Pancakes Topped with Antler Cone Jam
When a guest arrives, hospitality is only proper.
The people of Drywood, neither destitute nor especially well-off, once again tried to treat the newly arrived subjugation force. Zoric, flustered, did his best to talk them out of it.
This force was nothing more than an extension of the investigation team that had gone missing earlier. Hospitality, he argued, could already be counted as received by those who had vanished. Besides, winter had not merely drawn near—it had arrived early. Depleting their stockpiled food would be unwise.
Yet abandoning the custom of hospitality for such reasons was simply unthinkable.
"Above all, the size of the subjugation force is—"
"To cast aside the custom of hospitality is to invite death itself...!!!"
"Now look here, didn't I just say we'd count what the previous force received as enough?"
Of course the villagers and their chief were not without secondary motives—wanting to stay in Alfred's good graces, or gratitude for finally ending the territorial dispute—but they were thoroughly earnest.
A guest, after all, was to be received even in drought or typhoon.
After much back-and-forth, Zoric finally agreed to accept a portion of whatever foodstuff the village had stockpiled in greatest quantity, and so ended the absurd contest between a guest who refused to take and hosts who insisted on giving.
The morning after the subjugation force settled into the village—
"This jam looks dubious as to whether it can even be eaten."
"Hmm. Antler cone jam, is it?"
"You know of it?"
Catherine eyed the jar of jam with a puzzled expression.
"I do, though I've never actually tasted it."
"Mm, it certainly looks the part."
Karem watched the fruit that clung and twisted with sticky honey every time Mary prodded it with a butter knife—something like a spiral-twisted pine cone.
He had heard it was a common winter preserve near the Antler Forest.
Russian pine-cone jam came to mind.
One might scoff—how do you eat a pine cone? Are the Russians so short of food they resort to such things?—yet that was probably how it had begun: out of sheer necessity. Of course they would have picked young cones still soft enough to retain their fruit-like shape and turned those into jam. This was likely the same.
During the journey he had been otherwise occupied, but now that they had reached the village Karem rolled up his sleeves and threw himself into his true calling.
Today's breakfast was pancakes.
He mixed eggs and milk bought from the village with flour the force had brought, then cooked the batter on both sides until golden in a pan generously greased with butter, stacking thick piles on each plate.
A pat of butter went onto the steaming pancakes, followed not by syrup but by a generous smear of antler cone jam.
Every time Karem's spoon moved, the jam—thicker and more substantial than maple syrup—spread, and the spiral cones rolled about.
It certainly looked delicious.
It also looked extremely alien.
Curiosity, doubt, can this really be eaten? Well, everyone else seems to manage...
"Junior Karem. Why the hesitation?"
"Mm."
"The scent and texture are unusual, but it's only been pickled in honey."
"I see."
It was food people ate, after all. Karem squeezed his eyes shut and took a big bite of pancake together with a sizable antler cone.
And the taste was, unexpectedly, not bad at all.
Honey carrying the sweetness that the sugar-free pancakes themselves lacked.
Once the initial crunch vanished, a soft texture remained.
The more he chewed, the more it offered a chewy, nutty flavor like ginkgo seeds, accompanied by a rich, refreshing green scent.
Catherine, who had hesitated at first because of the appearance, found it surprisingly to her liking and quietly ate the antler cone jam that Mary offered atop her pancakes.
"Mm, this deep-forest-after-a-rain scent is hard to get used to."
"Contractor. And yet you're eating it just fine."
"Once the fleeting scent passes, the fragrance of autumn leaves comes rushing in. It feels as though I'm eating every season except winter."
Karem, however, had a different thought.
This smells exactly like that stuff. The kind of drink that reeks of pine-sauna and is wildly polarizing—like X's eye or whatever—turned into a sweet jam with maple notes added.
As if his earlier hesitation had never existed, he cleaned his plate completely.
A flavor he would want again someday, even if not right away.
Exactly that kind of taste. Though the heavy honey left his tongue slightly numb.
The moment breakfast ended, the subjugation force threw itself into work under Zoric's command.
Which meant Catherine was busy as well.
Mmmrrrreeeh—! Mmmrrrreeeh—!
"Lady Atanitas?"
"What."
"You said this was work?"
"It is. Hah, the sooner I finish, the sooner I can get back to my compounding."
"What do the sheep have to do with the work?"
Indeed—sheep.
Sheep of every size, all four legs bound and mouths gagged, lay on the ground. Their wool had been shorn so that bare skin showed; they shivered violently in the cold.
"Bait, of course. Bait."
"Bait. Sheep?"
"Yes."
Catherine's mood was far gloomier than it had been at breakfast.
She began painting circles directly onto the sheep's skin with a brush, treating the hide as canvas.
Karem suddenly recalled a documentary he had once seen.
In certain regions, when hunting large predators, people tethered live sheep, pigs, or cattle along the beasts' trails and struck when the predator came for the bait.
"Sheep alone may not be enough, so additional processing is required."
"You mean the drawings and writing on the skin?"
