The Master Painter and the Forbidden Room – Part 03
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Translator: Kell
Like the bard said, after walking through the forest for a while, we came upon a stream, and after a while of more walking down the stream, we spotted a house standing near it.
It was a magnificent log house. From the shed built behind it, I could hear the bleating of goats and the neighing of horses.
“Color me surprised,” I said. “I was expecting a rundown shack.”
“I think you lack imagination,” the bard said. “You can’t live in a forest like this with poor facilities.”
He had a point. Painters just gave this impression that they were broke. Rich artists are taken in by nobles and basically don’t interact with the common folk.
“This house looks cozy,” Zero said. “I like it.”
“It’s actually a great place,” Eduardo said. “I live here with the painter. I basically take care of the animals and stuff, but when I’m away from home for a few days like this time, we hire a servant to help out.”
Apparently, the servant brought in food and firewood from the town every day, and also cooked for the painter.
“He’s also an avid fan of the painter’s work. Says he wants to paint himself. He should be in the pen around this time.” Eduardo peered at the animal pen. “I don’t see him around. Maybe he’s out shopping.”
Suddenly he held his breath. “Crap. Hide!” he said, urging us to back away.
As we hid behind a tree, a well-dressed man came striding from the pen, looking furious. He was mumbling something. His lips seemed to be saying, “You’re really just going to ignore us, huh? Just you wait. We got a plan.” He then punched the door of the house.
“Don’t get too cocky, or you’ll regret it!” the man shouted. “We’re done being soft. I hope you know what’ll happen if you offend the governor!” He mounted his fastened horse and rode away in a gallop.
“What was that?” I asked. “He was really mad.”
After the footsteps had completely disappeared, Zero cocked her head and said, “He mentioned a governor.”
The bard looked at the sky in exasperation. “It was probably a messenger from the governor. He’s a supporter of the painter’s work, and he’s been nagging them to offer him new paintings even though they say they can’t paint anything.”
“A governor?” Zero asked curiously. “Are you referring to the governor of Ideaverna? This area should be within his territory.”
She was about to say that we were acquainted with him, but I quickly covered her mouth. If people learned that the governor of Ideaverna, the most important port city in the Republic of Cleon, was friends with a witch, it would cause a big problem.
Zero was a brilliant woman, but sometimes she doesn’t understand things that even an idiot can, keeping me constantly on edge. Not that I could blame her completely. Having lived inside their lair for a long time, she lacked the common sense of a human being.
“The boundaries in these mountains are not really clear,” the bard said. “Several other territories border this place besides Ideaverna.”
“So it is a different governor.”
“Exactly. Recently they’ve switched from demands to just straight up threats.”
Yeah. The man’s menacing attitude said it was a serious matter.
“That was clearly a threat just now,” I said. “I can’t believe they’d be that mad over paintings.”
“Most of the painter’s supporters have radical personalities.”
Really? It felt like there was more to it. Something serious. Then again, it wasn’t nice to poke too deep into other people’s affairs.
At the poet’s urging, we stepped into the magnificent house. The place was like a high-class inn. There was fire burning in the hearth, providing warmth indoors.
Past the entryway was a large main hall that was filled with the intense smell of paint and wood. To be honest, it wasn’t pleasant. It was suffocating.
But Zero liked it, sniffing the room and saying, “This smells like old times.” Perhaps the lair she had spent so many years in smelled like this. I guess it’s not so bad, after all.
However, there was one thing I found unacceptable. No. It was awesome, in a way, but it also made me awfully restless.
The paintings.
All the paintings displayed all over the place featured voluptuous, almost-nude women. Everywhere I looked, I felt uneasy.
“Mercenary, why are you so restless?” Zero asked.
“What? Uh, well. I-It’s nothing.”
She stared at me. “You are not embarrassed to see female bodies on the paintings, are you?”
“O-Of course not! I’m a battle-worn mercenary… A-A woman’s naked body d-doesn’t bother me at all… E-Especially when it’s just a-an image…!” But with my eyes glued to the floor, there was really no dodging it.
“Sometimes, you look like a fifteen-year-old boy to me,” Zero whispered into my ear.
“Shut the fuck up! Sorry for not being immune to this, okay?!” I shot the bard a glare. “Hey, mister artist. Are all the paintings on display here made by your painter?”
“Yup. Magnificent, wouldn’t you say?”
“I can’t really deny that…”
I could tell that they were magnificent paintings. I don’t know anything about art, but the texture of the women’s skin was so smooth and vibrant that you might even feel their body temperature with a touch.
All of the women’s faces were half-hidden by cloth or veils, which accentuated the texture of their lips, making them inexplicably sexy.
“What beautiful pieces,” Zero muttered. “The painter’s skills are remarkable. I would not mind being a subject of such beautiful paintings.”
“Wh-Whoa, h-hold it right there!” I cut in. “How’d you arrive at that conclusion?! It’s too obscene!”
“Do you dislike obscene things?”
“My preferences don’t matter here!”
“Then I suppose this is about my preferences.”
I couldn’t argue back. But it still bothered me a little.
Ignoring my grumbling, Zero turned to Eduardo. “Bard. Why are all the women hiding their faces?”
“Because it’s easier to fantasize that way.” He replied with a smile.
“Fantasize?” Zero asked in a curious tone.
I pretended to not know. If she did not understand, then explaining it would just be complicated.
“I’m just kidding,” the bard added. “These are all religious paintings. The subjects are the Goddess and their followers, battles between witches and the Church, witch hunts, and so on. By subtly hiding their faces, the paintings take on a mystic quality. Besides, no one really knows what the Goddess looks like.”
“I see. Mystic beauty. I have heard that the more parts of a person that cannot be depicted in reality, the closer they are to the ideal.”
“That’s how the Church interprets it, at least.”
“So which is it, really?” I asked.
“If I told you that all the people who wanted their paintings were men, including Church officials, would you understand? A painting of a beautiful witch being whipped was hotly contested.”
“Okay, I get it now.”
In other words, all the paintings here were materials disguised as works of art.
I had heard of a story somewhere about an ugly prostitute that became popular when she hid her face with a mask. People could let their imagination run wild if they couldn’t see.
“The Church says that obscene paintings are outrageous, but the Goddess in her nude is sacred and worthy of painting, and they don’t denouce paintings of witches as their torture inspires faith. So we artists create what we like while pretending to make what pleases the Church.”
“Oh,” Zero breathed. “I believe that is called worldliness.”
“That way we can receive assistance, and it’s a lot better than disobeying and pissing them off.”
After finishing his explanation, the bard knocked on one of the several doors and announced his return with a sing-song voice.
“I’m home, my talented painter! I’ve brought back a great subject this time. I’m sure you’ll love them!” He pushed a bundle of paper through a gap on the door.
“What’s that?”
“A poem about a witch.”
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