Chương 130: Chapter 151: Snowball

Vancy has been complaining that I won't bring everyone back to Tarcelle, but I made it clear to her that I've got previous promises to honor: Every weekend in Springebb belongs to Broghton. She was hoping that we'd be in a regular rotation, between Tarcelle and Dandston and Nurvedvu and Meadowtam, each of us seeing our hometown one weekend in four. But I had to remind her that I need to tend my own affairs first and foremost, and we'll get into a regular sequence when things quiet down.

But this is my fourth weekend in Broghton's Newtown district, and it has been marvelous for me and my mental health. Each time I spend a weekend just hanging out and chatting with people, it seems to heal a little bit more of me. Like connecting to people, and really immersing myself in real lives, is restoring something I had stopped noticing that I was missing. Or reassuring me that my actions have consequences and my good works have good outcomes.

Or I'm a raging narcissist and I'm thriving off people walking up to me to tell me I'm wonderful, a savior, a hero, the bee's knees. I hope it's not that one but, hey, none of us ever truly knows ourselves, right? Ever since I pulverized Meadwhite for the third time, I've had more people showing up for my meet-the-princess sessions. Some people that aren't quite dressed for the occasion and need to ask directions to find the place. I had no idea until the first one of them made it to the front of the line.

I had just seen off a tall, handsomely-bearded man who had about a thousand jokes and an impressively quick wit. And next up was a woman in a bonnet hat and a nice velveteen dress with a riding cape. She stepped up to me with a bit of hesitation.

"You, ah, are the sorceress? The one who helps people?"

"Natalie Harigold, how do you do?" I asked, with a smile and a nod.

"I'm... well," she said, glancing around.

"I haven't been to Fifth- ah, this district, since before all the changes. It looks... nice." I smiled at her and folded my hands together on the table in front of me. Some people have trouble making themselves get to the point, and during these Broghton trips I just let silence and patience do the work because I do not have the mental energy to sit here pulling teeth for everyone that gets tongue-tied.

"My husband is a jeweler," she said.

"Not a great one, but enough that he can take care of us. We live with our children, in a home above the shop. My daughters like to polish the gemstones after the shop is closed. And our street has a lot of businesses like that. Deliveries, orders, storefront, some skilled work. And, we live and work across the street from... that place." I held my silence because I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Kurosake," she said, elaborating.

"The export shop." Oh. She continued.

"We bought from there a few times. A footlocker, a couple of chairs. The- the whole place seemed so normal, really. Just a shop. Just a store. But just a couple of months ago, the owner- well, the manager I should think- bought a home some several blocks away and went to live there. He took his things, ah, personal effects, and at night he would lock it all up. Around our neighborhood, everyone lives in apartments above their shop. It just makes sense, you know?

It helps you keep an eye on the place after hours, you only buy one property, and going home for lunch is as easy as a flight of stairs. So why would anyone buy a different house and choose to live there? He wasn't doing enough business to justify it, it was an unnecessary expense and risk. We didn't think anything of it at first. Hell, not even just at first, there were more than a couple clues! About two weeks after the man at Kurosake moved out, things got... just a little awful. Ordinary stuff.

People having bad dreams. Hard to keep flowers alive. Then children getting sick. Widow Genderson two doors down got pneumonia. We would go to church and it didn't feel right, not the way it used to. Milk would spoil, bread wouldn't rise. And after three weeks of this, my husband, gods love him, said that it's a good thing for the manager at Kurosake's store that he got out when he did before all this trouble started. But now we know, don't we?

The man moved out because the apartment upstairs was occupied, the skeleton in the closet was a lich that owned the building and ruled the roost. And once there was evil walking in dead man's flesh, it spread like a miasma. We were living in the reach of evil. Well, two days ago my youngest's fever finally broke, and she's been taking broth and eagerly looking forward to solid food again. That's my family you've saved, my lady."

And not the only message like that I received, apparently she had gone to her neighbors and all of them were here in the line, to speak with me. I started recognizing them before they came up, mostly because they're the ones that brought lap blankets for the carriage or a cloak for the horse-ride, coming from the opposite side of the city. They were not showing up to thank me for relieving them of poverty three years ago, they were here to thank me for destroying a lich last week. And there were others.

One of the lich's guards I had almost killed arrived, and he apologized for his part and mentioned that he and the rest of the hired security detail should have asked more questions. Some of the picnickers from the park showed up, to thank me for slaying the undead before the taint could spread- if I had fought carefully instead of boldly, it could have killed lots of people.

One of Kurosake's main suppliers stood in line to thank me for fighting against the forces of necromancy, both in their streets in the form of a lich and in the salon halls among the royal family. That provoked an interesting thought. I could brand myself as one of the main foes of necromancy in the kingdom rather easily. After hunting liches and killing ghouls and sending out a small army of adventurers and unmasking the culprits, I've done a lot of very public actions opposing necromancers.

