The sound of iron smarting against the hard earth, which had sounded entirely hostile to the girl's ears, was by now, half an hour into the wobbly carriage journey, almost comfortingly soporific.
But sleep was a thing that Poppy would not acquiesce to — not when this whole series of events just provoked suspicion at every turn.
"We'll be arriving shortly," the woman sitting across Poppy said as the carriage window revealed a rolling screen of bucolic landscape.
"Maize, tell me honestly, why did my mother send us on this trip?"
The Handmaiden made eye contact with Poppy for the first time throughout the carriage ride. The youthful clay of her figure had been carefully moulded by the artful hands of nature into beautiful ceramic, though blemishes of naivety and wonder still remained beneath its ash-glazed surface.
"The Vine Family suspects that the Temple Master of the Temple of Death is up to something. As the administrative maintenance of the Temple of Death falls under the jurisdiction of the Vine Family, Madam sent us to investigate the matter."
"No, Maize. I'm not talking about the excuse that she used. Up until yesterday, she had never let me as much as step one foot out of the mansion. All I did night and day was memorising Propitiatory Rituals in that stifling study room. And yet, here I am right now. This whole thing just doesn't sit right with me. It's almost as if she wants me to be here."
Maize wetted her lips. The moment her tongue came into contact with the air, she tasted tinges of frustration and suspicion.
"You know Madam means well. She may be a strict mother, but she loves you just like any mother would."
Sensing that pursuing the conversation further was a fruitless endeavour, Poppy returned to her ruminative silence.
~
At a crossroads, the carriage stopped to noises of a quarrel threatening to brew into violence anytime soon. As Maize and Poppy disembarked to examine the cause of the obstruction, they saw two farmers and two monks huddled around a pouch on the ground.
So what if you found the pouch lying on the ground? It's still mine. — What do you mean it's yours? Show me the proof? It can very well be mine as much as it can be yours (and it is not yours), since I was the one who found it, it is most certainly mine! — What ridiculous nonsense! My property doesn't stop being my property just because I happened to drop it and you later set your eyes upon it claiming it's yours. Insisting that my pouch is yours makes you a thief! — I'm afraid both of you are mistaken. The pouch is actually the public's property now. See, when you dropped the pouch onto this road, which I need not remind, is a public road, you have essentially donated your pouch to the public charity for the public good. Naturally, it should be us, enforcers and guardians of the public good, who will bring that pouch into custody.
"What do we do, Maize? They're blocking our way," Poppy whispered.
"Watch and learn. You will lead the Vine Family in the future. Settling such disputes should be your second nature."
"Gentlemen, how about we calm down and remain civil for a second?"
Maize lodged herself in between their torrent of words. Four pairs of eyes treated the unwelcome intrusion with smothering anger and burgeoning incredulity.
"And what sort of meddlesome woman might you be?"
The scholastic monk who seemed remarkably proud of his theory of involuntary philanthropy side-eyed Maize with contempt while his rodent-like companion, hiding in the shadow of the former, made hideous intimidating faces.
"The sort who is an Administrator of the Temple of Death."
Maize flashed the Vine Family insignia tied to her wrist.
Shock flashed briefly across the face of the scholastic monk, and he instinctively lowered his head in a grovelling stance.
"Oh my, this old monk must have been blind to not recognise a member of the Vine Family. I ask that you please forgive our impudence. Come, Rat! Apologise to this honourable Lady at once!"
Thrust suddenly into the spotlight from the shadows by a forceful shove, the face-making monk quivered in his spot and fell to the ground, repeatedly prostrating himself as he shouted apologies in disconnected gibberish.
