Inside Carnford Castle, in a room used for small-scale strategic meetings, the doors and windows were shut tight, thick curtains sealing out the cold wind and light from beyond.
Maps and documents lay spread across the oak table in the center of the room, but what truly drew the eye was the wispy pale-blue smoke drifting through the air, along with its distinctive scent—a blend of lightly charred, rich tobacco and a strange, delicate fragrance.
Karl lounged sideways in the armchair at the seat of honor, his posture relaxed, a slender, novel object rolled in soft white paper held between his fingers.
He brought it close to the brass oil lamp on the table and carefully lit one end. Orange-red sparks flickered at its tip.
He placed it between his lips and drew in deeply, letting the warm smoke swirl and seep through his mouth before slowly tilting back his head and releasing a straight, long stream of bluish smoke. In the dim room, the smoke rose and unfurled as though it had come alive.
He was not alone in the room. Edgar, the chief civil administrator; Old Morrell, the white-haired yet vigorous engineer; Brendan, the steady Military Chief; and Roland, a commander who had just returned from the eastern front, all held one as well, puffing away amid the clouds.
Faces usually stern, shrewd, or fierce now appeared far more relaxed behind the veil of smoke. Even the exhaustion wrought by days of campaigning and administrative affairs seemed to have been carried away by the hazy fumes.
The entire room was wreathed in mist, carrying a faintly dreamlike air of an "immortal realm"—except this "immortal realm" was steeped in a practical, even rough-hewn, worldly atmosphere.
"How does it feel, my lord?" Edgar took a drag from his own cigarette,