Delphine Inland

The entry of two elders, Crisante's tutors, allows the domestic debate to begin. Bolded and with faces red from the summer heat, the two take their places at the table between the Prince and Judas.

Massimiliano took his place next to Camelia, to the left of the Praetor-Duke, in front of the swollen brat. Crisante continues to whine and throw some insults. Camelia keeps her head bowed. Her cheeks are still red from her crying.

“So, now that we are all here in this room. We can get started.” The Praetor-Duke Judas Delphine stands up, looking at the faces of those present one at a time. Wrapped in formal clothing, the old officer's uniform with the tassel draping from the shoulder, the man seems even more imposing and austere.

Massimiliano looks away, disturbed by the severity of that expression. It is the expression of someone who is tired and has to deal with an unpleasant task. It does not bode well.

“Well. If no one has anything to say, Camelia will speak first.”

The girl flinches, but the Praetor-Duke presses on.

“I understand that you hit my son, is that right?”

“Yes, it is! Blessed Father, Blessed Father! Look how she has reduced me. How she has reduced my very precious clothes—”

“Enough.”

Crisante has a moment of hesitation. Looking at him, Massimiliano feels revulsion. Disgust. How can he be so vile? What does he want to earn? The purpose of a servant is to serve, to be useful. How would this farce be useful?

He treats us like toys that he despises, that's all.

“Camelia, you can talk now.”

The girl pulls her and passes a forearm over her face, wiping her tears. She raises her head, she nods. She tries not to start crying again by squeezing her eyes shut.

Massimiliano would like to give her some words of comfort, but this is not the time. If they call him, it means they will make him talk. He has to be patient until the right moment.

“I hit him. I slapped him.”

“Ha.” Judas sinks into his chair, sighing. “This is serious.”

Crisante starts hopping on the chair and smiles evilly. Massimiliano is about to intervene, but the master's voice interrupts him.

“And tell us, why did you slap him?”

“He deserved it,” Camelia whispers.

“What?”

“Because he deserved it.”

The Praetor-Duke drums his fingers on the table.

“Let me decide that. Also, the tension has made you forget about etiquette, Camelia. I am the fourth authority in this house. So, I demand respect.”

“Your Beatitude. I believe she intends—”

“Not now, Massimiliano. I will be the one to ask you when and if to intervene.”

Massimiliano is silent. He starts playing with the curl of his mustache, tapping his heel under the table. Judas is a good gentleman, moderate, and rarely loses his temper. It is also true that, in this specific case, the son's safety is involved. Massimiliano cannot blame him for his abrupt manner.

The fourth authority… fourth authority…

He is worth less than Viola-Eleonora, the Herbalist Witch, and the Wall Witch. Yet he is the only one to administer the palace and the Delphine properties. He is the family's grand treasurer, a role that would fall to Crisante in the future.

A role that this brat could never fill.

“Crisante, son. Now we know you are telling the truth, in part. Tell us again, so who tore your clothes and beat you?”

Crisante points the finger at Camelia.

“She, she, it was her! A Witch, a bad Witch!”

The Praetor-Duke raises a hand to his face. He snorts.

“Again, with this nonsense!?”

Massimiliano senses resignation in those words.

“Blessed Father, I tell you it's her. It was her!”

“Okay, son. Let's continue this farce. Massimiliano, you witnessed the scene, right?"

“Yes, I saw the whole scene.”

“So, I would appreciate it if you gave us your version.”

With a nod of assent, Massimiliano stands up.

“Your Beatitude, I thank you for the trust in me you have.”

“Cut.”

“As you wish. I do not remember the exact words. So, I will stick to the facts. The Noble Prince stole an important piece of evidence from me, currently being analyzed by the Holy Herbalist Witch, found near the sanctuary.”

“What story is this?”

The faces of the two tutors and Judas reflect their perplexity.

Massimiliano clears his throat.

“This morning, I found a magical object near the sanctuary. It may relate to the confusion that afflicted Your Holiness yesterday.”

“It's not true, it's not true! It was a stupid stick! A stupid stick that the butler played with instead of working!”

“Crisante, stop it!”

Judas slams his fist on the table. The brat goes quiet.

“Continue, Massimiliano.”

“Yes, Your Beatitude. He took it away and pushed me to the ground to get it.”

“LIE!”

The child lets out an excruciating scream. Massimiliano tries to pretend to be indifferent and appeals to the good name of his family, who worked so hard to make him become a servant of the nobles.

