Chapter 36: Bamboo and Crimson Maple
"Me? I... I was only dispatched here as a bartender. And since it's my break, I'll be taking my leave."
I drew the line without leaving room to argue and backed away. Tucked behind my legs, the familiars were yawning at their leisure, and looking down at them I finally understood why they dawdled and tried to bolt from anything beyond the tasks assigned to them. A superior who could not light a single burner, who could not tear open a bag of snacks with her own hands, and who nonetheless poured out nothing but orders—under someone like that, running was better than being ground down. This clever cat, it seemed, had known as much for a long time.
If I slipped by even a step and volunteered, I would be reduced on the spot to that little sovereign's personal servant and worn ragged for all three of the days I had left. I hurried to slide open the tea room door and escape, and Junko's languid voice trailed after me.
"Hehe. Lady Haeshin has taken quite a liking to our temporary bartender, that's all. She never so much as tastes food brought by anyone who falls short of her own standards."
I had no wish, just then, to find out whether that was a compliment or a dreadful curse. Turning my back on Junko—chin propped on her hand, mischief written all over her face—I left the tea room as fast as I could. My steps pattered through the maze of wooden corridors. The moment I caught sight of the room Grace had pointed out so offhandedly that morning, I yanked the handle and ducked inside. The latch clicked shut. Only with the door fast and my back against the cold wall did the long sigh trapped in my chest finally slip free.
It had been a forced march since dawn. Tossed this way and that by the magical girls—mixing cocktails, cooking, even pulling coffee—all of that fatigue crashed over me at once the moment I stepped into my room. Only the cool northern wind threading through the window quietly drew the heat from my flushed cheeks. I leaned against the wall and steadied my breathing, then slowly slid down to sit on the floor.
"Working under someone else... I really would rather not."
The storm of everything I had just been through flickered past. I could no longer tell whether Lady Shinano, whom I had taken for a tyrant of a boss, had in fact been the merciful sort, or whether I was simply built for working on my own. At least Lady Shinano had never flown into a rage because she could not open a snack bag by herself, or bellowed at me with her mouth smeared in white cream.
Once the tension let go, an ache spread through my joints and fatigue rolled in like a wave. I lay down roughly on the tatami and decided to shut my eyes until my next shift.
The sliding door rasped open, and the corridor's yellow light poured in a long band across the dark room.
"Sleep on a floor that cold and you'll wake up with your mouth pulled crooked."
The voice was calm, and oddly exacting. I lifted my heavy lids toward it and found Grace standing in the doorway in a kimono.
"Please get up, temporary bartender. It's about time you prepared to open the evening bar. If you fall asleep just anywhere and come down with a cold, that would be a problem."
With a light sigh, Grace felt along the wall and flipped the switch. The fluorescent light flickered on, and her violet hair gave a soft sway.
"I'm already overwhelmed cleaning up after Lady Junko. I certainly don't have the strength left to nurse you as well. And besides..."
She glanced toward the corridor and lowered her voice a little.
"Lady Momiji has been sitting at the lobby bar counter for some time. She seems to be waiting for that drink in the quiet of the night you spoke of this morning."
Grace's pale lilac eyes fixed on me.
"Keeping a guest waiting... would hardly count as proper hospitality, would it?"
I rubbed my eyes and hauled my stiff body upright.
"Ah... you're right. Won't you have a drink yourself, Grace?"
At my clumsy question she gave me a cool look, as if she could not believe what she had heard.
"Have you ever seen a facility manager put alcohol to her lips while on duty?"
She let out a small sigh and answered in that same exacting voice.
"And if I were to get drunk as well, who exactly would clean up after Lady Junko, that walking disaster, and Lady Haeshin? A warm cup of tea with no caffeine, perhaps. Alcohol, I must politely decline."
The refusal snapped off clean. Arms folded, she tapped the tatami lightly with the toe of her foot.
"Do wash your face and come out. Lady Momiji's patience runs deep, as befits a warrior, but it is still poor manners for the bartender who promised her a drink to oversleep and leave a guest waiting indefinitely."