More than should be possible, the game does not cluster them together like this. Nathan is not supposed to find Meadwhite until well after the Blight arc is complete, in the original Glitter game. But with my mixed-up system, I'm cramming all the dark magic into the first act. Including whatever is going on with Belisa Roadaway.

I let those thoughts occupy me during downtimes, most of those were that pause between one visitor finishing their tale, thanking me for my time and leaving, and the next one mustering the nerve to step up and approach me in person. Some took more than a few seconds. And a few people even lost their nerve at the last moment and just walked away instead of approaching me. Is it weird that I found that kind of charming? It's one thing when I'm trying to be intimidating, like on the camogie field.

But when I'm sat comfortably, with a cup of tea, smiling, hands folded, and ready to be approached by strangers and hear their life story... well, that's supposed to be me at my least intimidating. And I'm led to understand that 'me at my least intimidating' is not very imposing at all. But the ones that just can't muster the boldness to come to me, that's just weirdly endearing to me. I'm dressed comfortably, all things considered. The Golden Gift is warm enough, especially as we are in late spring now.

I am not using particularly vibrant colors or striking makeup, I've gone with a palette mostly of cool neutrals and some embroidered patterns over fairy light-weight fabrics. I have left behind the usual silver combs and I've worn my hair loose this time. It's about the most down-to-earth and easygoing as my look ever gets. With my coloration and features, my normal appearance leans towards "intense" or "severe". It takes work for me to look gentle. And if it weren't for the children I probably wouldn't even try.

I think half the mental healing I get is just from interacting with the younger ones. Some just old enough to remember what things used to be like. Others, toddlers, had no idea and only knew me from the stories, and only had a picture to know what the difference has been. Some older kids, though, still had the mark stamped on them. Even if it never uses a blade or a beating, poverty leaves scars in their eyes.

I saw some of these youngsters, only a few years younger than me really, who had the haunted look of those who would never really learn to trust to the same degree. The chubby-cheeked and cheer-filled children were a delight and a joy to me, but the older ones were often just as helpful for me. Yes, I like to see the joy that I spread through here. But mental health is not just a matter of being happy. It also requires perspective and proportion.

And when I see someone who is no older now than I was when I went to war against Kudder and Kralcit, and already has the same callused misery that I did not learn until after years of prison, that brings me the somber realizations that I need just as much as the laughter and smiles. For fifteen years I've seen the wars coming, I've been afraid of what's coming, I've regretted the losses not yet tallied. But for all that, I haven't actually suffered very much. There've been a few times I almost died.

And a few occasions where I have experience monstrous amounts of pain and anguish. There's the bite of betrayal and the gnawing worry that we're already doomed. But I have to recognize that my default day-to-day experience is actually a very high standard of happiness. And I know that I need both. The warmth and smiles recharging a battery that seems to hold at bay the worst and most horrid of my impulses, but also the face-to-face contact with people who remind me that I owe my own debts of gratitude.

For weeks now, my routine has been five days at Academy in Hearstcliff, and then a day in Broghton, and then a half-day in Skydown, and then a half-day in Uchislowi, ferrying in supplies. The people there still will not approach me, but they seem eager to see me when I do appear, knowing that I'm going to bring vegetables, bread, tools, and warm clothes.

The paladins and knights are still cutting through the jungle, and it is slow going now that the trees are waking up from winter's grip, but when they arrive they will not see the same desperate evil that confronted my party when we first arrived. And every Sixthday evening, I'm at a different social call. These are very different occasions. It's a good thing that the rest of my weekends are so recuperative and restorative, or I would definitely have done something drastic and regrettable by now.

These various pageants, galas and balls are necessary. But every Sixthday afternoon, when the line disperses and it is time for me to go, I feel deep pangs of regret.

"And thus ends Springebb," said the man who has not introduced himself by name a single time in four weeks, the owner and tapman of the Golden Gift. He's hosted me, feasted me, feted me, and enmuraled me, but him telling me about his days as a gang running a rope hotel was the first and last time he shared anything personal with me. The three circles behind him were still in place, but on the opposite wall now was a framed picture, a portrait that had been finished last weekend.

While I sat in one position all day to chat with Newtown of Broghton, an artist with a canvas drew out the cartoon, took light levels and matched his paints to my complexion, and then spent a day painting me right there in the pub. And now with a frame made of well-carved oak wood, it was on display for anyone to see what the sorceress looks like in person.

"The month is out," I said.

"But this won't be the end of my time in Broghton, I assure you. I just have other matters to attend to, the rest of the kingdom. This time has been wondrous. And when my schedule permits, I may come back for more days like these. Perhaps a different portrait, I really did not realize what my hair would look like from that angle."

"It looks lovely, your Ladyship," he assured me.

"You are a generous man," I told him.

"If I have enough time to set a plan, I will let you know in advance if I will be visiting the city." And we parted ways as friends, because it was past time for me to be back in my room and getting washed up, dressed, and made up. Gods forbid I smell like the common citizenry when I commingle with the upper crust. When I stepped out of my portal, Elica was already halfway through her preparations with Rinnie at her side.