"Forget about the platitudes. I overheard your disputes with these two farmers. While I am inclined to agree with you that the pouch is now property of the public as it has landed onto this public road, it is, however, the pouch itself that touched the road. The contents within the pouch should still remain as private property, which is none of your business as public guardians to expropriate. And seeing that I am also an enforcer and guardian of the public good, and an even higher ranking one, as an Administrator of the Temple of Death, I will take the pouch itself, separate from its inner contents, into my express protection. Now, all that is left to resolve, will be who shall have ownership over the contents of the pouch, which will be decided between these two farmers. Since the farmer who dropped the pouch and its contents had been its previous owner — this fact was not denied by the other farmer who found it — and he did not make known any intention of transferring the ownership of its contents to anyone else after having dropped it, I come to the reasonable judgment that the other farmer who found the pouch and its contents unjustly usurped the rights of its previous and rightful owner by exercising a false ownership over it. If you continue to claim possession over the contents of that pouch, you will be punished for the crime of theft."
With unconcealed envy, the incriminated farmer watched eagerly as Maize picked up the pouch on the ground, emptied out its contents, which totalled to about twenty gold coins, and handed them over to their rightful owner.
"Now, to compensate him for having gone through such an unpleasant ordeal, I, acting in the capacity of an Administrator of the Temple of Death, will present a public gift to him." Maize then passed over the pouch itself to the innocent farmer standing in stunned silence.
The scholastic monk pressed his lips into the thinnest of lines, muttering under his breath, "Let's go, Rat. What's a failing family doing here anyway? I'd like to see how she would flaunt in front of the other three Great Families." He hurried away with a wave of his monastic cloak, his scuttling rodent-like companion in tow. At the threat of sanctions, the incriminated farmer also knew that his game was up, and prudently vanished from view not long after the monks had left.
"I—I am immensely grateful for your help. Thank you so much. I was actually on my way to a poppy seeds sale in the Town Square when I realised that I had accidentally dropped my pouch somewhere. Imagine my surprise when I traced my steps back here and found that thieving rascal, Owl, arguing with two monks over my own pouch! Ha! By the way, I'm Lark, one of the poppy fields farmers living near the Temple of Death. May I ask for your name, kind Lady?"
"I'm Maize, Handmaiden of the Vine Family. And this is Poppy, young Lady of the Vine Family. Are you still going to the Town Square? If not, you are welcome to take our carriage back home as we are heading for the Temple of Death."
"I will gladly take up your offer. I'm in no mood for any sale right now."
~
The carriage stopped at a stretch of road, flanked by endless waves of red, which swallowed up the landscape like hungry paintbrushes lapping at a blank canvas.
"Here would be just fine. Thank you for the ride," Lark said.
Nine-year-old Poppy had already seen a lot of different reds in her life, such as the red of her finger when she accidentally pricked it with a needle, or the red of her mother's face when she found her slipping out of her study room, but this current red before her was different — it was red to the core, it was poppy red. The intensity of the colour seemed to galvanise an instinctive response within her to become one with the scarlet fields.
"Young Lady seems to be very interested in the poppy fields. Could it be that you are the namesake of that red flower?" Lark asked, curious at the mesmerised state of the Vine Family's young lady.
"Those are poppy flowers? The kind used in the Propitiatory Ritual of the Temple of Death?" Poppy asked in wonder.
"Yes. There are two types of poppy flowers — field poppy and opium poppy. Those that you see over there are field poppies. They are used to commemorate the war dead, as they grow naturally from the graves of war, though it's possible to farm them as well. Its colour is really striking, being that spectacular blood-red. On the other hand, opium poppies come in a variety of colours such as pink, purple, white and so on. Their cultivation is strictly regulated due to their adverse effects on one's mind and emotions."
Poppy wondered, if her mother really named her after the poppy flower, which of the two types did she have in mind. Was she seen as something that was as good as dead in her mother's eyes? Or some bane of existence?
"Lark, have you noticed any strange events happening in the village lately?" Maize interjected.
"Strange? I don't think so. That thieving rascal Owl has always been causing trouble for as long as I know. Oh, there has been a few incidents where children have gone missing for some period after wandering into the forests near the Temple of Death. But it isn't cause for much concern since most are found later or manage to find their way out by themselves."
"I see. We'll be leaving for the Temple of Death. Let's part ways here then."
"Farewell."