None of the guards could be sighted near the end of the chamber.
That's not to suggest they didn't exist. They were simply buried beneath the ever mounting snow. Every now and again, a frozen head could be seen fashionably erected from their white prison, their face contorted in horror as they realised the grimness of their fate.
“La laa la, la la laaaa~ La la laaa, la laaa la~”
I frowned, Starlight Grace in hand as I swept my way through this large chamber preceding where I knew Aquina's riches to be waiting … as well as the owner of that mysterious voice.
The voice whose haunting lullaby played in my ear.
It was louder now, and more visceral. Each note echoed like a drip of water in a well. But I didn't stop to appreciate the dulcet tones sweeping over me—for the simple reason that I'd listened to far better.
Ohohohohoho!
This … This was the definition of a 7/10!
Such a ploy to create an atmosphere to unnerve was as conspicuous as it was doomed to failure!
Perhaps to peasants enamoured with the music of their axes whacking at trees or their backs breaking as they carried the weight of our agricultural economy, this haunting lullaby would be enough to frighten their uncultured hearts—but to me, it was utterly mediocre!
I was a princess, and that meant I was a frequent guest of honour at the Royal Arc Theatre! I've listened to the greatest sopranos of our time! Witnessed the rise and fall of superstars! Thrown rotten apples at songstresses whose aria contained even a single misplaced note!
Ohohohoho … to me, this lullaby was worthy of the entire crate of rotten apple I had by my side.
I was a princess, and my standards didn't begin at mediocre.
Indeed, were I sat in my royal box upon the theatre balcony, I would launch every apple, pear and banana by my side. All the rotten fruit I'd carefully chosen for their high moisture content and natural aerodynamics would find a fitting home at the owner of this utterly second-rate voice.
Sadly, I had nothing to throw now. And so as I've done so often on this excursion, I had to make do.
“Cease your incessant abuse of music once!” I called out, my voice absorbed by the frozen walls. “Choose between the melodic minor or the natural minor and commit to it! And for the sake of my ears, learn the difference between F and F#! Each semitone you raise incorrectly overpowers even the wailing of a banshee!”
A pause.
A silence.
A mercy.
And then—
“La laA la, LA la laaAaA~ LaaA la laaAa, la laAAaa la~”
I quietly groaned.
I was willing to suffer much for my cause. But enduring singing which violently careened between middling and a dying cat was a sacrifice that only nobility who couldn't afford to sponsor their own shows should be making.
“Eh, it's not that bad,” said Coppelia, failing instantly as a critic. “I've heard worse. If you want ear grating, you should listen to your snores.”
I stopped.
Then, I turned to Coppelia with my mouth wide open.
She was ready with a smile in hand.
“Just kidding~”
I pursed my lips, instantly returning to trudging my way through the snow. But not without first giving a small huff of indignation.
“I do not snore,” I said, my chin raised high.
“Got it. Those noises at night?”
“Blue-tailed hummingbirds. Their snores are known to pierce walls. If you hear something unladylike coming from my direction, then assume a nest is nearby.”
Coppelia gave a tinkling laugh.
“Well, I think those hummingbirds sound cute.”
“... Really?”
“Mmh. Your sn … your hummingbird's snores are surprisingly enamouring. After a while, at least. Not at all like this singing. All this has going for it is spookiness. Speaking of which—”
Coppelia effortlessly skipped past me, leaning down to poke at a guard's frozen cheek.
She'd done that with all of them.
“7.5/10,” she declared.
I peered at the head sticking out of the snow as I approached.
It looked exactly like all the others.
“Why is this head better than the last head?” I queried. “Slightly more springy?”
“Slightly worse, actually.”
“... Implying you're judging them on a criteria other than texture?”
“Of course. Texture's important. As an award winning ice sculptor myself, I like to note the finish as I poke them. No, this one gets two points for the eye effect.”
“The eye effect?”
“Yup. I can see this man's eyes practically glaring at me no matter where I poke him. What do you think? 7.5/10?”
I leaned closer to the guard's frozen face. Unlike Coppelia, my ratings were far less haphazard. I was studious in my hateful criticism of all art not created by me.
Despite the man's expression locked in primordial confusion, I could almost see his eyes judging Coppelia as she relentlessly poked him.
I hummed while assessing the originality of the exhibit.
Ice was more vogue than stone as a means of petrification these days. The non-standard expression needed to be acknowledged. Confusion was far more terrifying than simple grief and agony. And points had to be given for the glimmer of consciousness still behind those eyes. A deft touch which hinted at the sadism behind the frozen onslaught.
