A Smile Like a Mask
Once they passed inside the city, the merchant train broke apart, each company scattering toward its own house. A few of them ought to have peeled off at the towns along the way, but the bandits seemed to have driven them all the way here. Already some were sighing that they would have to turn around and go back.
Red Sword and Juhwan went on together as far as the Miller Trading Company's shop. Seeing a job through to its destination and having it confirmed, they had been told, was how the work was properly closed.
The avenue the wagons rolled down was full of people who looked wealthy. Now and then a woman passed in a plush fur hat three times as tall as Dorothy's, or in a gown of the sort one only ever saw in pictures. Juhwan's first thought was not that they were pretty or fine. Clothes like that must sweep up every speck of street dust—and yet they did not look dirty at all.
To Lizzie's eyes, though, they were simply beautiful. She could not look away from the woman's dress and her splendid coat. He had thought they had earned a great deal on this job, but the money it would take to buy something like that lay light-years off. Earn it. You.
As if she had noticed him watching, Lizzie wrenched her gaze aside the way one peels a sticker that refuses to come free, forcing it somewhere else. Earn it, husband. Truly.
Dorothy was far busier than Lizzie. She gasped at a handsome hat, and a moment later her eyes spun toward a pair of strange shoes with pointed toes. Those looked terribly fine. Almost at once, though, a noble's horse going by seemed finer still. To Dorothy, everything filling the street was wondrous and grand. Even the dung a horse dropped on the road had a special shape in a child's eyes. She had seen horses walk and leave droppings countless times, and still she marveled.
"Even a horse like that poops. Amazing."
Had she thought an expensive, handsome horse did not poop? Lizzie, who had been staring at a passing woman's feathered hat, broke into a giggle.
Lizzie and Dorothy seemed to like the city. Juhwan could not see the glittering place so kindly.
Between the stretches of broad avenue, narrow alleys spidered out. For all the wealth on display, no small number of people in shabby clothes stood inside those tight passages. Now and then he caught a child so starved the bones seemed ready to show, or a person who looked as if they might die on the spot. The gap between rich and poor here was severe.
Juhwan turned his eyes from the alleys. This was not like the village before, where everyone had been poor. In the gazes of the people who stood half-hidden in the lanes, watching the avenue, something like hatred had taken root.
Wealth and luxury somewhere far away, among strangers, did not matter. You could simply decide they were a different kind of person from you. But when happiness and extravagance were flaunted right before your eyes, envy filled the heart, and from that, dislike and hatred were born. People were like that.
Juhwan himself had grown desolate at the holidays and at Christmas, when whole families gathered. His own unhappiness swelled, and he envied the people laughing among their kin until the envy curdled into dislike. That was why, when he met Santa, he had pitied him before he knew what he was doing. So there's another unhappy person here, just like me. Yes. I'm not the only one.
The result had taught him, to the bone, that you should not pity people carelessly. Of course he understood now that a person ought to live kindly, and to give. If he had walked past Santa that day, he would never have met Lizzie and Dorothy.
After they had followed the long avenue through several bends, a round open space appeared. This city, too, had a square, like the villages he had seen elsewhere. In a village you could tell at a glance that the square was the center. In a city, he was not so sure. The square was far grander than any village's, and yet the city was so vast that even this great plaza looked like one small gear in a clock.
The Miller Trading Company lay a little farther on from the square. Once they left the plaza, the street was quiet, unlike the rest. It seemed to be the sort of place people on Earth would, in plainer words, call a luxury street.
The buildings around the square had been pretty and clean, but here every stone and every door looked different. A door carved with lavish ornament might have been a work of art left by a master sculptor. Few people passed. What he did see were figures dressed as if they might be nobles, and carriages worked with fine decoration.
Lizzie and Dorothy, shining-eyed with excitement only a moment ago, faltered. They looked cowed.
The Miller Trading Company stood in the middle of that refined street. Juhwan followed the company's wagon into a small alley beside the building.
Behind the house, a scene entirely unlike the street front unfolded. Wooden crates, wagons, and goods stood everywhere, and in the narrow space dozens of servants hauled loads or hurried about. A few who spotted Gordon, the escort chief, and Leonard came running. The others cleared a path and made room so the newly arrived wagons could enter. It was like a swan gliding elegantly across a lake while its feet worked furiously beneath the water.
Juhwan climbed down from the wagon and went into the trading house. Leonard led the way.
