DRP 16

“This is the Hyeonga villa of Rose Village.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The coachman had set us down at a villa reserved for the family.
Thanks to that, Mom and I were able to put our things down and rest for a while.
We could have looked around right away, but since it was lunchtime we decided to eat first.
Perhaps Grandma had mentioned it beforehand, because the steward of the annex soon brought out the cooking: the local specialty, golden pine-mushroom nutritious rice, and glossy, glistening braised ribs.
“What a pity. This village is famous not only for mushrooms but for its water, so the freshwater fish are also a delicacy. But you can’t fish right now.”
The steward set the food down and smiled.
“Instead, I’ll bring a meat side-dish with every meal.”
“Thank you! ”
“Thanks.”
“No, please enjoy it.”
We finished every grain of rice.
Both the nutritious rice and the braised ribs were so delicious that my mood lifted in an instant.
After patting my full belly, Mom and I went outside under the pretense of taking a walk, and then—what a surprise.
“Hm?”
Whether villagers or visiting tourists, people’s expressions looked bad. The locals hushed and avoided answering when asked what was wrong, and the visitors seemed reluctant to bring it up.
“It’s hard to talk about it when there are children around.”
Me?
I, who was cradled in my mother’s arms, pointed at myself with a finger.
At that the tourist’s face softened.
“You must have come because of the nutritious rice?”
“Yes. I heard a sneeze just a while ago.”
“Oh my. Such a pretty baby must have caught a fever. Here, nutritious rice with freshwater fish or a clear soup is good for the body. If you add crown daisy it cools nicely, and with green onions or chili it works great as an adult snack. But…”
The tourist, who seemed to have visited the village many times, went on to tell us more.
“For a while, you won’t be able to eat freshwater fish.”
“Why is that? Right now eels should be in season.”
“In this village, trout are more famous. Not as much as the salmon from the northern villages where the Woong clan live, but they’re tasty and very nutritious.”
Because the tourist kept glancing at me as if deciding whether to speak, I decided to set the stage.
“Phew.”
“Tired?”
“Yes.”
If people couldn’t talk with me around, they’d talk when I wasn’t there. I pretended to nod off, burrowed into my mother’s arms, and set the bait.
“Ahem. Has the child fallen asleep?”
The tourist took the bait.
A big one!
“They must have been tired on the way.”
“I see. Well, just in case, be careful—some people might try to secretly sell freshwater fish. If that happens, refuse them and don’t eat it.”
“Why is that?”
“A month ago, a tourist’s corpse was found in the stream where those fish are caught.”
Gasp. Only then did I understand why the tourist had been watching me so closely.
Certainly not the kind of story you tell in front of a four-year-old.

“That tourist had been drunk. The villagers said it’s common for drunk people to fall into the water, but the family that came with him insisted, saying he wouldn’t do that, and there was a fuss…”
“Wasn’t that a month ago?”
“They still haven’t given up finding the culprit. They keep saying, ‘We’re otter people—how could we drown in water?’”
Other strange things were mentioned, too: the money pouch the deceased had been carrying was gone.
His fingernail was missing and there was an injury on the back of his head—suspicious, the bereaved family argued—maybe he was mugged…
But because the body was found in a place with strong rapids, the family’s opinion wasn’t accepted.
It was common for jewelry to be washed away in the currents, and it wasn’t unheard of for people to lose fingernails trying to catch onto something or to crack their head on a rock.
“Apart from the commotion, it’s sad, really. I heard he fell ill and was bedridden four days ago.”
Four days ago would have been when Mom had just stopped by this village.
She’d only checked the grain quantities and left right away, so she wouldn’t have known these deeper details.
“Well, what can you do? Even an otter can drown when drunk.”
“What did the authorities say?”
“They ruled it an accidental drowning. The bereaved wanted a further investigation, but during harvest season the government office is as busy as it gets. It’s a time when they collect the largest taxes of the year.”
“You seem to know a lot.”
“I used to work at the government office in the next village until not long ago.”
Now retired and traveling, the tourist said.
“Anyway, enjoy your time here.”
“Thank you.”
When the tourist left, Mom patted my back. I stopped pretending to sleep and opened my eyes wide.
“What do you think of that person?”
“He didn’t smell of anything.”
If a character in a mystery novel gives that kind of detailed explanation, they’re often the culprit. According to my nose, though, he was just someone who liked to chat.
“Mom. Let’s go to our rice fields first.”
“Shall we?”
“Yes.”
My curiosity satisfied, it was time to work.