“4.5/10.”
“Eh, is that it?”
“A score for an art piece which the incumbent of this castle doesn't deserve. But one which may yet rise or fall depending on what's behind … that.”
Quack, quack. Quack, quack.
I set my attention on where the duck had halted.
A large, arched door waited at the end of the chamber.
It blocked the duck's path and mine, its defences evident by the simple fact it was aglow with enough colour to shoo away even a curious badger.
A magically sealed vault door.
This chamber was merely the entry. A guard post for those tasked with defending the wealth of the Duchy of Aquina, hidden away behind an arched door only compromised by the snow billowing out from underneath it.
The task ahead was clear.
… To stop the progressively worsening voice!
“La laA la, LA la laaAaA~ LaaA la laaAa, la laAAaa la~”
I quietly groaned.
My ears. This must be what peasants heard each time they hummed. Even so, if this was the worst of the terrors before me, then I would face it head-on!
And by that, I mean Coppelia would!
A clockwork doll's touch was required here. Specifically, a touch consisting of enchanted steel that was much more impervious to whatever magical defences the door possessed. And truly just a touch.
We couldn't risk any unnecessary activation of the door's alarms, and that meant the use of subterfuge over brute force.
“[Coppelia Kick]!”
Bwam.
Thus, the wards upon the vault doors angrily glowed as Coppelia roundhouse kicked it with a smile. The duck flapped its wings in disapproval. And if I had wings, I would have done so as well.
Instead, I raised my arms, exasperated that I had to suffer through this each time we needed to bypass a locked door.
“Coppelia! We've talked about this before! What happened to discretion?”
My future handmaiden beamed, finding joy in the simple things.
“Hey, it's always worth testing to see if a door can be kicked down first. It doesn't matter how fancy a lock is if the hinges are no good.”
“This isn't a shopkeeper's door. It's a vault to a treasury. It cannot be forced.”
“... Should I try again?”
I thought about it.
“That depends,” I conceded. “Do you have any knowledge of locks, by any chance?”
I pointed at the giant keyhole in the door. The one Coppelia had somehow missed, given how her eyes glittered in response.
“Why, as a matter of fact, I do!”
“Oh? Truly?”
“I'm an assistant librarian. I must've told you about how many books I've read, right? I'm a beacon of learning. I have a vast array of hidden knowledge regarding all manner of mechanisms, doodads and bar tricks involving cocktail glasses. Watch.”
Coppelia leaned down, pressing her eye up against the keyhole.
After several moments of humming, she looked up at me with a confident smile.
“Okay! I know how to get past this.”
“Excellent!” I clapped my hands together. “How?”
“We need something called … a key.”
I felt my shoulders slumping with the weight of Coppelia's cheerfulness.
“We don't have a key. That's certain to be on Duke Valence, and I'd rather headbutt this door than be forced to take in his expression before it's suitably aghast from having his entire wealth requisitioned to the Royal Treasury.”
“Well, it's time to get your forehead game on, then. Because I'm pretty sure you'd need a really intricate lockpicking device to break through this.”
I raised my sword.
“I mean, really intricate,” added Coppelia.
I gave it a moment's thought.
Then, I raised my sword again.
“I'm serious,” she said, apparently not knowing that I was too. “There are loads of bits in there. And also sparks. I'm pretty sure if you stuck something in there that's not expressly key shaped, everything will explode.”
She looked between the keyhole, my sword and my thoughtful expression.
After a moment, Coppelia leaned slightly away.
“You're going to stick your sword into the magically warded keyhole full of explosives, aren't you?”
“Don't be silly. Just because I genuinely believe I might be able to use my tried and tested multi-purpose sword as a key to a magical door doesn't mean that I'd do it.”
“Really?”
I paused.
“My sword has never failed me,” I said, indignant on its behalf. “Nor has my delicate touch. Why, I've no doubt that so long as no unnecessary disturbance finds me, I'd be able to use Starlight Grace to break through any of Aquina's defences.”
“—Ahem!”
All of a sudden, an unfamiliar voice sounded from behind.
Coppelia and I turned around.
Barely a few steps away, an elven woman stood before us.
Tall and slender, she boasted long silver hair and eyes as blue as the deepest ocean. By her hip was a sword, its distinctive hilt instantly giving away its identity as a weapon of elven masterwork.
She smiled, then teased the edge of a sapphire pommel with her fingertips.
“Hi there!” said Ophelia the Snow Dancer. “It's me. An unnecessary disturbance.”