Leonard's manner was the same as ever. He had not changed. And yet the man who, in the caravan, had looked like nothing more than an ordinary company master suddenly seemed a great merchant too grand to address.
When Juhwan scooped up Dorothy, who had shrunk into herself amid all of it, the child whispered in his ear.
"Dad, is that grandpa a great person? Is he a noble?"
Gordon, following behind, let out a short laugh.
"He isn't a noble. Just a commoner."
Dorothy glanced all around, then wrapped both arms around Juhwan's neck and looked back. She dropped her voice as low as it would go and asked Gordon.
"He isn't a prince?"
"Dorothy!"
Lizzie started, and Dorothy squeezed Juhwan's neck as she whispered.
"Mom, nobody can hear. I said it quiet."
He was going to have to have a serious talk with the child.
The commissioned work ended when they received a wooden tag marked with the same number the guild had given them at departure. So that people who could not read would still recognize it, the tag bore only a number. You compared it with the one you carried, and if the two matched, that was enough.
For Red Sword, that finished the job. Juhwan still had to confirm how many times he had used Healing Magic.
Gordon held out a long slip of paper. The company's name and a set of figures were written on it in small script.
"This is a record of how many times Mr. Juhwan used Healing Magic, and on whom. If you can't read, please just check that the tally marks on the stick you carry match the count."
Because they had insisted it was necessary, every time he used Healing Magic he had the company people cut a notch into a small stick. For the badly wounded they cut not one mark but several. You matched the stick against the paper, and if the numbers agreed, that was the end of it.
When that, too, was finished, they left the trading house. A servant came along, saying he would guide them to their lodgings on the central square. As Juhwan started toward the rear of the house, where the wagon waited, Karin of Red Sword spoke.
"Ordinarily it'd be better to go to the guild today and file the completion report, but a great deal has happened these past few days. Let's rest today and meet tomorrow."
Karin glanced at Lizzie and Dorothy.
"This place is bigger than the city where the margrave's castle stands. It's the largest city in Bern. Bern borders several countries, so merchants gather. Moderni is where those merchants keep the most branch houses, so there's plenty to see and plenty to eat. Have a look around."
Karin cleared her throat with a small hem, then bowed deeply to Juhwan.
"Thank you for the advice last time. Watching you hit the Fire Mage—I thought about it a lot. It was truly frightening. The magic was one thing, but the way you looked... even with nothing, even bare-handed, I found myself thinking you might still have won."
Karin looked at Juhwan's face and smiled faintly.
"We're thinking of changing the way we fight, too. Thank you."
Something about the point of their resolve felt off. But as the old saying went, a crooked road was fine so long as it brought you to Seoul. Whatever the path, they only needed to find a way of fighting that suited them. He would be glad if his words and actions had helped them even a little, even if the point had landed slightly askew.
Karin stepped close to Lizzie and spoke softly at her ear.
"I envy you, Lizzie."
Karin left with her comrades, saying they would meet tomorrow. Lizzie tilted her head, then looked up at Juhwan.
"I can see why she'd envy me, but Juhwan—what did you do while we were asleep?"
Well. Should he answer that he had done something he did not think he could tell her and Dorothy? Juhwan grinned as if he were hiding it.
The place the Miller Trading Company's servant led them to was the most beautiful building on the square. The ground floor served as both tavern and restaurant. It was the same sort of arrangement as the inn where they had stayed before, but the exterior and the interior were entirely different. The prices of the food seemed very different, too—on the extremely expensive side.
"Many people from foreign trading houses stay around this building. Most of them are wealthy, so there are almost no vagrants or thugs, and the city guards pass often. You'll be able to stay safely."
The servant guided them to the highest floor, then returned to the company.
The room, too, was enormously lavish compared with the inn where they had slept before. It seemed to suit Dorothy and Lizzie perfectly. Dorothy squealed and spun around the room. The child was too excited to catch. Darting this way and that like a hamster, she looked like an acorn rolling around a tray.
"Lizzie, what's wrong?"
Ever since she had come into the room, Lizzie had been restless. She looked at Juhwan as if she had something to say, turned her head away, then looked out the window, and, as if she had made up her mind, looked at him again.
"...Juhwan."
"Yeah."
"...I...."
Lizzie started to speak, then stopped and lowered her head.
"Tell me. What's wrong, Lizzie? Does something hurt? Is your stomach queasy, or your head?"
"N-no. It's not that."
Lizzie frowned as if she were in a bind, then glanced up at Juhwan. She came closer and lightly caught his clothes, then looked up again. She was too cute.