When the child finishes screaming, he bursts into tears, and the two tutors rush to console him.

The Praetor-Duke signals the butler to continue.

“At that point, Camelia slapped the Prince. He tore his clothes himself in an attack of rage. I cannot say anything about the bruises since he ran away immediately afterward. I found the enchanted rod broken further in the garden.”

“Is it from the Herbalist Witch now?” Judas looks blank.

“Yes, Your Beatitude, but I am bound to secrecy.” Which is a lie, but Massimiliano knows full well that a Witch's Husband has no authority to dispute such a statement.

“Well. Your words would explain everything. Spouses Orsini, tell me, have there been similar cases in the past? Has my child ever hurt himself, broken things, or attacked you during a class?”

The two tutors exchange a look, look at the child in their arms whose nose is running, and nod in unison.

“No, the Noble Prince is a volcano of creativity, of playfulness. He would never do anything cruel. Sometimes he is a little... exuberant... yes, exuberant, but he is so sweet.”

“I doubt her sister thinks that way.”

Camelia speaks through hostilely gritted teeth.

Massimiliano looks at her worriedly, looks at the annoyed Praetor-Duke and the indifferent gendarmes.

“Camelia, perhaps I was wrong to hire you. But we will talk about this later. What you say is true. Respected Orsini, it is clear that you are covering for my son.”

Indignation and regret shine through the contrite expressions of the sweaty tutors.

“Your Beatitude,” the tutor attacks, “do not you want to ruin the life of your Noble Prince?”

“That child is not a Prince. He is a snake. And you are two incompetent flatterers. You just confirmed it to me. 10,000 Lire each for the terrible service of educators, and now, go away and pack your bags. The compensation is in envelopes placed on your pillows.”

“But! Your Beatitude! This is—”

With a clap of their hands, two gendarmes separate from the group to ‘escort’ the two elderly people out of the room.

Massimiliano looks at Judas, amazed.

“Massimiliano, my friend and faithful servant. Do you believe it? Can you believe that I have to find myself a schemer-poisoner daughter and a son who... I don't even know how to say, look at you, Crisante, you're wrong. I made a mistake as a parent.”

Silence falls in the room.

The Praetor-Duke regains the attitude that the role requires.

“Camelia, you're fired too. I respect your patience. You will find a thousand Lire in an envelope on your pillow. Massimiliano will prepare a cover letter. You will surely find work in Ampra. As much as I, and the Noble Princess Viola-Maria, like you, I cannot ignore the fact that you hit a Noble. They are strict laws, but they are laws. You can go now.”

A gendarme arrives to cut the rope on Camelia's wrists. They leave in silence. Massimiliano observes how he is left alone in the room with a gendarme, the Praetor-Duke, and Crisante.

“You, Crisante, will be temporarily removed from the palace. What happened today is of little importance. Your Holiness Mother and I had already decided when you destroyed the Wall Witch's crystal wand last week.”

“It wasn't me.”

“It was you. She saw you.”

“The Orsini say I was with them.”

A vein bulges the Judas' neck.

“The Witch saw you, period.”

“You're a monster! I'm not your fucking son!” The Prince bursts into tears yet again.

More screaming than crying. Massimiliano notes. Although he has a red neck and cheeks, the Prince's eyes are not bright. Even when he sobs, he only sheds one, maximum two, tears.

But what do I care? I should cry with joy. Finally, they send you far away.

“Serve the witches! You serve witches, and you are evil! I become a wizard!”

Those speeches. Those speeches, again. Judas and Massimiliano exchange silent glances, capable of being mutually comforting.

“Crisante, stop it. You're talking about wizards, wizards, wizards. You have broken every limit. Tonight, you will leave for your aunt and uncle's house. Go live in Nezevia and come back when you are an adult. Massimiliano, it is your duty to prepare a letter.”

Massimiliano bows, holding back a smile.

“As you wish, Your Beatitude.”

The Praetor-Duke stands up, leaving the room. Crisante runs away, screaming terrible things and knocking over the chair. The gendarme goes in pursuit to prevent further damage.

Massimiliano reaches for the chair and puts it back. He still feels tense, but a sort of lightness has crept into him. It happened. That evil child will no longer be in the palace.

Finally, alone, the butler lets out a laugh.

At his room desk, Massimiliano finishes typing the letter for Camelia.

