The Beginning of Spring
Whether by choice or by circumstance, whenever people gather into a group, someone always rises to lead them.
Jigmeser, head chef charged with every table at Winterhome, was an example of the former.
Elder Iona, who represented and commanded Winterhome’s servants and maids as well as the priests of the Felwinter domain, stood as an example of the latter.
Until now the Felwinter family had employed only a single exclusive mage, so no one had bothered to appoint a formal representative. Now, though still only two, their numbers had grown.
Unless something extraordinary intervened, those numbers would only keep rising; they would never shrink.
The chain of command needed sorting out at once.
Yet, as the saying goes, great power brings great responsibility.
The post of representative for an entire organization was a thorough nuisance.
Of course, the chief magical advisor who spoke for the exclusive mages of Iceland’s most powerful noble house would wield correspondingly immense authority.
Ordinarily mages would have clawed one another’s eyes out for such a seat, but Catherine, at least, was not among them.
Political headaches as a baseline, plus every major and minor affair of the Felwinter family that would soon unfold in the castle and the tower, and the endless clean-up for every mage who joined them afterward…
Unless her rank left her no choice, she had no intention of taking it on.
Fortunately Olivier—older and more experienced than she—had just arrived, so Catherine immediately decided to dump the tiresome duty on him.
But the thoughts one has can always be had by someone else as well.
Olivier moved faster than she did.
No—the matter had already been settled long before.
"You damned old geezer! For someone with such a heavy ass, you sure know how to shove annoying work onto other people!"
"That doesn’t make the fact of your appointment disappear, so how about calming down a little?"
Karem offered the words out of courtesy, at least.
It was a scene that had already repeated itself several times since morning.
Using his employer’s outrage as background music, Karem gazed out the window.
Winter had ended long ago; the sky was clear, and though the cold had yet to fully recede, nothing could truly be called warm compared with what had come before.
The snow that had poured endlessly from the heavens had thinned, marking winter’s end.
Yet the sun showed its face only at noon, between morning and afternoon.
At every other hour the sky remained packed with sullen clouds that were neither storm clouds nor ordinary ones.
And above all else—
Swaaaah—
As if to declare that the snow’s retreat meant nothing, rain began to fall.
A proper downpour would have been preferable.
What actually fell was a fine, persistent drizzle.
Ordinarily it would have been weather that mattered little whether it rained or not.
But with the snow beginning to melt as spring arrived, the gloomy sky, and the rare appearance of sunlight, a heavy humidity like the rainy season of midsummer began to blanket all of Coldon.
Kingsland had its humidity too, yet Iceland’s was worse still.
Fortunately some measures had been taken indoors, so it was not as bad as outside.
Even so, the moisture could not be completely driven out.
Since he could not simply stop working because the air was muggy, Karem immediately set about preparing a light meal.
Rain was falling, and he had the essential ingredients on hand.
He mixed a modest amount of flour with salted green onions, lined them in neat rows across an oiled pan, and scattered various garnishes on top.
Then he poured beaten eggs over everything and fried both sides until golden, half-frying them in oil, turning out several green-onion pancakes.
They looked like Dongnae pajeon, yet they were a far cry from the real thing.
First he had used pork neck in place of seafood, and lacking glutinous rice flour he had no choice but to use ordinary wheat flour.
Still, Karem was reasonably satisfied with the result.
The thick pieces of pork created ridges and holes through which the oil flowed, frying the batter and eggs so that the whole pancake turned out crisp and golden.
Though there was no seasoned soy sauce, he mixed vinegar with minced green onion, pepper, and a tiny amount of minced fire-devil hand to produce a sauce that served as a decent substitute.
It was only natural that the two mages watching Karem’s hands were shocked out of their wits.
What kind of dish used more spice than the eggs and meat themselves?
Moreover Olivier, who had recoiled at the idea of a sauce mixed with some poisonous herb, was now following Catherine—who had already reached a state of culinary enlightenment—eating while breaking into a light sweat.
"Hoo, the fire-devil hand makes it a bit spicy, but this much is fine."
"By the way, so fire-devil hand isn’t a poisonous herb after all. How fascinating. This stimulation actually makes me feel more energetic."
"Old geezer. At your age, do you even have energy left to rise?"
"I crossed the continent on these two legs to get here. Of course I do."
The two, who normally waged small wars of words and minor magic, took little time before their mealtime was reduced to pure verbal sparring.
The wars usually began with Catherine flaring up first, and Olivier happily countering her for the fun of it.
In the end only after Karem pleaded almost like a threat, citing the peace of the meal, did things settle down.
Even a great mage had to eat to live, after all.
Of course it was “just a meal,” yet Catherine’s stomach had already been firmly captured, so as frustrating as it was she had no choice but to concede.
That frustration only vanished after snack time, so she could not even deny it.
The only one who had any real complaint was Mary, who had been delighted by the brief extra work the mages’ quarrel had created.
Still, to break into such a sweat over nothing more than a fingernail’s worth of minced fire-devil hand… is there really some kind of effect?