None of the guards could be sighted near the end of the chamber.
That's not to suggest they didn't exist. They were simply buried beneath the ever mounting snow. Every now and again, a frozen head could be seen fashionably erected from their white prison, their face contorted in horror as they realised the grimness of their fate.
“La laa la, la la laaaa~ La la laaa, la laaa la~”
I frowned, Starlight Grace in hand as I swept my way through this large chamber preceding where I knew Aquina's riches to be waiting … as well as the owner of that mysterious voice.
The voice whose haunting lullaby played in my ear.
It was louder now, and more visceral. Each note echoed like a drip of water in a well. But I didn't stop to appreciate the dulcet tones sweeping over me—for the simple reason that I'd listened to far better.
Ohohohohoho!
This … This was the definition of a 7/10!
Such a ploy to create an atmosphere to unnerve was as conspicuous as it was doomed to failure!
Perhaps to peasants enamoured with the music of their axes whacking at trees or their backs breaking as they carried the weight of our agricultural economy, this haunting lullaby would be enough to frighten their uncultured hearts—but to me, it was utterly mediocre!
I was a princess, and that meant I was a frequent guest of honour at the Royal Arc Theatre! I've listened to the greatest sopranos of our time! Witnessed the rise and fall of superstars! Thrown rotten apples at songstresses whose aria contained even a single misplaced note!
Ohohohoho … to me, this lullaby was worthy of the entire crate of rotten apple I had by my side.
I was a princess, and my standards didn't begin at mediocre.
Indeed, were I sat in my royal box upon the theatre balcony, I would launch every apple, pear and banana by my side. All the rotten fruit I'd carefully chosen for their high moisture content and natural aerodynamics would find a fitting home at the owner of this utterly second-rate voice.
Sadly, I had nothing to throw now. And so as I've done so often on this excursion, I had to make do.
“Cease your incessant abuse of music once!” I called out, my voice absorbed by the frozen walls. “Choose between the melodic minor or the natural minor and commit to it! And for the sake of my ears, learn the difference between F and F#! Each semitone you raise incorrectly overpowers even the wailing of a banshee!”
A pause.
A silence.
A mercy.
And then—
“La laA la, LA la laaAaA~ LaaA la laaAa, la laAAaa la~”
I quietly groaned.
I was willing to suffer much for my cause. But enduring singing which violently careened between middling and a dying cat was a sacrifice that only nobility who couldn't afford to sponsor their own shows should be making.
“Eh, it's not that bad,” said Coppelia, failing instantly as a critic. “I've heard worse. If you want ear grating, you should listen to your snores.”
I stopped.
Then, I turned to Coppelia with my mouth wide open.
She was ready with a smile in hand.
“Just kidding~”
I pursed my lips, instantly returning to trudging my way through the snow. But not without first giving a small huff of indignation.
“I do not snore,” I said, my chin raised high.
“Got it. Those noises at night?”
“Blue-tailed hummingbirds. Their snores are known to pierce walls. If you hear something unladylike coming from my direction, then assume a nest is nearby.”
Coppelia gave a tinkling laugh.
“Well, I think those hummingbirds sound cute.”
“... Really?”
“Mmh. Your sn … your hummingbird's snores are surprisingly enamouring. After a while, at least. Not at all like this singing. All this has going for it is spookiness. Speaking of which—”
Coppelia effortlessly skipped past me, leaning down to poke at a guard's frozen cheek.
She'd done that with all of them.
“7.5/10,” she declared.
I peered at the head sticking out of the snow as I approached.
It looked exactly like all the others.
“Why is this head better than the last head?” I queried. “Slightly more springy?”
“Slightly worse, actually.”
“... Implying you're judging them on a criteria other than texture?”
“Of course. Texture's important. As an award winning ice sculptor myself, I like to note the finish as I poke them. No, this one gets two points for the eye effect.”
“The eye effect?”
“Yup. I can see this man's eyes practically glaring at me no matter where I poke him. What do you think? 7.5/10?”
I leaned closer to the guard's frozen face. Unlike Coppelia, my ratings were far less haphazard. I was studious in my hateful criticism of all art not created by me.
Despite the man's expression locked in primordial confusion, I could almost see his eyes judging Coppelia as she relentlessly poked him.
I hummed while assessing the originality of the exhibit.
Ice was more vogue than stone as a means of petrification these days. The non-standard expression needed to be acknowledged. Confusion was far more terrifying than simple grief and agony. And points had to be given for the glimmer of consciousness still behind those eyes. A deft touch which hinted at the sadism behind the frozen onslaught.