"Lizzie, what is it?"
"We have a lot of food. There's meat we bought, and ingredients enough to make stew, even expensive pepper...."
So what was the problem? Lizzie hesitated and spoke again.
"But what we ate at the inn last time was really delicious."
It had been. He was sorry, but it had tasted better than what Lizzie made. If Lizzie gave it to him he would eat it happily and without a word, whether it was burned down to ash or a lump of stone—but if someone asked what had tasted good, the inn's food had.
"So this time, too...."
Lizzie looked up at him with her eyes slightly raised, as if she were sorry. That was all? The little tension in him went soft enough to be funny.
"The preserved food can wait. We should do the things we can only do here. Let's eat downstairs and go out, Lizzie. The money we were given as thanks—we can spend all of it in this city."
"We can't do that, Juhwan. Money is meant to be saved."
Lizzie said it firmly. But her face was smiling. She looked happy.
Dorothy, who had been circling the room and was suddenly at his side, clung to Juhwan's leg.
"Dad, Dorothy wants meat."
Eat plenty, Dorothy. Seeing the little trail of drool on her face—she must have been thinking of the meat—he laughed with Lizzie.
Whatever tried to break this ordinary life, he would never forgive it. That was what he thought.
When they had unpacked a little and gone down to the restaurant on the ground floor, it was still rather early for supper. Whether because of the hour or because a fine restaurant drew few guests, there was only one man inside.
The man in the corner was wrapped in luxurious fur. He looked about Juhwan's age, somewhere around thirty. Before him sat only one pretty plate, holding a red fruit. It was a fruit Juhwan had seen on Earth. He had never eaten one, but it was a pomegranate.
So this world has pomegranates, too.
As he thought it, his eyes met the man's. Unlike other people, who flinched when they saw Juhwan, the man grinned as if it were nothing. That was strange enough that, even after he sat, Juhwan kept glancing over.
Besides liquor, meat, and the other dishes, the place sold pomegranates, figs, and apple wine. Unlike the inn they had visited before, though, no one told them the prices first.
Bound to be steep.
The look of the place had suggested as much from the outside. It seemed a shop meant for wealthy guests, and the things inside had been made with considerable care. These were not tables of wood simply chopped and set down. Pretty carving ran over the tables and the chairs alike.
Juhwan stole a look at Lizzie. She seemed overwhelmed by the atmosphere. With a slightly cowed face, she peeked here and there around the room. It was a place the Miller Trading Company had recommended, and Leonard had said nothing particular against it, so they were unlikely to be fleeced into paying a gold coin for a single meal. Still, it would certainly cost more than Lizzie expected. But well—this was an experience, too. Where money was concerned, he had decided to leave things to Lizzie as much as he could.
Because the family was together, Juhwan did not drink, but Lizzie had never tried apple wine, so he ordered a glass with the meal. For Dorothy he chose a pomegranate in addition to the meat.
"Ah, um—how much is it?"
Only after the order was done did Lizzie hesitate and ask the price. At the server's answer, she went still.
"Miss?"
Seven rina for a single pomegranate. It seemed a price Lizzie could not have imagined. She only blinked, as if words would not come. She could not bring herself to cancel it after the fact. Holding the tears in, Lizzie smiled.
"...It's nothing."
The server smiled a little and bowed his head. Did guests like this come now and then? When he left, Lizzie quietly took Juhwan's hand.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know it would be this expensive."
A single tear dropped. When Juhwan smiled at the sight of it, Lizzie lowered her head a little.
But the food was truly delicious. Dorothy took a bite, said it was good, took another bite, and said it was good again. Lizzie ate while crying a little.
The man in the corner glanced their way now and then. He seemed to be looking at Oz, seated on Dorothy's head. When Dorothy stared at the man in the fur coat, he smiled gently and spun a finger in circles above the table. Pomegranate seeds rolled after his finger with a soft patter. It must have been wonderfully strange. Dorothy's eyes would not leave them.
Wind Magic. I ought to try it in earnest sometime.
When Juhwan had paid and was leaving with his family, a man came into the restaurant. He flinched at the sight of Juhwan's huge frame.
Right. That's the ordinary reaction.
Juhwan gave a bitter smile and went outside. The man who had just come in seemed to be with the one in the fur coat. Just before the door closed, Juhwan saw him sit at the same table.
Suddenly his eyes met the fur-clad man's. The man smiled, bright and easy. The smile stayed in Juhwan's sight. It felt exactly like looking at someone wearing a mask.