Chapter 5: Don Quixote
Upon arriving at the publisher’s reception room, a man with an extraordinary presence was waiting for me.
I rolled my eyes to gauge the atmosphere. Beside the man stood two folks, disguised in casual clothes but armed underneath, acting as his guards, while behind him, a woman who looked like a maid kept her head bowed.
“So, you’re the author of Don Quixote, written by Homer. I came personally because you declined the invitation.”
And then, the word “invitation” popped out of his mouth.
Realizing the situation, I immediately knelt on one knee and prepared my respects.
What a bolt from the blue!
Before I knew it, Ms. Dorling Kindersley, the president, had bolted out of the reception room. Should I just hand my next work over to a rival publisher?
“…I’m a subject of the Empire, meeting His Highness the Prince.”
“If my sudden visit has been rude, I apologize.”
“No rudeness here; you’re fine. But it seems you consider declining an invitation quite rude. Was there a special reason?”
Cold sweat trickled down my back.
Really, is it normal for a prince to come personally just because someone turned down an invitation?
“It’s just that the invitation was too generous, and I felt unworthy to accept.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
“I apologize…”
“I thought when I read Don Quixote, I’d be dealing with a more substantial human, but you seem way more delicate than expected.”
Who wouldn’t be nervous when a wrong word could lead to losing their head?
“Haha…”
“Honestly, I was curious. Just how remarkable does one have to be to turn down a royal invite?”
“I’m sorry if I fell short of your expectations.”
“No, this is interesting in its own way. For example, you look like you haven’t had your coming-of-age ceremony yet, am I right?”
“Yes…”
“That the author of Don Quixote is such a young child? The critics who praised Don Quixote would freak out if they knew this.”
While I was being grilled by the prince with questions that felt more like an interrogation, the maid standing behind him carefully spoke up.
“Your Highness. Excuse me, but I see a lint on your clothes.”
“Eh?”
“I’ll tidy that up for a moment.”
“Ah, yes. Go ahead.”
Thanks to the maid, I could finally catch my breath.
I wondered if removing lint was crucial enough to interrupt the prince’s chat, but hey, highborn sensibilities can be a bit different. Given the prince’s outfit, thinking he has OCD wouldn’t be too odd.
After tidying away the lint, the prince continued the conversation.
“At such a young age, to write such a great work, I look forward to your future. You genuinely impress me.”
“Thank you…”
…Wait?
Did his tone just change?
“Oh, my introduction got a bit long. The reason I sought you out… I want to sponsor you. There’s nothing more meaningful than supporting a promising artist.”
“…It’s an honor.”
A royal sponsoring an artist isn’t exactly unusual. Since the Middle Ages, affluent folks have supported artists to boost their prestige and showcase their taste.
“However, this is my first time sponsoring a writer, so I’m a bit unsure about how to go about it. Usually, when sponsoring a painter, you’d commission a portrait in return… but is it feasible to ask a novelist to write a biography? What’s the usual method for sponsoring a writer?”
“…If it’s about supporting my work, I could mention Your Highness in the foreword of my books.”
“If I were to sponsor you, could every novel you write bear the sponsor’s name?”
“That wouldn’t be a tough request, but…”
Something felt fishy.
It seemed like he was purposely dodging the use of ‘certain words.’
Maybe I should poke the bear.
“…Your Highness, whose name would you like to see in my novels?”
“Hmm? Isn’t it obvious? If not the sponsor’s name, whose else would be there?”
“I mean, who is this sponsor that I’m asking about?”
“…Such impertinence for a mere writer.”
Alright, that settled it.
I felt like the main character of a detective story. Maybe it was the tension trickling down my spine that was making me slightly giddy.
“If my question was rude, I apologize. But could it be that the prince standing before me is… actually an impersonator?”
“How bold—”
Just when the man was about to raise his voice, one of the guards beside him cut him off and spoke up.
“Enoch. That’s enough.”
“…My apologies.”
“Enough. Deceptions can’t always work.”
Wow.
Had they actually foreseen such a scenario and set up an ‘impersonator’?
Being a royal must be quite exhausting.
A double impersonation? Unbelievable. I slightly admired the ‘maid’ quietly standing behind me and said,
“Even in such situations, you remain so calm, lady.”
“What?”
“Could my comment cause a problem?”
That was fair enough─.
“Your Highness.”
For that maid was, in fact, the ‘real’ prince!
The atmosphere in the drawing room froze at my unexpected remark. Am I right? I must be. I didn’t just blunder, did I?
“…How did you know?”
Alright. I was correct.
“Please lower your voice, Your Highness.”
“This is just how I talk. Being royalty doesn’t require an arrogant, condescending tone, right?”
It’d be nice if royals could think about how it feels for people talking to them.
Honestly, it’s pretty taxing.
“So, how did you know? Usually, once people accept that Enoch was a fake, they just move on.”
“It’s all in the arm.”
“The arm?”
“Women typically move their arms to avoid their chests naturally. But that Enoch fellow? When he was brushing off the lint, his arm movements screamed ‘man’ to me.”
