The Duke's Reward for Labor (1)
Throughout autumn and winter the Mage's Tower had stood empty and desolate, yet as spring arrived and summer drew nearer, mages filtered in day by day. Even so, the place never truly grew crowded.
At most they occupied less than a quarter of the laboratories that littered the tower from top to bottom.
People often misunderstood because of their formidable magic, but at their core mages were researchers devoted to the study of the arcane—office workers, in other words.
If such office workers were out wandering about, there was always a reason.
Perhaps they had no patron and had to secure materials and funds themselves. Perhaps they simply could not trust their subordinates and had no choice but to handle matters in person. Or perhaps they were just psychos who delighted in watching monsters and people burn and die.
There could be any number of other explanations, yet those who entered the Mage's Tower were fundamentally researchers and tended toward quiet lives. Aside from the occasional explosion or crash of shattering glass from the laboratories, little had changed from before.
What had changed was the daily existence of Catherine and Olivier.
What good was a rank equal to a Grand Magus as Supreme Magical Advisor? What good was being one of the few Archmages on the entire Europa continent? With so few people available, the two Archmages still had to run about on their own two feet, enchanting, crafting spells and tools, and inspecting facilities themselves.
But that was finished now.
They could dump the work and put the newly arrived mages—no, laborers—to use. With tasks distributed according to ability, the two Archmages' schedules became not merely leisurely but positively spacious.
Compared with lives previously drowned in overtime and late nights, this was pure leisure itself.
Truly savoring the rest that had at last arrived, Catherine bit into a meringue cookie Mary held to her lips.
The pink, flower-bud meringue, no larger than an acorn, shattered into powder the instant her tongue pressed it, scattering like broken ice. A faint sweetness and fruit fragrance lingered for a heartbeat, then vanished from her mouth as swiftly as dawn mist burned away by sunlight.
Without the books and scrolls she usually read whenever she had a free moment, Catherine sprawled across a sofa of unknown provenance and devoted herself entirely to laziness—the iron will to rest all at once for every hour she had been denied rest. Her blank expression combined the vacant stare of a jobless layabout, a sloth, and a panda. Arms and legs melted into the cushions as though dissolving.
It was a thoroughly pathetic spectacle, yet her radiant beauty somehow turned it into a painting, allowing Karem the rare experience of feeling his inner fury flare only to extinguish itself a moment later.
"You'll melt right into that sofa until the two of you become one, Lady Atanitas."
"There's no urgent work left now, so what's the problem."
"It isn't as though you have absolutely nothing left to handle, is it?"
Of course Karem was right. Catherine still had no shortage of tasks. After all, the final person who confirmed the progress and results reported by everyone beneath her was always just one: Catherine herself. Even that work was filtered through Olivier, whom she had forcibly appointed to the Magical Advisory Committee—roughly the second seat of the Magic Tower—but still.
"Even so, the paperwork is nothing more than checking reports or stamping documents, and receiving guests only when they match my rank. So it's leisurely. Perfectly leisurely."
"Don't you have personal research as well? You used to grumble that you never had time for it."
"…Research? Research time is overflowing now, so I can just put it off for later."
Important, yes, but not urgent. Tomorrow's me will handle it. Looking forward to it, future me!
Catherine said nothing, yet Karem read the meaning plainly on her face. Even she realized how absurd her words sounded and wore a faintly guilty look. It lasted only a moment. Stung by Karem's insolent gaze, she snapped instead.
"Ahem! Your eyes are rude!"
"I didn't say a word."
"Even without words your eyes are saying everything. Ahem!"
"…Haah."
He wasn't wrong. Catherine was his employer, and thanks to the events in Obsidianberry he had already pocketed a bonus. For the sake of the salary negotiations coming in autumn, he might as well let it rest here.
"So, nom. What's for lunch today?"
"…You're holding a snack right now."
"Yes. What does a snack have to do with lunch? Something new, perhaps?"
"No—ha."
Karem momentarily lost the power of speech, then, though he truly hated to admit it, understood Catherine's feelings completely. As a rule, after breakfast one frets over lunch; at lunch one frets over dinner; and after dinner one already wonders what tomorrow's breakfast will be. But that was that, and this was this.
Looking at the golden silk cocoon of pure indolence so far removed from her former image, a sigh escaped him of its own accord. Even so, Karem's mind—thoroughly trained by Catherine's constant orders—was already spinning at full speed.
"Fresh beef and pork have arrived, so how about meatloaf as the main—minced together with vegetables, mixed with breadcrumbs, and baked—along with egg Maoines and a few side dishes?"
"Meatloaf. It's been a while since we've had Eisenwald cuisine."
The name sounded elegant enough, yet when examined closely it was little different from a giant bread-shaped meatball, just as the "loaf" in its name suggested. The flavor was similar to meatballs; the ingredients scarcely differed. Minced meat and vegetables with breadcrumbs formed the base, various additions going in according to taste. The real difference was size: it required smoking or an oven, and while meatballs simmered in sauce, meatloaf was baked with sauce brushed on repeatedly. Thanks to its simple ingredients and method, meatloaf boasted countless variations that differed only slightly by region.
Catherine, who had given the menu no real thought, accepted at once.
"But you're putting beef and pork together?"
