The Secret of the Greenhouse (1)
Unlike the modern world, where people could work regardless of the weather, in the Middle Ages the seasons, hours, and circumstances in which a person could labor were severely limited—and Iceland was no different.
But the greatest barrier of all had finally fallen.
Winter passed, and spring arrived.
Coldon, too, began to throng with people just as Obsidianberry had. No—if anything, it was even busier.
They were all adventurers or laborers. Merchants followed hard on their heels, hauling goods and setting money flowing, as was only natural under the iron law of desire. The same held true for Winterhome, the ancestral seat of the Duke of Iceland. Even before the Duke’s return, the castle was already crowded with visitors. Most were local powers from every corner of Iceland, though guests from other provinces—and even other nations—appeared from time to time.
Naturally, the Mage’s Tower was no exception. Beginning with Narke, mages who had been lured by the Duke of Iceland’s recruitment notice, or who simply had nowhere else to go, or who were driven by circumstances they could not refuse, began to trickle in with the spring.
More residents meant a busier kitchen. Yet Karem, who oversaw the dining hall, was not busy at all. On the contrary, he found himself drowning in free time—not by choice, but by force of circumstance.
The reason was simple. Karem was only eleven years old and working alone. When it had been just Olivier, he could manage. Now it was impossible. Ten new mages had joined the tower, which meant preparing food for ten or more people every single meal. Controlling that volume single-handedly was becoming physically impossible, and Catherine had sensed it early. She issued a decisive order.
“Kid. Starting today you step down as head chef of the Mage’s Tower. Focus only on the meals for me and Mary.”
“Hm? Then what about everyone else—”
“Mary will take care of them from now on.”
“Aja!”
Mary, who had been listening nearby, answered with a short, fierce cheer delivered in a completely expressionless voice. It was the victory of a house elf reclaiming part of the kitchen that had been stolen from her. She was already managing the entire Mage’s Tower. True to her nature as a Brownie, she never made a single mistake. Adding kitchen duties on top of that was, for her, nothing more than more work.
Karem felt an emotion he could not quite name. He chose to look on the bright side. Preparing four or five portions had been one thing, but mass cooking for ten or more people was something he had never experienced even in his previous life—and with his current child’s body it was even more impossible. Proof of that was the fact that he had begun making mistakes he had never made since taking the job.
In a way, he had returned to the early days of Winterhome—the late-autumn and early-winter days when he had fed only Catherine and Mary. Which meant free time would now overflow.
“So you were out here playing in the dirt yourself?”
“Playing in the dirt? I’m cultivating a flower bed.”
“For a flower bed it’s nothing but Red Witch’s Finger seedlings.”
Catherine eyed the lush green leaves forming a small colony across a sizable patch of the rear courtyard behind the Mage’s Tower.
“What exactly do you plan to do with this many Red Witch’s Fingers? Don’t tell me you brought them from the greenhouse?”
“Not me. I asked Lady Alicia.”
“And how to grow them?”
“I slipped her a few snacks and she even researched the pollination method for me.”
“How does a princess even know about pollination? No—before that, isn’t it a little strange to be putting a princess to work?”
“Putting her to work? Please call it a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Catherine gave him a skeptical look, but Karem remained unapologetic. When the tower had only a handful of residents it had not mattered. Now, with more mages, magical traps and devices, and dangerous research commissions, everyone had tried to keep Alicia out. It proved impossible. Not even Mary—absolute within the limited domain of “home”—could stop the girl’s intrusions. Catherine had been the first to surrender; Olivier followed, then the other mages, and finally even Mary. As for Karem, he had given up long ago. In fact, he had started using snacks as bait to put Alicia to work.
Catherine, who could easily imagine how the youngest princess of the ducal house had been coaxed and employed, opened her mouth as if to scold him, then closed it again. If no complaints had reached her ears so far, she decided, he must be handling it well enough on his own.
“What about tending this vegetable patch? You’re a former serf—you know farming is no joke.”
“Of course I know. I’ve left it to an outstanding expert in the field.”
“Hm? Does the Mage’s Tower even have a vegetable-garden specialist?”
“Mary.”
“Ah.”
One word was enough. Catherine grasped the logic at once and nodded. Gardening was, after all, a form of housework. No wonder not even the tiniest weed was visible—exactly what one expected from a workaholic house elf.
Still, they said it grew quickly, but this was ridiculous.
Karem remembered the seedlings that had been only a little larger than his index finger when he first obtained them. The plants still had a long way to go before fruiting, yet only a week had passed and they already stood as tall as his forearm—taller even than when he had checked them at dawn.
Well, there are plants that shoot up as if someone is yanking them, like bamboo.
In his previous life, anyone who had read even a few books knew the old tale of the man who foolishly spent a night in a bamboo grove and was skewered through the backside by a stalk that grew up underneath him. Duckweed, too, did not so much reproduce as proliferate and invade. Plenty of plants grew at that sort of terrifying speed.
Besides, this isn’t the chili I know—it’s Red Witch’s Finger. Completely different.
Ordinary chili never carried fire mana the way Red Witch’s Finger did. Most never burned the hand that touched them, and none possessed the dazzling variety of flavors these plants offered.
“Anyway, Lady Catherine. You say you’re freer now, but is it really all right for you to be out here like this?”
