14. Melting Point (1)
14. Melting Point (1)
The Borjomi region had been famous since ancient times as a retreat for the Kiev Imperial Court. Deep in the aquifers beneath this land ran subterranean magma streams from Julitikamen, the active volcano known as the most dangerous mountain in the entire Sierra Madre. In plain terms, the hot springs here were extraordinary. On a snowy day, you could immerse yourself in water heated to a bubbling boil, look out at the colossal mountain range unfolding like a folding screen in the distance — and that experience was something you could only find in Borjomi.
Once, only the emperor and his direct bloodline had been permitted to enter this region. Now, every district except a handful of imperial estates was open to common travelers. Visitors journeying south along the eastern branch line of the Transcontinental Train would step off at Nizhny Borjomi Station, surrounded on all sides by mountains, and take in the panoramic view of the terraced city climbing the valley before them.
Inns, gambling dens, pleasure quarters — a dazzling city of entertainment packed with buildings of every sort — but the structure that drew every eye was the hot-spring hotel that perched at the city's summit: the Golden Palace. True to its name, the Golden Palace was sheathed in gilded outer walls, and its majesty was so imposing that many first-time visitors mistook it for the emperor's own villa.
What made the Golden Palace the finest hotel in Borjomi was not only its location but two facilities in particular. One was the "Heavenly Bath," an open-air spring situated at the cliff's edge whose waters cascaded down like a waterfall. The other was the "Under-Heaven Tavern," suspended from the cliffs between the valleys. Even guests staying elsewhere in the city made a point of visiting these two spots, such was their place in Borjomi's life.
Under-Heaven Tavern was a five-story building fixed upside-down beneath the hotel's first-floor lobby — it did not rise upward but plunged downward. Because it sat below the ground floor, it was conveniently referred to as the basement, yet the building actually hung in midair, anchored to the cliff face by steel supports.
To the naked eye it looked precarious in the extreme, but the most advanced construction techniques of the era had been poured into it. The structure could never fall, though those inside could feel a gentle sway. That subtle rocking, in fact, gave the tavern's patrons a thrilling edge of tension as they drank in the sweep of the city below and the peaks of the Sierra Madre rising as though to brush the heavens.
"Stop dragging your feet! It's nearly dinnertime!"
At the command of the madam in charge of the tavern, the staff moved as one. They wiped tabletops and floors, shuttled dishware between the first and fifth subterranean floors at a brisk pace. As befitted the finest tavern in Borjomi, their motions were crisp and precise, like well-drilled soldiers.
One figure, though, stood out for her sluggishness — a woman who looked to be in her early twenties, with green hair, descending the stairs just now. While her coworkers hauled stacks of dozens of plates, she wobbled, hugging a mere ten or so to her chest with unsteady steps.
"Good heavens, at that rate she'll smash the lot! Hey, someone take those! Anais, put the plates down and... wipe the tabletops with dry cloths!"
A middle-aged man with a square mustache, unable to stomach her work any longer, barked at her. Had any other employee worked that way, he'd have pointed at the door and told them to get out. But with this woman — Anais — he did not dare. He could only grumble half-heartedly under his breath.
Breaking into a cold sweat, Anais bobbed her head and hunched her shoulders at the manager's blistering order, then hastily set about wiping tables. Behind her, the other workers muttered in sour voices.
"How did a girl like that even get into Under-Heaven Tavern?"
"Right? She doesn't look like she's ever worked a tavern before..."
"Tch, must be nice. When I was her age, I got smacked across the skull with a stick while I worked."
"But why don't the madam and the managers ever say anything to her?"
"Oh, you were back home until last week, weren't you? That girl — she came here on the old scrubber's recommendation."
The old scrubber. When the name left someone's mouth, every worker at the Golden Palace wore a different expression. Some faces showed respect or trust; others, pity or disgust. What no one could claim was closeness to him, and what no one could deny was that he was important to the Golden Palace.
"Let this child work in the tavern."
