The Door to Heaven
Welcome to Greenhill.
It was the quiet hour before dawn, when every soul in town lay fast asleep.
"......"
After the day she'd had, Erina had been certain she would drop off the moment her back touched the floor, but for some reason, sleep refused to come.
The inside of the sleeping bag was impossibly warm and soft, and the fine gown-style nightdress—said to be something only noble daughters could afford—didn't cling to her skin at all, gliding over it with a pleasantly smooth feel.
As for the thing called panties... she had tried them on, but they seemed somehow too small, and after a single attempt she had given up, finding them far too stifling to wear.
In this world, women outside the nobility mostly wore no undergarments at all. At most, during their monthly bleeding, they might tie a single soft cloth between their legs, and that was the extent of it. Having grown up in the commoner districts, Erina had no way of knowing why anyone here would insist on a separate scrap of cloth.
As for the thing called a bra, she hadn't even dared to attempt it properly. With the kind goblin's patient explanation, she had at least managed to hold the cups against each of her breasts, but she had no idea how the thing was supposed to be fastened in place from there.
Why on earth would nobles put themselves through something so uncomfortable?
In any case, her master had let her wash her filthy body, filled her belly with delicious food, and even provided a warm bed—and yet, for some reason, sleep would not come.
Soon, Erina realized the source of her insomnia: anxiety.
The words that clever goblin, Greengote, had spoken.
Her price: three gold coins.
Luciel would make her earn that money back, no matter what he had to put her through.
No—a merchant would naturally squeeze out far more than that.
It might have been better if she had simply become the wife of one of those old bachelors back there. Old and ugly as they were, every one of them had seemed kind. If she had, perhaps a peaceful, ordinary life would have been waiting for her—tilling a field, keeping a house, day after unremarkable day.
Erina couldn't shake the feeling that this might be the last indulgence before the very worst began.
After all, the reason a slave was being fed this well, dressed this well, and bedded this comfortably might be nothing more than a merchant's care for his merchandise—keeping a first-rate commodity like her in peak condition so she could be whored out to nobles.
Prostitution.
Try as she might, she could think of no other work by which she could ever earn that kind of money.
If that work begins... will I even be any good at it? She would have to take that from as many as dozens of men in a single day....
Erina slipped a hand into the sleeping bag and touched herself between her legs.
The tightly sealed opening that had never once received a man's thing.
No matter how she turned it over in her mind, she was not prepared for that kind of work. Not in the slightest.
Rustle.
In the end, Erina climbed out of the sleeping bag.
Her future was laid out plain before her eyes; she couldn't simply go on lying there. Kindness like this would not last forever.
Sooner or later, Luciel would bare his claws.
Somehow, she had to get out of this place before dawn broke. That was the only right thing to do.
The storeroom where she was staying had no windows. The only way out was the single door she had come in through.
It's bound to be locked from the outside. And if it was... well, she would simply have to find another way.
Careful not to make a sound, Erina pushed at the door.
Creeeeeak.
It's not locked?!
Startled by how easily it swung open, Erina had no time to hesitate. She stretched a foot into the corridor to check whether anyone was about.
Not a single light was burning. Dark as it was, her eyes had long since adjusted to the gloom; slipping out quietly would be no trouble at all.
Directly ahead stood the desk where the goblin did his work. The magical lamp that had poured out its light, along with the spare candles that had glowed softly around it, were all extinguished.
Where does Mr. Greengote sleep?
That, too, was easy enough to find: from the room directly across from the storeroom came the distinctive, vigorous breathing of a sleeping goblin—nothing like a human's at all.
Tiptoe.
Rising onto the balls of her feet, Erina moved as carefully as a cat. The door was shut tight; the way out was the one over there.
Having confirmed her escape route, she turned to the desk where Greengote had been sitting over his accounts. On the back of the chair beside his seat hung the hooded cloak of Luciel's that Erina had been wearing all along, and she slipped it back on.
The money sack brimming with coins she had seen only a few hours earlier was nowhere to be found. Of course it wasn't. Who leaves a sack of money sitting out in plain sight?
But there's money here!
Rooting through Greengote's desk drawer, she managed to come up with two silver coins and about nine coppers—most likely loose change from settling the day's takings, not yet put away.
An empty cowhide pouch was no harder to find. Erina dropped the coins into it and kept rummaging through the drawer.
A blade.
There, too, was something that fit neatly in her palm—less a dagger than a small blade some fifteen centimeters long, not a weapon so much as an unboxing knife the goblin used to slice open paper and packaging.
She couldn't hurt anyone with a thing like this, but right now it beat having nothing at all to defend herself with. Erina tucked it into the leather pouch as well.
And... I need fire. I absolutely need fire.
She would have to press on through pitch-black darkness, so Erina kept searching the goblin's station—until she found the fluorescent lamp.
That thing was blindingly bright. Could I even make it work?
Her first instinct was to take the magical lighting device with her, but with no idea how to operate it, she gathered up the burned-down candle stubs instead.