"Exactly. Using sheep and goats as sacrificial offerings is a classical method. The necessary symbols are abundance, vitality, life force. This is the work of maximizing them."
Catherine did not stop once the circle was complete; her brush kept moving.
She repeatedly layered offset triangles around the blue circle, then wrote a character in each resulting space. Only then did she set the brush aside and take a small pouch from Mary.
Just as an unskilled cook blames the ingredients, magic was the same.
Insufficient skill meant more mediums, offerings, and reagents were required—and the further the intended magic lay from one's specialty and talent, the more that demand grew.
Catherine was a great mage. Even if the present task was outside her specialty, her skill was never lacking. Thus she needed only three materials.
Diluted chicken blood, drawn onto the young goat's body to stagnate and alter mana.
Powder of the first sprouts that had bloomed at the arrival of spring, dried.
And the origin and fuel of all magic: mana refined from life force.
Catherine scattered the dried sprout powder from the small pouch, then snapped her fingers.
Green sparks leapt with the friction and fell onto the young sheep. The blue magic circle flushed green, then faded into a soft pale jade.
"Good. Done."
"...And you still say this isn't your specialty?"
"Research is enjoyable, but my specialty remains ice magic."
"Mm, it feels as though all paths lead to one."
"Oh, that's a fine saying. Now cover the sheep with that cloth."
Karem, unable to hide his admiration, pointed at the young sheep; Mary, who had been holding it down, released it.
"Contractor. Your chat is pleasant, but—"
"Hm?"
"Aren't we a little short on time?"
"Hah."
Catherine let the suppressed sense of futility show on her face.
A flat surface would have been one thing, but even with the wool shorn, a sheep remained a three-dimensional creature. Naturally the difficulty of drawing a magic circle rose, and there was no guarantee the animal would stay still. In fact, it was certain not to.
Baaaaaaah—!!!
What the subjugation needed immediately was prepared bait and the mediums that would be used. Even after that, a mountain of work brought from Coldon still waited.
An all-nighter was certain. As always.
The light died in Catherine's eyes.
"Well, we somehow managed to finish on time."
"...I feel sorry for the sheep that got beaten for no reason."
"No reason? Junior Karem. We were short on time, and the Contractor said magic couldn't be used for this task. This was the quickest way to keep them quiet."
Karem recalled the previous day's gruesome scene, excused by lack of time, and squeezed his eyes shut by reflex.
Had it happened in the modern world, animal-protection groups would certainly have risen in outrage at the sheer brutality.
As if being used as bait and living sacrifice weren't already unfair enough.
Later Mary had simply decided the thrashing was annoying and knocked the sheep out cold with a pot to the head, no hesitation at all.
Frankly, he felt sorry for the sheep.
"Mary."
"Mm, that voice is full of complaints."
"I feel sorry for the sheep."
"Junior Karem. Don't you feel sorry for the meat you eat every day?"
Karem shook his head firmly.
"Not at all."
"That's biased."
"Knocking something unconscious and handling ingredients that have already been butchered are completely different things."
"Animals are living creatures all the same. Junior Karem, you're cold-hearted."
"Then why don't you feel the same sympathy for that Iceworm monster holed up in the Antler Forest?"
The childish verbal sparring between Karem and Mary—what is commonly called a quarrel—dragged on endlessly as each seized on the other's words, until it was abruptly cut short.
Thud—!
An earthquake—no, a vibration.
The noisy camp fell silent in an instant.
According to the plan, that vibration meant the target Iceworm had taken the bait.
Karem and Mary, waiting inside Catherine's tent in the camp, naturally felt it as well.
"I hope the subjugation ends safely."
"Junior Karem. That remark is a failure as a retainer."
"Pardon?"
At Karem's question Mary closed her eyes.
"A retainer must trust the master unless the master breaks the contract first."
"Mm, then there's only one thing for me to do."
After vigorous outdoor activity, hunger was inevitable.
Especially outdoors in winter, where simply standing still burned calories; something heavy and filling would be wanted for certain.
"Would you help me prep ingredients?"
"Ka—"
Thud—!
The vibration came again.
This one was stronger; a luggage bag standing in the corner of the tent toppled, its mouth opening so that the contents spilled out.
Fortunately everything was portioned into small sacks that were tightly bound, so nothing actually scattered outside.
However...
"Uh, Mary?"
"What is it, Junior Karem."
"Those are the magical mediums Lady Atanitas prepared, right?"
"Haa..."
Mary let out a long sigh.
Grasping the meaning behind it, Karem clapped a hand to his forehead.
An Iceworm was a death worm adapted to Iceland.
It possessed resistance to ice magic.
Just in case, Catherine had prepared materials for deploying other powerful magics—so why were they here?
The answer was simple.
Catherine was human, and she had simply forgotten.
With the speed of someone snatching a falling plate, Mary seized the bag and raced out of the tent, raising a gust of wind. Her destination was obvious.
Material Attachment
Pancakes Topped with Antler Cone Jam (Pine Cone Jam)
A picture drawn by ChatGPT.