The Tarbec Ploy
Maeve twisted open the lid of the cream Aern was holding. It gave off no scent at all. Aern looked at her as if demanding an explanation.
"This one has so little Tarbec in it that it's hardly different from ordinary cream, but in the North, where people live by the sword, Tarbec is one of the essentials. It's that cold."
Maeve opened the notebook Aern had closed and pressed a pen into his hand.
"If you're going to fight, you have to move. Cracked skin from the cold would be a real problem, wouldn't it?"
"…And how exactly is this supposed to tell us what the Duke is thinking?"
Aern still looked thoroughly unconvinced. He propped his chin on one hand and set the pen against the page.
"Think of the Tarbec fruit as a kind of nut. It's extremely oily and high in calories. Soldiers eat it as field rations, and they also extract the oil to make cream like this."
She scooped a little from the jar and smeared it across the back of his hand, as if telling him to try it himself. Aern rubbed the cream in and brought his hand to his nose, sniffing experimentally.
"No scent at all? Don't most creams have fragrance added?"
"Most people who buy cream are noble ladies, so they add scent to suit their tastes. But Tarbec itself is colorless, odorless, and tasteless."
Aern nodded lightly and began writing neat, careful notes. Maeve watched him unexpectedly absorbed in the task and allowed herself a small smile.
She had hoped to become his tutor in order to stop the rebellion, yet simply watching the children like this was already a deep comfort to her.
"So that's why it can be used on the battlefield too?"
Aern finished scribbling, sat up straight, and looked to her for the rest of the explanation. Maeve nodded.
"Yes, exactly. But that same advantage means it gets used for other purposes as well."
Confusion filled Aern's face. Maeve crooked one corner of her mouth and answered at once.
"It's used to assassinate political rivals."
The shocking news, delivered in Maeve's calm voice, left Aern's mouth hanging open. He yanked his hand away from his face and froze.
He narrowed his eyes and glared at his own hand as if it had betrayed him. The sight of the wary boy made Maeve laugh before she continued.
"Don't worry. Cream made only from the fruit has no toxin. What I meant was the seed."
Only then did Aern lower his hand, though he still shot her a suspicious look.
"How do you even know that? Don't tell me… you've actually assassinated someone with it…"
Of course she hadn't. She had learned it years ago from Count Iron.
Back when she was Melissa's tutor, a thoroughly drunk Count Iron had cornered her while she was applying cream and delivered a long lecture on Tarbec. It was a memory she could never forget.
"Who knows?"
Maeve answered with deliberate ambiguity, just enough mischief in her tone. Aern recoiled in horror.
Only when he saw her grinning face-to-face did he realize he had been played; his cheeks flushed. He muttered irritably and flopped across the desk.
"Eating the seed once by mistake won't kill you, but if you take it regularly the nerves gradually paralyze and it leads to death. So be careful."
Aern frowned as if her matter-of-fact tone exhausted him, then nodded. Maeve brightened, changing the subject.
"Anyway, there's only one thing you need to do to check the Duke's thoughts. Pretend you have a Tarbec allergy."
"What?"
"As I said, Tarbec is essential for anyone operating in the North. But if the heir of a ducal house who will soon have to learn the sword turns out to be allergic to Tarbec…"
That alone was a flaw. Having an illness should never erase a person's worth, yet in noble society even such small things could decide a life.
Aern's reputation was already poor. Adding this problem on top of it would produce a reaction that was easy to predict.
"This is a rather serious issue."
Aern seemed to grasp the general idea; he stared at the cream again with a complicated expression.
"If we watch how the Duke reacts in that situation, we'll know exactly how he regards you, won't we?"
Aern studied Maeve's face. She did not look as though she were lying.
"I'll help you. But there's something I must have your consent for first."
"…What do I have to do?"
"Get out right now!"
Aern bellowed at the woman. Maeve came tumbling out of his room as if she had been thrown.
The moment her feet cleared the threshold the door slammed shut behind her with a crash that made her flinch. Aern's grumbling still carried through the wood.
Notebook and pen in hand, Maeve stood in the corridor. The wet nurse, who must have been waiting nearby, came hurrying toward her.
Maeve glanced that way once, then smoothed her clothes. She brushed cookie crumbs from her collar and drew a breath.
The wet nurse rushed up with a flustered face and looked her over from head to toe, spotting the crumbs on the floor.
"Teacher? Oh my, are you all right?"
"…Ah, Nurse. Haah… How am I even supposed to explain this…"
Maeve gave an awkward smile, paused, and lowered her eyes.
"It was exactly as you warned me."
"Pardon?"
"Really. What a difficult young master. He spent the entire lesson lying face-down. Not the slightest respect for his teacher…"
Maeve twisted her face as if the more she thought about it the more annoyed she became, then glanced back at Aern's door.
"…And the pride on him—point out his behavior and he won't hear a word of it."
"Oh dear… I'm so terribly sorry, Teacher. I truly am. I suppose a common-born child simply can't help it."
Hilda lowered her eyes, one hand on her chest, the other covering her mouth. Her voice trembled.
Maeve doubted that tremor came from pity for the young duke. It looked far more like she was struggling not to laugh at how neatly everything was going her way.
"Today I brought Tarbec cream to teach him about the North, and he was so startled."
"…Tarbec?"
Maeve nodded lightly. The wet nurse tilted her head as if hearing the word for the first time.
"What is that…?"
"In the North, Tarbec cream is essential. I wanted to explain it in advance to the young master, who will soon return north to learn swordsmanship."
"Ah, that cream."
Maeve let out a long sigh and continued.
"I put a little on him for the demonstration. I was just about to explain when he suddenly threw me out."
Feigning distress, she held up the notebook still in her hand.
"I couldn't even finish the lesson properly."
Maeve exhaled as if lamenting her own situation.
"I never wanted to be this irresponsible, but I don't think I can keep teaching the young master any longer."
She let her mouth droop into a troubled expression, then lowered her voice and leaned close to Hilda's ear as if the next part were especially important.
"But I noticed a slight red rash on him. I suspect it might be an allergy."
Hilda's eyes widened; she rolled them sideways, clearly calculating how to respond.
"The young master is too proud to say anything himself, so I'm telling you in his place. It's a matter of safety—I can't very well pretend not to know as his teacher."
Maeve shrugged and watched Hilda's startled face.
"He's of an age to start sword training, so the Duke will soon gift him Tarbec cream or oil. If His Grace doesn't know and gets refused, the disappointment will be considerable."
Maeve shook her head as if worried, wearing a look of pity for the unknowing duke who would be rejected.
"So I wondered if you might pass the word to the Duke for me."
She spoke carefully, watching Hilda's reaction.
"The symptoms don't look severe right now, so it may not be a problem yet, but if he keeps using it… honestly, who knows what might happen."
There was always that one-in-a-million chance. Most allergies could be managed without major trouble. But if the triggering behavior continued, there was no telling how it might develop.
"The Founding Festival isn't far off either. It would be best to report anything that could become a problem in advance."
Maeve glanced at the ceiling as if counting the days until the festival, then gave a theatrical shiver as though some ominous thought had struck her.
"If the young master tries to hide it and forces himself to use the cream, only to collapse in front of people…"
She stopped, deliberately hardening her expression.
"What a disgrace that would be."
Maeve added the last words quietly.
She flicked a glance at the wet nurse's face, now stripped of any smile.
Knowing Hilda's head must already be full of other schemes, Maeve did not linger. She turned her back without a shred of regret and walked away.