Come to think of it, just touching the stuff made the skin tingle with heat, so maybe? Yet if it was strong enough to feel on bare skin, it should not have been edible for ordinary people at all.
While Karem was lost in thought, Olivier emptied his plate and set down his fork.
"Hoo, I knew fire-devil hand wouldn’t kill you, but to think it wasn’t a poisonous herb but a spice—and that it could produce a flavor like this."
"Did it suit your taste?"
"Yes. The heat rising in my old joints actually feels good."
Olivier stroked his beard with casual nonchalance, yet he was genuinely astonished.
He too, as a mage, had encountered a wide variety of cuisines.
Among them were dishes more delicate and delicious than anything Karem had served.
After all, the years he had lived far outstripped Catherine’s.
Who would ever think to make pancakes with spices?
And to add a poisonous herb to the sauce, even in small amounts?
Of course they now insisted it was not a poisonous herb, but the shock of having one of his long-held commonplaces overturned was beyond imagination.
And on top of that, they tasted good!
"Perhaps because I’m old, I’ve been seeking out milder flavors. But with this kind of spiciness and stimulation, I could eat any amount of greasy food."
"Oh, did you find it greasy?"
"I can’t claim it wasn’t greasy even as empty praise."
Well, that made sense.
Karem had always believed that the life of a pancake lay in its crispiness.
To that end he had poured oil into the pan until the pancakes were half-submerged, frying them as if deep-frying, so the amount of oil that could be squeezed out would surely exceed imagination.
It was a luxury he could indulge only because he lived in a place where oil could be used freely.
But as expected, once people satisfy one desire they immediately want two more.
Karem was still simply disappointed that he had not been able to make a proper pajeon.
Originally a pajeon should be packed with seafood you can really chew on.
Yet Karem had never seen shrimp, squid, or anything similar at Winterhome.
He had considered trying fish or clams at least, but none had arrived recently.
If there were none, there was nothing to be done, yet Karem could only feel regret.
"Hey, kid. What are you so dissatisfied about now?"
"Nothing at all. I was just thinking it’s a relief that everyone enjoyed the meal."
"Hmm, still, I wish every day could be like today."
Highly satisfied, Catherine wiped away the sweat beading from the spiciness while Mary cleared the plates.
Unlike the days before Winter-Ascend ended, when she had been buried under work, life had been comparatively leisurely ever since.
And with Olivier’s arrival the workload had been cut cleanly in half.
Even if she disliked everything else about him, that one thing was very much to Catherine’s liking.
"So, what’s for dessert?"
"Dessert? After eating that much?"
"Of course. Especially after something spicy and sour!"
Of course Karem understood the feeling.
Nothing was more tempting than a sweet dessert for soothing a tongue shocked by intense flavors.
"But after eating that much?"
"Kid. What do I always say?"
"That there’s a separate stomach for snacks."
Well, since he heard it every day he could hardly claim ignorance.
It was simply that he could never get used to the idea that so much food—plus dessert—could fit into that tiny body.
No, even if the huge appetite was one thing, the fact that she never gained weight no matter how much she ate made no sense at all. Magic? Was it magic after all?
"That Kitty girl. Her temper’s quieted down, but her stubbornness is as strong as ever. Young man, a word of advice: it’s best to just give her what she wants."
"…You—!"
"Oh dear. I don’t need any dessert."
Then I have work to do! Looking thoroughly satisfied with the reaction he had provoked, Olivier immediately fled the dining hall. Catherine shot up from the table, suppressing her directionless rage as she huffed and puffed.
Mary, having finished clearing every dish, approached her.
"Contractor. It seems dessert will have to wait until later."
"Hm? Ah, now that you mention it, I do need to go see the lord. Tsk, can’t be helped."
Catherine clicked her tongue loudly, clearly displeased.
They say even a king gets cursed when he is not around, so this was nothing.
Besides, there was no one present who would snitch even if they heard.
"Then, Lady Atanita. As for dessert—"
"I’ll eat it when I get back!"
"Of course you will. I’ll prepare whipped cream and pound cake."
Karem lacked confidence in baking compared with other cooking, yet even he had a few things he could make with assurance.
Castella and tarts, which were by no means easy, were among them.
And pound cake, which was relatively simple, even more so.
After all, there was no simpler baking than pound cake.
Just mix flour, butter, eggs, and sugar in equal proportions and bake the dough.
Unlike other doughs, it did not even need time to rise.
Catherine nodded as if sufficiently satisfied, then suddenly turned her head.
"There’s still plenty of honey, right?"
"Of course."
Only then did Catherine rise from her seat with satisfaction and confidence.
"Karem Hubae. I trust you won’t leave the dishwashing just because I’m away."
"I was wondering when that would come up."
And while Catherine went to the main castle and returned, Karem waited with the pound cake that had now become a snack rather than dessert. When she came back she said to him,
"We’ll be going out in a few days, so prepare thoroughly. It’ll take three days at the earliest, a week at the latest."
"What, all of a sudden like this?"
"I thought things had gotten a bit easier, and now this. My thoughts exactly."
Catherine lamented.
- Pajeon -
This is a picture drawn by ChatGPT.