"The flavor of beef cooked as though it were frying in pork fat, yet made tender by the pork itself—you're telling me you can resist that?"
"Ha. I absolutely cannot resist that."
From the simple description alone Catherine seemed able to taste it; she let out a soft murmur of admiration. The combination of beef and pork appeared so often in so many dishes that it could hardly fail to pair well.
Then, as though something had just occurred to her, she whipped her head around.
"There won't be enough time for smoking, so you'll bake it in the oven, yes?"
"Of course."
"Then bake some thinly sliced bacon with it and bring that out as well."
"Crispy?"
"Crispy enough to crumble into powder."
"Pork-belly bacon?"
"Obviously."
On the Europa continent, pork loin or tenderloin bacon had always been the norm. Catherine had taken that for granted too—until the pork-belly bacon Karem once showed her shattered the notion completely. It could not help but shatter. One's hand inevitably reached for the flaky, crackling pork belly rather than something that remained dry and tough no matter how carefully it was cooked. At least Catherine preferred the belly.
If there were sides, a warm soup would surely come with them, so she could crumble the bacon finely and sprinkle it over… wait—warm?
The Archmage, fretting in happy anticipation of lunch, suddenly froze and opened her mouth.
"Ah. Right. Come to think of it, there was that."
"Hmm? Yes? So you really did forget something?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake—it isn't that. Mary."
"Ah, you mean that. Understood."
Even without a clear subject, Mary understood perfectly. She popped another meringue cookie into Catherine's mouth and rose at once from her seat.
If it was not some task or object forgotten in the midst of laziness, then was work suddenly rolling in the way it had during Young Master Godwin's meal? It was neither.
"First, allow me to offer my congratulations."
"Yes? Are you giving me an extra bonus or something?"
"Half wrong, half right."
"Hmm? Really?"
"Not from me. Our lord is bestowing the reward."
Just as rumor travels on the wind, interesting news and information rode the damp spring breeze and spread throughout Iceland on the lips of every traveler.
In Coldon, eating poisonous herbs had become fashionable. Famous Archmages had been hired at Winterhome. And of course an envoy from Adobis had visited Iceland and lavishly praised its cuisine.
Catherine and Karem's reward was bound up with all of this.
The reason was simple: they had caused the Adobis envoy to praise Iceland's culture, thereby elevating the renown of Alfred Felwinter, Duke of Iceland, who counted Catherine—Karem's employer—among his vassals. A subordinate's merit is the lord's merit. And a subordinate who heightens a lord's honor must be rewarded.
After lunch, Karem followed Catherine and Mary to Alfred's office, summoned to discuss that very reward.
"In addition, Karem, by refusing to hide your secret techniques and sharing them without reserve, you have further enriched Winterhome's kitchen and table. And by proving that the Red Witch's Finger is no poisonous herb, you have the merit of discovering a new product for Iceland."
"Huh…"
In the office that, aside from the mountain of multicolored documents now piled high, looked exactly as it had when he visited in winter, Karem listened quietly and felt the weight of it anew. For nobles, honor, renown, and reputation could at times matter more than life itself. In that light, the merits of Karem and Catherine were of a kind that could never be dismissed.
The Red Witch's Finger, soon to become a new source of income for Iceland. The Felwinter table made richer still by the unstinting gift of secret techniques. Even the satisfaction—and subtle one-upmanship—of the distinguished guest Nepaneck from Adobis.
Catherine? A subordinate's achievement is the superior's achievement. Above all, her true merit lay in discovering and employing Karem. And that alone was more than sufficient as an official contribution. Had she never found him, none of the three achievements above would ever have come to pass.
Having finished his personal explanation, Alfred rang a small bell. At the signal Iona entered, accompanied by a servant bearing a cushion upon which rested a splendid silk scroll, together with knights and soldiers. Reflexively Karem rose with Catherine and Mary and dropped to one knee.
"Karem, attendant and chef to Catherine Marigold Atanitas, for discovering a new product in Iceland and elevating the renown of the Felwinter family, is hereby granted the right to select and own one item from the Felwinter family treasury as compensation."
Thinking the announcement finished, Karem began to rise with Catherine—only to snap back into position the moment Iona continued speaking.
"Furthermore, to Catherine Marigold Atanitas, who discovered and appointed Chef Karem, the same right is granted from the Felwinter family treasury. In addition, the previous request for a budget increase is accepted, and one manor is hereby assigned to the Mage's Tower."
As Iona's words continued, the knights and soldiers stood at attention, and though no one could see because her head was bowed, Catherine silently gasped in shock.
The Felwinter family treasury.
Even the poorest noble house possessed at least one warehouse for storing valuables, yet the Felwinter treasury existed on an entirely different plane. In prestige the family stood second only to the royal house; in history the Seophon Kingdom was a mere child. The Felwinter line was so ancient it was practically regarded as synonymous with Iceland itself.
Honestly, even Karem's heart gave a little leap. He was a man, after all. Mountains of gold coins, equipment and tools laced with every sort of magic, relics steeped in centuries of history, gold bars and silver bars stacked in neat ranks—any man whose pulse did not quicken at the word "treasury" would have been the strange one.
— Attached Material: Meringue Cookies —
A picture drawn by ChatGPT.