Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 92: Ball

Valens leaned against the walls of the main door, taking in the view of his clinic.

He’d been at it for some time, as there was a lot to appreciate about his own work after spending most of the morning and part of the afternoon going over the little details.

The circuit he managed with the manastones was expertly hidden from the eyes, with each stone having been cocked into the wall and covered with a layer of stone shaped like a star that had six pointy ends. Through the tiny holes he opened in the edges of the star, mana poured from the manastones in a gentle sprinkle.

There was a long stretch in the middle of the door, with a chair by its side, while a grand cabinet dominated the whitewashed back wall, filled with glass vials. Most of them were empty, but after securing the ingredients, Valens was confident that he could prepare the first batch of penicillin in a few days. Painkillers and antipyretics would follow if he could keep up with the demand.

And lastly, there was a wooden table Valens placed across the door, by the cabinet, occupied with his diary and a few empty papers, a quill and a pen, a bottle of ink, and one unassuming piece of cloth wrapped around a little sphere.

He glanced at it for a while, thinking whether he should tell about the sphere to the Templars, but for the third time, he decided against it.

I’m sure it will be fine. Dealing with souls is not a simple matter, after all. A tiny sphere is nothing in the face of opening ethereal gates hidden inside people’s chests.

If anything, it would serve the operation if he could see the fates of his patients by using this Sphere of Veiled Fates. He still had little idea about the functions of this Cursed Artifact, but could there be a better place than his clinic to try out this thing?

It’ll be fine.

Right.

With most of the preparations already handled, Valens was left with one thing on his calendar: the mysterious invite he had received out of the blue.

He inquired about the nature of this invitation without disclosing that he was invited to what seemed like a secret meeting, and learned that Anguier Street was one of the most famous streets of Belgrave, situated in the wealthiest part of the city.

Lined with the capital estates of certain members of aristocracy, which would remain vacant in this time of the year since they often preferred the open air of their own lands across the country rather than the foggy stretches of Belgrave, the only way to buy your way into a place like that without having a glorious line of family behind you was to pay in cash.

Thousands of crowns, Percival told him, and that was only the beginning. The mansion staff, the yearly taxes, the cost of renovations… The list went on and on to keep up appearances.

While that amount of wealth was quite a deal in Belgrave, Valens was more interested in learning that he wouldn’t be visiting a murder house in the evening. That was enough for him to take his chances.

…

Valens stood in front of the windows, peering at the new version of himself, cleanly shaved and delicately dressed in silken clothes. He wore a black tailcoat with a sharp waist and long, split tails that flapped gently when he turned and let Selin fix the bow tie. Richly embroidered, the vest was stitched from a burgundy silk, topping the white dress shirt underneath it that had a starched high collar.

His black, slim-fitting trousers ended in a pair of black leather pumps, and as Valens wore the gloves and clasped the cane with his right hand, Selin stepped aside so that he could see his reflection on the dusty windows.

“We have to get a real mirror,” he muttered, looking at the high-nosed man caged in a dusty reflection, the suit slick with lights hanging from the ceiling. On its own, it looked highly uncomfortable and perhaps a little too colorful for his taste, but the heavenly softness across his skin did not lie.

"You look just like a Duke," Selin said, clapping with a grin. Then she turned, picked up the mask from the table, and gave Valens a playful curtsy. "My Lord."

“Stop it,” Valens said, chuckling. He glanced at the domino mask that had a thin strap to wrap around the head, covering only the eyes and a part of the nose. “I’ve never attended a masked ball… Never.”

“I’ve heard of these balls,” Selin said, smoothing the side of Valens’s coat. “In one of the magazines, they were described as the secret meetings of the rich.”

"Let’s just hope the inside catches up with the outside," Valens said, fingers brushing the few bills in his pocket that didn’t quite match the cut of his suit. "Though I doubt I’ll get there anytime soon."

“Why would you say that?” Selin asked.