It was knowledge from a detective novel, but who knew I’d actually put it to use?
“And then?”
“What?”
“Isn’t it possible that the prince, with unusual tastes, made his servant cross-dress? That doesn’t really prove you are the prince, does it?”
“Ah, after the lint was brushed off, the tone from Enoch suddenly changed to friendly. It felt like some sort of signal… or a warning.”
“A warning…?”
“Yes.”
A prince who is a fan of Don Quixote coming to the publishing house himself?
“A prince who loves Don Quixote wouldn’t just ignore it if someone mocked it because the author is young.”
Anyone with fandom would feel the same, I think.
If a beloved author turned out to be a kid, wouldn’t admiration come first, not dismissal?
“…So, that’s why you thought I was the prince?”
“If that doesn’t seem enough…”
Honestly, it was partly a shot in the dark.
“Does an author need an elaborate reason to recognize an enthusiastic reader?”
“…Pfft, haha! You’re a really amusing person, author.”
“Did I just say something rude?”
“You were beyond rude.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m just kidding. I just wanted to see your face, author. I never expected you to discover that I’m the ‘real’ prince.”
The prince was chuckling for a while, looking quite amused.
Was it magic? To anyone looking, the prince appeared as a woman with a woman’s voice, causing a delightful cognitive dissonance.
This eased the tension a bit.
“Being in royalty must be exhausting, especially if you have to dress like this to hide your identity.”
“Oh, this look is just my preference.”
“…What?”
What did I just hear?
The prince, grinning and covering his mouth, leaned in to whisper sweetly.
“Don Quixote mistook a village girl named Aldonza for Princess Dulcinea, didn’t he?”
“Ah, yes…”
“If there are those who want to believe they are knights, surely, some would want to be mistaken for ‘Princess Dulcinea,’ right?”
That’s a madman’s idea right there. The prince, finger to his mouth with a twinkle in his eye, was undoubtedly a madman.
Sadly, this madman was the empire’s third prince.
I had no choice but to nod, trying to act like I agreed.
“Definitely, that’s a fair point.”
“Of course! I knew the author of Don Quixote would understand.”
“Ah, yes…”
“Did you know? There are people born with appearances that don’t match their true selves.”
“Yes… Inner feelings and identities don’t necessarily align with their physical forms.”
I never thought I’d discuss this overly modern PC stuff here.
“Oh, you really know your stuff! The bishops who preach about the soul’s congruence would never accept it… but our god loves beauty. How could there be beauty in a world that only values the obvious?”
“Ah, yes.”
Why am I talking to a prince of the empire about this?
Is this all just a bizarre dream?
“What do you think, author?”
The conversation about sexual identity continued for nearly 30 minutes.
It was the longest 30 minutes of my life.
* * *
“Are you going to spare him?”
“Oh, Enoch. Someone might think I’m the kind of person who likes a good execution. How can I call myself royalty if I don’t value my subjects’ lives?”
Inside the royal carriage heading back to the palace, the prince leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face.
Born with such a soul, he had lived his entire life as an ‘irreverent’ being.
He could only step out from behind the shadow of a body double, and even that required permission, spending most of his time cooped up in the palace.
Naturally, I found myself sucked into lowbrow novels…
‘Don Quixote’ turned out to be a beam of light amid such a gloomy world.
“I’m really anxious about the rumors spreading. If saving a life stops a sacrilegious act, isn’t it right to do so?”
“Then the quickest way to do that would be to take my own life.”
“…I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”
“No, um, could you take a look outside? The people look so happy, don’t you think?”
After the rise of magical engineering, the empire had changed dramatically.
People’s living standards improved; now that their basic needs are met, they want education and entertainment. Monster circuses and magic shows became popular, and the royal influence waned while the parliament’s power grew.
The world is changing at lightning speed.
Everyone proudly boasts about this transformation, firmly believing the world is progressing, willfully ignoring the fallout.
Mana has been contaminated, the great forests destroyed, and new mutant monsters are cropping up all over. People may think the world is advancing, but it’s like a runaway magical train, speeding ahead without even knowing the destination.
“See those folks dressed up like wandering knights? The ones gleefully clutching books?”
“…Honestly, they all seem a bit crazy.”
“Hehe, is that too honest? Though, it’s true.”
However, one novel is indeed changing this world.
People no longer dismiss the past as barbaric. They don’t scoff at justice as fairy tales. They don’t ridicule courage as recklessness.
Though we should be cautious of excessive romanticism regarding the past, this world has been charging forward blindfolded for far too long.
“If the world is going bonkers, then being too sane might just be the madness.”
Even if you trip over the past, you must avoid jumping off a cliff.
* * *
“How much did you say the donation was?”
I thought the royalties from Don Quixote had netted a nice pile.
Turns out, not so much.
“…President.”
“Yes!”
“I’ll forgive you for leaving just me and the prince alone in the reception room.”
“Haha… Th-thank you…”
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