“4.5/10.”
“Eh, is that it?”
“A score for an art piece which the incumbent of this castle doesn't deserve. But one which may yet rise or fall depending on what's behind … that.”
Quack, quack. Quack, quack.
I set my attention on where the duck had halted.
A large, arched door waited at the end of the chamber.
It blocked the duck's path and mine, its defences evident by the simple fact it was aglow with enough colour to shoo away even a curious badger.
A magically sealed vault door.
This chamber was merely the entry. A guard post for those tasked with defending the wealth of the Duchy of Aquina, hidden away behind an arched door only compromised by the snow billowing out from underneath it.
The task ahead was clear.
… To stop the progressively worsening voice!
“La laA la, LA la laaAaA~ LaaA la laaAa, la laAAaa la~”
I quietly groaned.
My ears. This must be what peasants heard each time they hummed. Even so, if this was the worst of the terrors before me, then I would face it head-on!
And by that, I mean Coppelia would!
A clockwork doll's touch was required here. Specifically, a touch consisting of enchanted steel that was much more impervious to whatever magical defences the door possessed. And truly just a touch.
We couldn't risk any unnecessary activation of the door's alarms, and that meant the use of subterfuge over brute force.
“[Coppelia Kick]!”
Bwam.
Thus, the wards upon the vault doors angrily glowed as Coppelia roundhouse kicked it with a smile. The duck flapped its wings in disapproval. And if I had wings, I would have done so as well.
Instead, I raised my arms, exasperated that I had to suffer through this each time we needed to bypass a locked door.
“Coppelia! We've talked about this before! What happened to discretion?”
My future handmaiden beamed, finding joy in the simple things.
“Hey, it's always worth testing to see if a door can be kicked down first. It doesn't matter how fancy a lock is if the hinges are no good.”
“This isn't a shopkeeper's door. It's a vault to a treasury. It cannot be forced.”
“... Should I try again?”
I thought about it.
“That depends,” I conceded. “Do you have any knowledge of locks, by any chance?”
I pointed at the giant keyhole in the door. The one Coppelia had somehow missed, given how her eyes glittered in response.
“Why, as a matter of fact, I do!”
“Oh? Truly?”
“I'm an assistant librarian. I must've told you about how many books I've read, right? I'm a beacon of learning. I have a vast array of hidden knowledge regarding all manner of mechanisms, doodads and bar tricks involving cocktail glasses. Watch.”
Coppelia leaned down, pressing her eye up against the keyhole.
After several moments of humming, she looked up at me with a confident smile.
“Okay! I know how to get past this.”
“Excellent!” I clapped my hands together. “How?”
“We need something called … a key.”
I felt my shoulders slumping with the weight of Coppelia's cheerfulness.
“We don't have a key. That's certain to be on Duke Valence, and I'd rather headbutt this door than be forced to take in his expression before it's suitably aghast from having his entire wealth requisitioned to the Royal Treasury.”
“Well, it's time to get your forehead game on, then. Because I'm pretty sure you'd need a really intricate lockpicking device to break through this.”
I raised my sword.
“I mean, really intricate,” added Coppelia.
I gave it a moment's thought.
Then, I raised my sword again.
“I'm serious,” she said, apparently not knowing that I was too. “There are loads of bits in there. And also sparks. I'm pretty sure if you stuck something in there that's not expressly key shaped, everything will explode.”
She looked between the keyhole, my sword and my thoughtful expression.
After a moment, Coppelia leaned slightly away.
“You're going to stick your sword into the magically warded keyhole full of explosives, aren't you?”
“Don't be silly. Just because I genuinely believe I might be able to use my tried and tested multi-purpose sword as a key to a magical door doesn't mean that I'd do it.”
“Really?”
I paused.
“My sword has never failed me,” I said, indignant on its behalf. “Nor has my delicate touch. Why, I've no doubt that so long as no unnecessary disturbance finds me, I'd be able to use Starlight Grace to break through any of Aquina's defences.”
“—Ahem!”
All of a sudden, an unfamiliar voice sounded from behind.
Coppelia and I turned around.
Barely a few steps away, an elven woman stood before us.
Tall and slender, she boasted long silver hair and eyes as blue as the deepest ocean. By her hip was a sword, its distinctive hilt instantly giving away its identity as a weapon of elven masterwork.
She smiled, then teased the edge of a sapphire pommel with her fingertips.
“Hi there!” said Ophelia the Snow Dancer. “It's me. An unnecessary disturbance.”