At her scolding I scratched my head and got to my feet. A dull crack ran through my stiffened shoulders and neck; I rolled them loose, then washed my face with cold water. Once the drowsiness had been thoroughly chased off, I straightened my collar and started toward the lobby.
With the sun fully down, the lobby wore an atmosphere nothing like the day's. Beyond the windows a fierce northern blizzard was driving hard, but inside, soft warm light filled the space with a quiet calm. At the bar counter of that secret retreat, Momiji sat composed in a black kimono embroidered with crimson flowers. Her back was straight as a sword set point-down in the floor, not a line out of place.
When I stepped in behind the counter and let my presence be known, Momiji slowly turned her head to look at me.
"You've come."
Her voice was calm and full of grace. Her eyes, catching the bar's gentle light, had settled into stillness.
"I came to keep my promise—to ask again for your glass, in the quiet of the night."
"Haha... I'm sorry I'm late. The day turned out to be rather full."
At my awkward apology, Momiji blinked slowly.
"A very faint sweetness has soaked into your collar."
The counter's narrow light settled quietly over her crimson hair.
"Attending someone who plays at being a sovereign is far more grueling than gripping a heavy sword."
A faint smile on her lips, she gathered both hands neatly atop the counter.
"There is no need to make excuses, or to hide it. That person's lofty incompetence is already widely rumored. If anything, allow me to offer my sympathy for your being summoned about during hours when you ought to have been resting."
Momiji's gaze moved to the empty glass at my fingertips.
"This morning, you tested me with a Manhattan."
She lifted her eyes and met mine directly. Through the stillness of them passed a light as cold and keen as the glint of a blade.
"This time, may I ask for a glass sharp enough to cut cleanly through the cloying trace of that person still clinging to you—and the fatigue along with it?"
Momiji tilted her head slightly and went on.
"Sitting this close, I feel I might grow drunk on that sweetness myself."
"Yes. Of course."
As I answered, I glanced at the clock on the wall. Grace had woken me with excellent timing; the dinner hour was already drawing near. Beyond the corridor, familiars in kimonos of every color, animal ears perched on their heads, seemed to be bustling about as they prepared the evening meal. Then the cocktail for her ought to be something one could drink lightly before sitting down to eat.
"To suit the hour before dinner... I'll prepare something that can wash away the fatigue, and the trace of sweetness with it."
Where the morning's test had centered on a range of base spirits, this base was dry sherry and dry vermouth, almost entirely without sweetness. Instead of a shaker, I filled a mixing glass with ice once more, poured in the sherry and the vermouth, and added a few drops of orange bitters to deepen the flavor. I took up the bar spoon and stirred in silence, careful that ice never struck glass, bringing the temperature down before I set a strainer and poured the drink into a thoroughly chilled glass. To finish, I twisted a thin lemon peel, laying a bright citrus aroma over the surface, garnished the rim, and set it before her.
"A Bamboo. It's a cocktail well suited to before a meal, and the name seemed as though it would suit you, Lady Momiji, so I chose it."
Momiji gazed quietly down at the glass slid across the counter. Above the liquid—clear, and touched with a pale gold—a faint citrus fragrance rose from the lemon peel. With long, tidy fingers she took the glass and slowly brought it to her lips. The sharp, clean taste of dry sherry and vermouth, edged with the bitters' dry bitterness, seemed to rinse away in a single swallow the heavy sweetness that had grated on her nerves all afternoon.
Momiji glanced down at her own red hair gleaming beneath the light, and at the crimson flowers embroidered on her kimono. Then an elegant, satisfied smile touched her lips.
"To lay the name of the maple upon a drink that carries the spirit of bamboo standing perfectly straight... As a way of receiving a warrior, it has rather a fine elegance."
She set the glass down slowly and drew a deep breath. The edge in her shoulders eased, softening by a degree.
"The quiet of your mixing was admirable as well—not a single clink of ice the whole time you worked. Indeed, a taste this cold and this keen could cut even the arrogant shadow of one who calls herself a sovereign. A splendid aperitif."