"Because," Valens said, pointing at his reflection, "I look like a pompous idiot, and not the broke kind. Our neighbors aren't going to love this getup. Or worse, they'll love it too much and try to take their share. Maybe I should just tape a note to my back that says something like: Still poor, don’t worry."

“You can take care of yourself, Mr. Kosthal,” Selin giggled. “I think even if they try to take a piece of you, I’m sure they will regret it the moment they attempt to do such a thing.”

“You’re right,” Valens turned to her. He wished he could take her with him, but the mysterious host only sent a fancy suit to him and a single invitation. “I do have that magic license, after all.”

Selin eyed him up and down, one hand over her hip, before nodding her head as if she had made a difficult decision. “I suppose it’ll serve you well if we go over a few important points.”

“Important points?”

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“The ball etiquette,” Selin nodded. “As we both know, you’re not the kind who likes to keep things to yourself. No, you’re most certainly not. You like to make your point loud and clear, but I’m afraid you can’t do that in a masked ball.”

Valens was nearly offended when he saw the look in Selin’s way. “Do you really—“

“Even being crammed in a carriage with a group of Templars hasn’t scared you shut. So yes, I do believe that is a problem,” Selin said, pointing a finger at his face. “When you’re inside the ballroom, you will have to be ambiguous in your speech. You can say whatever you want as long as you hide it with a riddle or wordplay. Do not, on any occasion, directly scold anyone. For all you’re aware, the person you’re speaking to could be a Baron, or even a Duke.”

“Don’t tell me if I do such a thing they’re going to hang me again,” Valens said. “I don’t think that threat has the same weight as they think it does when used against me. I’m terribly bored of it, as it is.”

“No. They’re not going to hang you just because you said a few bad words. What they will do is to shun you, or ask you to kindly excuse yourself out of the room, which we don’t want to happen.”

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“Yes,” Selin nodded with strength.

“I understand—“

“We’re not yet finished,” Selin said. “If this is a masked ball, then there will be a dance. As a gentleman, it will fall on you to invite a lady to a dance. When you do it, you should bow slightly first,”—she demonstrated it quite clearly—“then respectfully offer a gloved hand. If she accepts, and likely she will, you’ll escort her to the dance floor, and depending on the music, you’ll either waltz, quadrille—“

“Wait… Wait a second,” Valens pulled up a hand. “I don’t know any of those.”

A dark cloud passed over Selin’s face, then she pouted while tapping a finger to her lips. “We still have a few hours. If we practice enough, I think you can do it.”

What is happening right now?

“Yes,” Selin clenched a fist. “We can do it. And while we’re at it, I can teach you the other important bits. But we should start immediately. I’ll go change.”

“But—“

“No buts, Mr. Kosthal!” Selin reprimanded as she bolted toward her room, the heels of her feet kicking high. “I won’t have you make a clown out of yourself in that ball! I won’t have it!”

“Uh.” Valens rubbed his face. This whole thing turned out to be a lot more complicated than he expected.

……

They sent a carriage with a coachman who looked equally generous like the golden straps fixed across the horses, their manes oily with smooth, black fur. The old man who rode the carriage was waiting with his hands tied around his back, lips perfectly sealed, and clothes perfectly clean, as if there was something magical about them that kept the reek and dirt of the street away.

“Step, step, then bow,” Selin reminded Valens as she walked Valens to the door. “Try not to be too stiff. Let your body sway with the flow of music. You should—“

“Alright, I understand,” Valens shushed her. A Life Archmagus he might be, but still his head spun after that concentrated effort they’d just gone through in the last few hours. “But I doubt our little session will be enough to make a professional gentleman of me. You did your best, I’ll take it from here.”

I’ll just try to stay quiet. That’ll work.

“Your mask,” Selin said, giving him the domino mask as Valens stepped out the door, hiding her smile with a hand. She enjoyed herself too much today, and to Valens, that was a bargain he would take any day.

Down the stairs, he saw the guardian waiting under that same pole again, exchanged glances with him, and made his way to the carriage. The old coachman silently, without making eye contact, opened the door to the carriage and bowed.