Words like ‘honest,’ ‘virtuous,’ ‘diligent,’ and ‘patient’, come up again. And again. Maybe too many. Writing letters is an art. There are subtexts and unsaid things that the astute reader manages to grasp. Insisting too much on certain traits only achieves the effect of emphasizing their opposites.

But maybe I'm giving it too much weight.

Camelia. Massimiliano thinks back to the girl, probably locked in her room, preparing a few things.

With a letter signed by the Delphine butler, she will have no problems, of course. But outside the palace walls, life is hard. He knows. She knows as well.

And it's all because of that spoiled brat.

Sighing, Massimiliano takes the sheet out of the printing press. He signs in pen, stamps with the ring of the First Servant of the Third Witch, and folds the paper to place it inside the envelope and decorated with the Delphine aegis. The paper is watermarked and with the emblem in relief.

Once the envelope is posted, the butler inserts a new sheet of paper from the stack into the machine. He stands there staring at it for a few moments.

And now, what do I write?

If writing to favor a maid is one thing, writing to punish a noble is another.

More than subtexts and careful choice of words.

He risks ending up on the streets with a courtesy pension. Not that he thinks it could happen. Massimiliano is quite sure. He is in Judas' good graces. If not Viola-Eleonora herself.

I just have to stay in my place and be diligent until my chance comes.

Relaxing by cracking his knuckles, Massimiliano starts typing the letter. He has to rewrite it a couple of times due to typos.

In the end, he feels satisfied. A letter full of beautiful words. Only beautiful words, in which it appears to the attentive eye that they are false. No one would want to punish the child described in the letter. Pious, gentle, and intelligent that even a mischievous person, like the Seventy-Seventh Witch, would be moved to meet him.

But.

There is a big ‘But’ which makes the letter an impeccable exercise in diplomacy. These qualities have potential. The Noble Prince needs the help of his noble uncles to express this potential.

There are lots of flattery, no one offended, and years of freedom from that little monster.

Massimiliano is rereading the letter one last time when he hears a knock on the door.

“Sir Massimiliano, I am Federico from the palace's east wing.”

“Federico, is not your day off?”

“Sir, my shift has been rescheduled as Carla is in the hospital.”

“Yeah, bad fall. I told her not to use the old ladder.”

“Hm, Sir.”

“I guess you are not just here to tell me about the shift change.”

“Indeed, I would, but you are the only authorized servant. Your Holiness has returned. She requests an audience with Your Holiness the Herbalist Witch and Your Holiness the Wall Witch.”

Massimiliano puts paper and pen on the desk. The letters will have to wait.

Summoning the Wall Witch is a great honor of the First Servant of House Delphine. Massimiliano yawns as he thinks: how many ‘honors’ he acquired in those handfuls of years of service.

There is an accessible astronomical tower in the westernmost wing of the palace, crossing a covered bridge. It is a pointed tower with an astronomical clock on the facade and an entire circular floor adorned only with stained-glass walls. There is the balcony where the Witch's eight telescopes are placed. Massimiliano looks from the window of the corridor of the covered bridge.

He does not need to advance any further. A girl with a pointed hat and lace dress full of pink, blue, and black tassels approaches him. A large bow covers the mussel-owl aegis, which the pink-haired young woman is ashamed of.

Witch no. 42,750 if the ranking has not changed recently.

Massimiliano knows that the higher the ranking volatility, the less important the Witch is considered. The Delphine have always been Third Witches, buried in the sanctuary for generations. And so do the Corallas and practically all the other witches in Parliament.

Making a bow, Maximilian stands in the Witch's way.

“Oh, butler. Were you coming to me?”

“Your Holiness the Third Witch summons you, Your Holiness.”

“How ridiculous is it that you have to repeat titles? It seems Delphine sent you to summon herself.” The Witch starts laughing.

Massimiliano sighs. He has always thought so. But expressing opposition or making fun of etiquette could cost him dearly. There were quite a few servants, deceived by mischievous witches, which is what the Wall Witch is.

A mischievous short witch that reaches up to his shoulder.

“Ho, how serious you are. Always upright, please. Maybe one day you'll take over from that trombone Duke. You know?”

“Your Holiness, please follow me.”

“Ho, alright. Wouldn't you like to try a biscuit and some tea? It won't take long. You'll see that Delphine won't even notice.”

Looking up at the ceiling, Massimiliano shakes his head.

It's hard to deal with some people.