And either Rinnie seemed to be warming up to Elica after all this time, or they were just too busy to be as sarcastic and indifferent to each other as usual. As soon as they noticed I was around they both got noticeably chillier towards each other. This was not helped when I walked into the restroom, and speedran my way through cleaning preparations and walked out as fresh as the dawn wearing a towel just fifteen seconds later. They can be jealous, that's all right.

I had my underwear flying over me and fitting itself to me before I tossed the towel, and then I started working on my dress. Lady Hanje had worked hard on this, but she's working with her limitations (sewing) and I'm working with my limitations (I'm close to running late). The dress that was laid out for tonight flew apart, all the seams disintegrating at once.

The panels of fabric flew out and swirled around me, then coalesced over my figure and fused together as if the fabric had been woven using my own body as the loom. And like that, I have manufactured myself a dress in seconds. Then I stood in front of the full-length mirror and altered it, adjusted it, made modifications to get it just precisely so, while silver combs teased out my hair and began sculpting it into something extraordinary.

I know the current fashion is supposed to be for wide swaths of starched lace at the collar and wrists, which is basically just steel wool laying flat against your skin. We do not have access to fine modern starches. But I have elected to modify this concept by sculpting my lace into arcing sprays that bent out away from the body like calla lilies. I even worked in some fine steel wires to help it hold its shape as it bloomed out. Maybe they want needlework lace but I don't have to itch all night just for this.

Besides, I think this looks better. Last week, I really did try. I made a proper good-faith effort to wear this season's Gharie style. But it was driving me crazy from the beginning and it never did get better. So now I'm adapting it to my needs. Elica glanced my way.

"Very glamorous. Did your woman make that for you?"

"Her vision used the Gharie lace," I said.

"I've made adjustments. Also, her version was an inch longer at the skirt and had some darts in at the hips that made my butt look flat, so I changed that. Also when I get there I'm probably going to adjust the color to correct for the lighting at the venue."

"Uh huh," she said dubiously.

"And you also slapped a professional designer who said you should be helping him?" I stamped my foot.

"I didn't slap him! I just made him wish I'd slapped him!" If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Rinnie chuckled.

"I heard you pulled a knife on him." I considered, rolling that in my head to try it on for size.

"I like that better. More my style. Let's circulate that one." Elica was working to keep one lid low for the eyelash curler without squinting or straining the other side.

"So, are you going to the Cardinal's induction? I figured you'd be there, church girl and all."

"Not this time," I said.

"I've got the planning committee for the blight benefit gala." She finished that side, and took a break to scratch an itch on her nose before she started the other side.

"I hadn't even heard about that one. Not on any of my lists. Skipping the Cardinal for that?" Lady Hanje had this whole plan. Everything was considered. For one thing, the Cardinal's party was going to be high profile, enough so that the royals were likely to be present. So that would create a lot of tension by itself, which would work against my advantage. The whole "Freckentops funded the blight" revelation is still pretty fresh, and I'd like to not have that fight in public at this time. Later.

For another thing, if I was there I'd be overshadowed by the number of dukes, earls, and royals on the premises. No chance to establish myself and pursue my own goals, just enough to weather the scorn of the Freckentops and all their allies. I need to stand out. So I can stand out at the planning committee.

I had a really great interaction last time I was out with planning committees, the empty-nesters and spinsters and confirmed bachelors all, who enjoyed a life of leisure by embracing as many hobbies as possible and joining as many organizations as they could, and gleefully volunteer their time to keep all these easily-overlooked functions running. They really seemed to like me, and they were really honored to have a ducal princess take an interest in their society. But our plan for me this season is about momentum.

Building it, mostly: a rolling snowball effect that grows as it goes. The crescendo is a four-week sequence of balls that pulls in more and more people until Everything Is About Me, putting me basically in charge of the next Fashion Week event. Not yet though- right now my role is to start small so I don't get overshadowed. At least that's how she explained it. Me, I assumed that the way to get momentum is to plant yourself at the target and push as hard as you can and keep pushing until you've got what you want.

But the problem with putting that much effort in, is that everyone can see you putting the effort in. And that's not really what we're going for here. I'll bend to her expertise even when it doesn't make sense to me, she's been doing this a while. Besides, I'm a genius at, like, a dozen things. I don't need to be smarter than her about this, too. I frequently have to acknowledge that I'm not infallible. So I learn to trust others. So this week, a small committee, friendly to me.

After all, they're hosting a charity benefit for the victims of the Berry Blight, and I'm a focal figure in fighting that pestilence, between the Freckentop reveal and the adventurer's army. Next week, a slightly more high-profile event, a birthday party for the Duke-Emeritus of Anquarry. And so on. From family feast to festival fling, I had a roadmap of parties to attend, and to make good impressions. Raise my profile each time. Make more connections. Introduce people, build alliances around me.

And while I'm at it, stay out of the way of the Freckentops until I can discredit them entirely. As it turned out, this party was also a great alibi for the last time anyone ever saw Lachel Freckentop alive.