Weeks before, the old man had brought this young woman, Anais, before the madam and said just that. In thirty years, the man — who had formed no deep bond with anyone, silently tending to his own work — making a request of another person was exceedingly rare. So his appeal was not easily refused. The tavern's madam and the managers on every floor had each, at some point, been indebted to him.
Though that debt amounted to nothing grander than a massage, the fact remained that nobles and wealthy patrons paid fortunes and queued months in advance simply to receive the touch of his hands — which made his request an immense favor. In truth, the very manager who had just shouted at Anais had, several years ago, received a single massage from him and watched kidney stones that had tormented him for decades vanish like melting snow. With that history, none of them dared treat her harshly.
"From what I hear, she's his hidden daughter."
"Daughter? Tch. A man who hasn't set foot outside this place in thirty years — when would he have married and fathered a daughter? My guess is, the old scrubber got lonely in his later years... brought in a girl to work as a housemaid and warm his bed. You know, the way she goes off to his quarters every night."
"Oh my, every night?"
"Ahah, so that's why she's got no strength for work — keke."
"The old man's still got vigor, at his age."
"Still takes ten customers a day, doesn't he? His stamina's got to be something else."
"And those hands..."
"Hey, hey, that's — keke — you think he's got her riding the dirigible several times a night, Anais?"
What had begun as whispers steadily swelled until the words reached the ears of Anais herself, still wiping tabletops. As a titled noblewoman and chairwoman of a major trading company, three months ago she could not have imagined herself reduced to menial labor while listening to the loose talk of low-class tavern employees.
But though her face flushed red, she swallowed her resentment and focused silently on the work. She was the one who had asked the old scrubber to let her work at Under-Heaven Tavern in the first place — precisely because nowhere else would bring her so close to the world's pulse.
"Did you hear? His Majesty has finally risen from his sickbed!"
"Then the Crown Prince's regency has ended?"
"They say every reform from the last half-year has been rendered void."
"The Crown Prince's position might be in peril."
Taking orders and hauling drinks and dishes, Anais steadily absorbed the news from outside. Politics, society, the economy, culture — strands of information came at her all at once, and she digested them simultaneously. The multitasking prowess that had earned her the title of prodigy in high society was unmatched. Weaving between tables, gathering intelligence, she came to an abrupt halt — arrested by the conversation drifting from the table across from her.
"You hear about the October Test at Rekachev?"
"Ah, the one that got hit by terrorists mid-exam?"
"Shame. First revived Circus Grand Prix in seventeen years, and the whole atmosphere is so unsettled."
"The athletes are the real tragedy. The story of who won got buried under all the chaos."
"Still, one troupe made its name, didn't they? Wiped out a whole coalition of other troupes single-handed, and then got kidnapped by terrorists in the end — that one."
"Wonderstein's Monster Circus!"
"Incredible outfit. Just a little while ago, people were jeering at them as 'that freak circus.'"
"Come to think of it, Viscountess Bergson is something else. Recognized their real worth early on, didn't she?"
"She really does see things ordinary people like us can't. An eye for talent."
"Probably why she's also the chairwoman of a major trading company."
Anais listened to them and smiled a bitter smile. Even hearing her own discernment praised, she could not feel honestly pleased. That sponsorship had been an impulse — the decision of a sheltered girl who, moved by being rescued, had acted on pure emotion. Of course, the causal chain linking that choice to her present situation was thin, yet they shared a common root: her own naivety.
But more than anything else, what stung in their praise was this — the person plucking that fruit of glory was not her. The thought nearly brought tears again. Standing there, chewing on her frustration, she suddenly felt a hand slip under her skirt and caress her backside.
"Kyaak!"
She screamed, dropping the tray in her hands. Instantly, the customer seated at the table beside her burst into laughter.
"Pwahaha, little miss, with a rear like that, who's going to marry you?"
"Wha— what are you doing... Th-this is assault..."
Face burning with humiliation, she cried out at the middle-aged man reeking of liquor. He blinked at her with a baffled expression.
"Huh? You were loitering right next to me — I figured naturally you wanted me to name you for pillow service."