And then—
Oh.
Erina's eyes lit up.
There, near the candlestick, sat the thing she had been watching so closely all this time: matches. She opened the little paper matchbox to find five of those tiny slivers of wood that summoned flame—matchsticks.
I'm sure I can do this too. I watched exactly how Mr. Greengote did it earlier!
Carefully, she drew out a single match and scraped it against the box the way Greengote had. But it wouldn't light.
It won't catch... maybe the flame only takes on a certain part?
She located the red striking surface where the fire was meant to kindle, and drew the match along it.
Ssssscratch.
"There we go!"
Her voice came out far too loud. Startled by herself, Erina clapped a hand over her mouth and hurriedly touched the flame to the candle wick.
To think there was something this convenient for making fire! She had managed it with her own two hands, and she still couldn't believe it.
"With this...!"
This will be enough. With a flame like this, Erina was certain, she could protect her body.
The corners of her mouth lifted. But then, as if guilt had pricked her all at once, her head bowed.
"I'm sorry for taking these without asking. This isn't stealing—it's only borrowing for a while, Master Luciel. When my circumstances improve, I'll come back and pay for every last thing. Of course... that's once you and I stand as equals."
Looking up toward the second floor, Erina offered her apology to the man above.
When it came down to it, he had never harmed her body or forced himself on her. Quite the opposite—he had saved her life from bandits, taken her into this house, and provided her with everything.
Slave though she was, he had never once treated her like one. She had no thoughts of it now, but someday he might even take her as his wife.
Marrying a man like that, becoming his wife... bearing a child with his eyes and building a family together... maybe that really wouldn't be so bad?
And maybe, someday, he would even give me the chance to go home again. That is—if her hometown still remained in anything like its old shape.
Rethinking it all, her heart wavered once more, and the conflict began to gnaw at her.
No. I'm a slave.
Whatever else he may be, that man is only a merchant—and I have to run while running is still possible.
With every last preparation made, Erina was just turning toward the door when—
Thud!
"Aaagh!"
From upstairs came the crash of something striking the floor, followed by a man's low cry of pain!
It was Luciel's voice!
Erina flinched, her whole body shrinking with fear in an instant. Then Luciel's faint groans carried on for a long while.
I have to go. Now is when I have to go!
If she was going to run, this was her chance. But for some reason, once again, Erina did not.
Instead, she began to climb the stairs to the upper floor, slowly, one step at a time. Curiosity—wanting to know what on earth had happened to him—had let her body overrule her mind.
By the time the groans had faded to almost nothing, Erina had reached the second floor, where she had little trouble finding the large room that appeared to be Luciel's. The door stood slightly ajar, and through the gap poured light so bright it nearly blinded her.
Light that a hundred, two hundred candles or lanterns gathered together could never have produced—brighter than noon under a sun at its zenith.
Had Luciel not been asleep after all?
Erina approached the door slowly. The brilliant light spilling out of the darkness was so unreal that she half-fancied she was standing before the gate of heaven itself.
And the closer she drew to that open door, the stronger the warmth grew. The house had already been warm to the point of feeling unreal, but that room seemed warmer still. The days here grew hot, but the nights were close to early winter—so much so that the cloak draped over Erina's shoulders now felt almost too warm to bear.
It would be quite some time before Erina realized that no fireplace was ever lit anywhere in this house.
What on earth is this?
"Ahh... it hurts like hell, seriously...."
Bang.
She jumped, nearly dropping her candle. She had heard Luciel muttering something between his groans—and then, a moment later, the door had shut. The instant it closed, the light vanished, and with it the warmth that had been spreading softly through the corridor.
Erina came to a stop in front of Luciel's door. It was a wooden door with a handle, no different from any other in the house.
What had just happened in there? Had something terrible happened to Luciel?
For a man who could wield magic that killed a person outright to be writhing in pain like that—?! What if he needed someone's help?
I want to open it. No—I have to open it.
It felt as if a demon had taken hold of her.
If I open it, I can't run. If I open it, I can never leave this place.
She knew. And knowing it, she still wanted to open that door—wanted to see what state Luciel was in, and what was happening inside his room.
Knock. Knock.
Gathering her courage, Erina knocked. For someone trying to escape, it was truly, utterly foolish.
....
But no sound came from beyond the door.
Should I say something?
"Um... Master Luciel?"
....
"It's Erina. Forgive the intrusion, but... may I come in?"
What am I doing?! Do I even mean to escape anymore?! It felt as though her body and her mind had split apart and gone separate ways.
.....
I mustn't go in. But I want to see!
"I'm sorry. I'm coming in."
Erina gripped the handle and pulled, putting only a little strength into it. Just like every other door in the house, it swung open with ease.
"Ah—!"
The sight spread out before her stole the breath from Erina's lungs.
It couldn't be. There was no way!
"What... what is this?"
Erina stood rooted to the spot, doubting her own eyes over and over.
Beyond the door, there was nothing in the room. Nothing at all.