I Loaded the Mysticism Panel

”The Royal Family said, ’We don’t understand that business. Let your people handle it.’”

”The two sides argued back and forth for twenty years before finally reaching a compromise.”

”The Church was allowed to reorganize, but only under the banner of the National Church. It could no longer call itself the Universal Church.”

”Large-scale reconstruction of Monasteries was forbidden, but they were allowed to retain a small number of ’orders,’ the size of which was strictly limited.”

”The responsibility of these orders was to take over the ’special affairs’ the Monasteries had managed before the Great Dissolution, including the maintenance of the Seals.”

”So what’s the problem?” Theodore still didn’t get it. ”They just changed their name and kept doing their job.”

”In theory, it’s fine.” Edmund stated the most practical problem. ”But the orders belong to the Church. Where does their money come from?”

”...The Church?”

”The Church was bled dry by the Great Dissolution; it can barely take care of itself.”

”So the Royal Family set aside a portion of its budget to fund the orders annually.”

”And since the money comes from the Royal Family, they have the right to meddle in the orders’ affairs.”

”The orders are staffed by the Church, but funded by the Royal Family.”

”When everyone’s in charge, no one is.”

”...” Theodore finally understood the core contradiction of the system.

”That’s why the maintenance for Seals, like the one at Whitcombe Mill, is constantly being passed back and forth as the two sides squabble.”

”When the Church is in charge of maintenance, the Royal Family forbids them from using tax revenue.”

”And when the Royal Family wants to send their own people, the Church refuses to divulge the ritual details to ’outsiders.’”

”The maintenance got more and more careless over time.”

”The Seal at Whitcomb losing control is the direct, bitter result of all this political tug-of-war.”

”So, this time, they’ve decided to just hand the Seal maintenance over to a civilian Guild.

Mrs. MacNeil is in charge of this mission. She used her personal connections to bring in Lady Sarah as outside help.

The academic establishment sent Mr. Hutton as a consultant, the military provided Captain Field for armed support, and the Church sent me to observe.”

”Just ’observe’?” Theodore latched onto the word.

Edmund took the opportunity to clarify:

”I am, in fact, here to observe and learn. The order sent me, so I naturally have to write a report for them. But the contents of that report will have nothing to do with what happens at this table tonight.”

”What do you mean?” Maggie asked.

”Tonight is for us Newcomers to get acquainted,” Edmund said. ”I’m considering this personal time.”

”Works for me,” Theodore said readily. ”I’m treating tonight as personal time, too.”

”Me too,” Maggie added.

The innkeeper emerged from the kitchen carrying the first course: a creamy mushroom soup.

The conversation at the Newcomers’ table naturally subsided as the tureen of soup was brought out.

The roast leg of lamb that followed was the Whitcomb inn’s specialty, crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, and fantastically fragrant.

It was served with roast potatoes and cabbage, along with a basket of freshly baked, crusty bread.

At the seniors’ table, they were drinking some local malt whisky.

None of the Newcomers were drinking, so Mrs. MacNeil had specifically instructed the innkeeper to bring them another pot of ginger tea.

The second pot of ginger tea was darker and sweeter than the first.

The boy from the stables took a sip, his eyes narrowing.

”Highland ginger, sugar, and tea,” he remarked. ”Nothing proper about any of them.”

”What’s not proper about them?” the freckled girl demanded, suddenly annoyed.

”Everything from the Highland is too intense,” said Theodore.

”Tea from my Yorkshire makes a man sleepy. Tea from your Highland makes a man want to go out and start a fight.”

”Then are you looking for a fight?” Maggie asked, cracking her knuckles.

”I am,” Theodore admitted frankly. ”But I’m not going to fight you.”

”Why not?”

”Your dad’s a Hunter, your mom’s a Hunter, your brother’s a Hunter, and your aunt is a Hunter, too.”

Theodore ticked them off on his fingers.

”If I throw one punch at you, the four of them will come and throw a hundred punches at me. My family doesn’t know any Hunters. Who’s going to back me up?”

”So I’m not going to fight you,” he concluded. ”Sober men don’t do foolish things.”

When dinner was over, Mrs. MacNeil stood up.

”That’s all for tonight.”

”Everyone back to your rooms. Tomorrow, the two senior Hunters will have activities planned for you.

We’ll meet back at this table for breakfast at seven in the morning. All of you get to bed early tonight.”

”Good night,” the Newcomers said, almost in unison.

”Good night,” Mrs. MacNeil replied.