I sniffed the wide open golden fields. The scent of autumn came on strong.
I thought it would be better to be in dog form for sniffing, so I transformed. It turned out to be unexpectedly rewarding.
“Do you want me to put you down?”
Plop!
Had I been clinging too much?
To shake off the stiffness I stretched from tip of head to tip of tail the instant my paws hit the ground.
Swoooosh.
The yellowed rice swayed in the autumn breeze.
The east was already harvested and looked bare; the west was just being gathered. I twitched my nose and walked along the paddy path.
Crunch, crunch.
The sensation of walking the paddy path with my paw pads was pleasant.
The wind slipping between my tail, the rustle of stalks rubbing together—those were interesting—but most interesting of all was the faint stench mixed into the air.
“Woor-ai. Woor-ai.”
Someone passed along the very road Mom and I had ridden the carriage on.
The cart piled high with rice sacks. Judging by the Hyeon family banner, it looked like the delivery person.
“Woor-ai. Woor-ai.”
There were people in town who smelled bad.
Not terribly—more like food that had just gone slightly off.
The stench was mild enough that I could tell the passerby wasn’t the culprit I’d been looking for.
The scent had a different texture.
Thanks to that, I realized there are kinds of bad smells, and I was certain the fellow passing by was an accomplice of the guy I’d met at Ilwolgak.
Good. I had the hang of it.
When I told Mom, she hugged me proudly. I wagged my tail and sneezed in satisfaction.
Let’s do a village sweep now!
Brimming with confidence, I roamed about—well, not the whole village, but about half of it—and found one more accomplice: a transporter and a farmer.
Then a problem arose.
“Is our baby all right?”
Grrr.
My nose went on strike.
Oh no, my nose.
A nose that should only want the sweet scent of meat was being tortured by stench.
With my two forepaws, I pressed the bridge of my nose, and Mom crouched beside me and stroked me from head to back.
“That’s enough for today. Let’s go inside and rest.”
Whee. Hyung.
“It’s okay. My baby did so well to pick out three suspects. We can find the evidence later. What’s important is you not getting a fever and staying healthy.”
But I didn’t want to go in just yet.
I had a feeling there was more.
“All right, all right. I know my baby is a beast. It must be disappointing to have the prey right in front of you. Remember, a hunter needs patience.”
Mom was right.
I’d gotten too impatient. The sun was already slanting low, and since autumn nights get cold, it was probably best to head back to the villa.
“My good baby.”
Mom kissed my nose and stood up.
I stuck close to her and walked. It felt better to walk than to be carried.
Deciding to rest, my nose seemed to feel a bit better—ah-choo!
“Hyeon-ah?”
My nose, it started to tingle.

This smell was different.
It wasn’t just a tickle; my nose ached, and I turned to find the source of the scent.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
There was the transporter I’d earlier marked as an accomplice—and an unfamiliar person.
“He’s the village head’s son, you know? How many people do you think are willing to guard the grain storehouse night after night?”
“Now, don’t say that. He’s just doing it for the village.”
“Well, how many people do that these days?”
From what I heard, the village head’s son set an example by guarding the grain storehouse himself. People returning home in the evening heard this and praised the village head’s son for being such a nice person.
But my instincts spoke up.
It’s all a lie.
Every time the transporter and the village head’s son spoke, the foul smell welled up so strongly that it was impossible not to notice.
The stench was so toxic it seemed to spread everywhere, and before I knew it I took a step closer.
“Kye-aaang!”
“Baby!”
I screamed and jumped into Mom’s arms.
Ugh! The rotten stench! My nose! My noooose!
All eyes turned to us, but I screamed at the top of my lungs.
If the transporter was level one, that guy was a level 150!
A level-150 rotten stench came at me—gah!
Mom seemed to realize from my reaction that he must be the criminal, but that wasn’t the main problem.
Strength surged through my entire body.
Whether anger fed that strength or my whole body was twitching with itchiness, I wanted to hit that bad man right away. And I’m not usually a violent puppy!
“What is happening?”
No—don’t come near!
I desperately tried to scramble away from the bad man.
But he approached my mother and me with a look of benevolence.
“You look like strangers; I’ll help you.”
It was a disaster.
Even if I held my breath, the stench rode into my sinuses and invaded my brain.
“Even so, I’m the village head’s son. There’s nothing in this village I don’t know.”
Snap.
I felt my reason break.
I really couldn’t take it anymore.
With incredible power I didn’t know I had, I lunged at the bad man. Surprised, he dodged, but my sharp fangs had already torn his trouser leg.
Crack!
Thunk, thunk. Roll, roll.
Something shiny spilled onto the ground.
They were all things that had fallen from the small pouch that had come out of the village head’s son’s torn trouser leg.
“…….”
“…….”
The atmosphere around us froze.
Was it just that a young dog had lunged at an adult?
No.
Was it just that the village head’s son’s pants had torn in the middle of town?
No.
The reason people were frozen solid was the dried blood on the pouch that the jewelry had spilled from.
“What is that…”
Because of the wounds someone had left on the village head’s son’s leg, like they’d been desperately scratched.