristled. “What gall…is what I should be saying, but I will not be goaded by you. If you’re so interested, open it yourself!”

Making a sad little noise, Dia tore her eyes away from the dangerously-red envelope and took a few deep breaths. For some reason, her heart was telling her that Claud would make his threat true if she dared to open that red envelope.

“So…all in favour of waiting for Farah?” Risti asked.

Dia grunted, and closed her eyes.