“Don’t be too stiff,” Valens mumbled, and that earned him a glance from the coachman. “You have to be careful, eh? We can go. I’m quite interested to meet the mysterious person behind all of this.”

“Mr. Gray will be glad to see your presence,” the old coachman muttered, then gently closed the door.

The whips cracked across the silence of the street, the dreary skies losing the touch of the filtered sunlight slowly as the carriage set out toward the rich ring of Belgrave.

Valens made himself comfortable around the cushioned seats, setting the hat, the cane, and the mask aside. He peered out into the passing streets, letting the wind caress his face.

A part of him wondered whether he should’ve let the captain and others know about this sudden invite, but he quickly dismissed that after learning the street belonged to the rich part of the city.

After all, what could possibly happen while he was surrounded by the high-nosed, pompous, and rich folk of Belgrave?

No, seeing the other side of life here was too alluring. Sure, the dance part had its troubles, but there was nothing like exploring a culture in person. There would be food, too, and liquor of fancy origins. Above all, however, was the reason why he was invited in the first place.

Did I make that big of an impression that they’ve heard about me?

Either way, he wasn’t too worried as he would get his answers soon.

Around an hour later, he knew, thanks to the pocket watch that came with the fancy suit, that the carriage had arrived at the mansion.

Built from soot-darkened stone, bearing tall, arched windows with carved pediments, wrought-iron balconies, and elaborate cornices with ivy crawling along one side, the place was a giant of a house that loomed beyond the high walls.

Lined across the street were carriages hauling esteemed guests to the party, with coachmen and maids accompanying their Masters in practiced silence. There was a smell of perfume lingering in the air, slightly acidic as different odors mixed into each other, but not entirely bothersome to the nose. Quite the opposite, in fact, there was a certain sweetness to it.

Once outside the carriage, Valens was gently reminded of the existence of his mask by not just the masked people across the street, but also by a look from the old coachman himself. Strapping it to his eyes, he tapped the cane in a rhythm as he was ushered by the old man toward the grand entrance.

And what an entrance it was. A giant staircase led to a set of heavy double doors framed by mana lamps and lanterns. Above the door, looking down at the lines of guests entering inside, was a stained glass window with what Valens assumed was the family crest.

The crest was shaped oddly like the fingers of a hand. Four of the fingers had already withered, leaving only the index finger depicted in the rosy color of perfectly healthy skin.

Is that a symbol of youth? A biting remark to the other families perhaps? To say to them while they’re withering in time, this family stands proud and prime as ever?

Valens wasn’t sure, but he didn’t have the time to ponder on it since the line of masked men and women spilled into the entrance hall in quick procession. He allowed himself to get dragged by their march, taking in the richness of the mansion, studying the walls and the pictures hung across them, appreciating the sheer enormity of it like a kid recently out from his poor little stall.

He wasn’t just impressed by the material side of it, too, as the Resonance was marked with clear and muddy rhythms of frequencies here, like a melody of music too complex for the human mind. The highs and lows of it danced in equal measure, telling him that while some of the men and women here looked painfully brittle, they hid under their veils a force brimming with strength. The Classes were hidden, of course, as demanded by the rules of etiquette.

Thankfully, there was a legion of servants waiting to guide each member of this glorified march, of which one of them neared Valens when he reached the end of the entrance hall.

“Mr. Kosthal, this way,” the young man muttered, bowing respectfully at him with one hand to his back, the other stretched out toward one of the side halls in an inviting gesture.

“You.” Valens paused at the sight of him. “How do you know my name?”

And what good is this bloody mask if you can recognize me right away?

“It is my duty to serve the distinguished guests of Mr. Gray,” the young man said, smiling as if he expected this question. “And you are, Mr. Kosthal, one of the most expected guests tonight.”

“I am?” Valens frowned.

“This way, please,” the young man said. “Your friends are already here and waiting for you.”

My friends? What?

......