“Ha. How much work do I actually have to handle myself? Everything gets finished at the lower levels.”
“Even the final checks and approvals aren’t a lot?”
“That much is an extremely simple task I only need to glance at for a few minutes at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
Catherine waved the matter away. She was the same woman who had once pulled all-nighters and overtime as casually as breathing while processing every scrap of magical paperwork for the Felwinter domains across Iceland—yet she had never been late. At least Karem had never heard of it. Give a person of that caliber one archmage who could (if he said it to her face she would smack him) stand comparison with her, plus a whole staff of subordinate mages, and of course the work became easy.
“By the way, why Red Witch’s Finger all of a sudden? Planning more of that pickle?”
“Hmm. Pickle isn’t the goal this time.”
“Then what?”
“Well, work’s finished anyway, so I’ll just show you. As for time—”
“I already told you: I have plenty.”
Since his employer said so, Karem led Catherine straight to the kitchen—or rather, to the private room attached beside it.
“So what is so impressive that you’re drawing it out like this?”
“I wasn’t trying to draw it out. It’s just a rather peculiar-looking Red Witch’s Finger.”
“Peculiar?”
Catherine raised one eyebrow and tilted her head, clearly wondering how something that already looked like a skinny old witch’s finger could get any stranger.
“That scrawny old-witch-finger thing—how much more peculiar can it get?”
“The fruit Lady Alicia gave me was shorter and plumper.”
“Mmm? Is that all?”
“The heat is mild, there’s a touch of sweetness, and the aroma is strong.”
The expectation that had lit Catherine’s face evaporated at once.
“Still just a Red Witch’s Finger, then.”
“Oho. Once you see it yourself, you’ll change your tune.”
Karem spoke with absolute confidence. If Red Witch’s Finger was chili, then what Alicia had shown him was closer to a bell pepper. Chili and bell pepper might be relatives, but they were completely different plants. The specimens were still a bit small—for now.
When Alicia had held out a few fruits saying she had something interesting, Karem had not expected much. He had simply assumed they were oversized, nutrient-stuffed Red Witch’s Fingers. But a gift from a princess could not simply be refused. Alicia could sniff out a lie like a bloodhound, so faking a bite was out of the question. Forced to taste one, Karem had experienced an epiphany.
“A mutant strain? That princess again—ah.”
“Yep. She said she brought it from the greenhouse.”
They passed through the kitchen, where Mary was making a considerable racket cleaning up alone, and entered the private room next door. Beyond the window the sky looked hazy. Inside stood a bed stuffed thick with the down of a baby Snow Runner, a sofa, an antique table and chairs, and matching shelves and drawers. Even for Karem’s rapidly growing frame the furniture was oversized, but he had no intention of changing it, so he simply used it as it was.
“Have a seat for a moment. I’ll fetch it right away.”
“Hmm. But is there no snack or anything?”
“What? You just ate fruit cake right after lunch and you’re already asking for more?”
“Kid. When you invite a guest you bring out refreshments regardless!”
Today’s snack had been shortcake—no strawberries, but layered with every berry and citrus fruit available and crowned with freshly whipped cream. It ranked among the top three masterpieces Karem had introduced since arriving here. With Mary’s help he had produced it, and Catherine had demolished half a pan all by herself with that small body of hers (the rest had been shared between Karem and Mary). And she wanted more?
Yet her will seemed firm. Matching her elegant appearance, she drummed an odd rhythm on the table and began humming a little song about how someone should hurry up and produce snacks already. Karem let out an involuntary groan. The lyrics were bad enough, but the fact that Catherine could make even humming look like a painting was simply irritating.
Fine, whatever. Just go get fat—ah, right, she said she has a constitution that never gains weight. Annoying.
He heaved a deep sigh.
“Yes, yes. Understood. Just go ahead and get fat.”
“Hey! That’s far too rude to say to your employer!”
“So does eating that actually make you gain weight?”
“Of course not.”
“Then we’re fine. Well—here. Wait, when did you even take out a plate?”
Whatever. Karem opened the drawer, retrieved the carefully hoarded pouch containing his experimental creation, and brought over the still-green, perfectly fresh Red Witch’s Finger—version bell pepper.
“Here. This is the thing I mentioned in the garden.”
“Hmm. I’m more curious about the snack, actually.”
“You were the one who said you wanted to see it.”
“A woman’s heart is as changeable as a reed.”
“A man’s heart is exactly the same!”
But Catherine’s attention had already shifted completely. She stared fixedly at the pouch on the table, ignoring the mutant Red Witch’s Finger sitting right beside it.
“Well then, what’s today’s second snack?”
“Snack! A second one! Kitty knows so many beautiful words!”
A very familiar little girl’s voice chimed in with enthusiastic agreement. Karem flinched and met Catherine’s eyes. Her look said I knew it.
“Kid. It’s who I’m thinking of, right?”
“Yes. Almost certainly.”
Master and servant turned their gazes downward in perfect unison. A little girl who had grown perhaps a finger-joint taller than last year, but whose cheeks were still plump and soft, stood on tiptoe trying to peer over the table.
“Princess Alicia?”
“Ihi! That’s right! It’s Alicia! Anyway, Karem! I’m curious about the second snack too!”