"Well now, look at that. She wasn't after you — she wanted me. Here, little miss, have a seat right here on the old man's lap. Or just lean on it for a bit — that works too!"
Laughter erupted from all sides at the men's lewd banter. This was a city of pleasure. It was common for women to sell bath-side service and bed service for coin here. Naturally, no one could operate an open brothel directly in front of an imperial villa, so most inn staff simply provided "extra services" on the side. Most of the workers at Under-Heaven Tavern took additional income through such pillow work. Lingering beside a customer, as Anais had just done, was one of the understood signals for a request. She, of course, had intended nothing of the sort.
Her face burning crimson, as though it might burst, she clutched her apron and fled the hall. Behind her, the men traded cruder jokes, savoring her flustered reaction all the more.
"Hah... hah..."
In an empty corridor, she tried to steady her breathing, then sank to the floor. And there, tears dripping, she wept bitterly.
"Uu, uuh..."
It was not the first time men had made advances toward her. Even among those of high station, she had encountered plenty willing to impose that sort of physical contact. But this was the first time she had felt utterly defenseless. Everywhere she'd gone before, she had carried herself with confidence — the titled lady of a domain, the owner of a major trading company...
"So here you are."
A cold woman's voice came from behind her. Unwilling to let anyone in this place see her diminished, she scrubbed roughly at her tears with her sleeve and looked up wearing the most defiant expression she could manage.
"What is it?"
Anais recognized her. The woman, whose shoulders and the curves of her breasts were laid bare beneath black translucent lace, was one of the somo of Under-Heaven Tavern. The somo served under the madam who ran the entire tavern; they managed the lowest-ranking serving girls and maintained discipline. The somo now addressing Anais was in her mid-thirties, yet still boasted the face and figure of a woman ten years younger — a testament to her care. And since the day Anais had arrived, she had dealt with her through a policy of near-total non-interference, making her one of the few people here toward whom Anais held no ill feeling.
"I heard you attempted pillow service and came looking."
"It was a misunderstanding."
"Mm. Seems it was."
The somo gave a slight nod and turned to leave. Anais caught her. Though this was not the job she had wished for, nor a place she cared for, she felt it was only right to thank the one person here who had shown her any consideration.
"Thank you."
"I haven't done anything to be thanked for."
She glanced back at Anais's tear-streaked face, then gave a small smirk.
"Leave early today. Go out looking like that, and you'll just break a few more plates and wineglasses."
"L-lately I've b-barely broken any..."
"I said go."
With that, she left the corridor. Anais stood staring after her with a complicated expression, then exited the tavern and headed toward her lodging. But she did not go to the staff dormitory. She descended into the true basement — the chamber carved out of the earth beneath the hotel building.
Cheeeee. Chk. The pumps and pipelines drawing up hot-spring water roared and hissed as they spewed steam. She picked her way carefully through the labyrinth of pipes, dodging them to avoid burns, and made her way to the innermost cave. Here, a man who had made this place his roost since the hotel's earliest days kept his quarters. The lodging of the man known as "the old scrubber"—Carlson.
A few old wooden planks were all that closed off the cave. The baths were still open for business. Anais knew the cave's master was out, but she knocked on those planks anyway before letting herself in. The space within was at least habitable. It had the necessities — furnishings enough that one could call it cozy.
Nearly nobody from the hotel ever set foot here, which made it a good place to hide. Anais approached the figure lying on the bed in one corner of the cave. The old man, wrapped in bandages from head to toe and breathing faint, pained murmurs, was her butler. He seemed to have stirred awake at the sound of her knock.
"Old man."
At her call, he slowly raised himself. Anais moved to ease him back down, but he would not be stopped. Lifting his head, he studied her face closely, then asked in a voice thick with worry.
"Are you all right, my lady?"
"Yes."
Wondering if the traces of tears were still on her face, she wiped at her eyes once more.
"These times are exactly when you must steel your heart most firmly."
At her loyal butler's words, she nodded with a resolute expression.
"I know."
Yet, no matter how firmly she resolved herself, facing the dying butler's wretched state made it impossible to block out the nightmare of three months ago.