Closed Sewers and Sacred Light
"Master Jerrard Stoke is what architects call a legend. He designed this entire vast city by himself. He tore the whole place apart and rebuilt it from the ground up, anticipating how much the population would grow."
Listening to Fenri talk, Robon almost wondered whether this Jerrard might have been someone like himself — a soul from another age, dropped into this one.
Centered on Bladewin Castle, the buildings and land had sprawled outward without any plan. Jerrard had flipped the entire mess upside down and started over. Keep going like that, he'd argued, and the territory would become impossible to govern. The Bladewin head of two generations prior — Robon's great-grandfather — had approved the proposal, and the massive construction project had begun.
What came of it was the Iron Hall of today.
The central plaza. The roads laid through the city. The placement of the buildings. The careful division into districts…
Thinking about it, Iron Hall possessed a systematic order completely different from Rahen or Robel.
"And he did all of that in his thirties."
That was the most astonishing part. That a man in his thirties could make such bold decisions… You didn't do something like that without absolute self-belief.
"How did someone like that… already…?"
"They say he fell ill. Even the greatest of men can't always escape disease. We're here."
While they talked, they had arrived at their destination.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Creeeak—
At the knock, a solidly built man opened the door.
"Good day to you, Master Builder."
"Ah, Baron. Come in."
Is there anyone this Fenri doesn't know?
Walking Iron Hall with Fenri meant that every single person they met already knew who he was. The man seemed to strike up a conversation with anyone who so much as entered his field of vision.
Glug-glug-glug—
Clean water was poured into cups and set on the table.
"What brings you?"
Builder Stoke. That was the name of this rugged-looking man.
Perhaps it came with being an architect — solid muscle and copper-toned skin showed through his clothes. Scars marked his arms and face, the kind you earned on the job.
"Master Builder. Have you heard the talk going around among the territory folk lately?"
"Ah, I have. The cleanliness problem in the city has gotten serious. Too many people all of a sudden."
Builder barely seemed interested in Robon at all — he didn't even glance his way. Does he not know who I am?
Catching Robon's reaction, Fenri flicked him a sideways look and smiled.
"The Bladewin family is turning its attention to solving that right now. Hmm. The biggest issues are the garbage dumped in the streets and the sewage piling up. We can't very well scrub the roads every hour of the day, and we can't drag off every person who tosses their trash wherever they please. So we're thinking of fixing the problem at the root."
"How, exactly?"
"We intend to lay an entirely new sewer system for the whole city. The open sewers we have now are considered the core of the problem."
A muscle jumped at the corner of Builder’s eye.
"And so you've come to ask for my help?"
"Yes! Exactly. If it's you, Master Builder…"
"It's not as though I've never considered the same thing. But there are a great many problems. Solve those, and I'll help you. I care about this city every bit as much as the Bladewins do. My father designed it, after all."
His words came faster, as if a little stirred up, but his voice stayed even. He was holding the rising emotion in check with pure reason. Different from the rough image he projected on the outside.
"First of all, renovating this entire enormous city will take an unimaginable amount of money. Manpower as well. I don't know how the Bladewin family sees it, but I suspect you're taking this too lightly. As a professional, I know exactly what it involves."
"Yes. And?"
"Second — you want to close the open drainage channels? Do you really think people on the street won't mess with drainage pipes? If someone sets out to break them on purpose, you'll have an even bigger headache."
"That's…"
"And last! This is the biggest problem of all. Even if all of that were possible, if you don't design and construct it perfectly from the start, you'll be planting a bomb in this city that could go off at any time. Attempt a project of that scale with half-baked skill, and you'd be no better than destroying the city my father built!"
You didn't spit out a list of problems that cleanly, that ready-made, unless you'd already been chewing on them for a long time.
He definitely loves this city.
Because his father made it, maybe. And the fiercer his opposition, the more Robon liked him. Anyone else would have seen a chance to land a fat contract and snapped it up without a second thought.
"Answer me, Baron Fenri."
"This gentleman here will be the one answering that. Heh."
Fenri smiled and looked at Robon.
Following his gaze, Builder finally turned his eyes on Robon for the first time.
"A specialist sent by the Bladewins?"
"You don't know who this is?"
"Should I?"
That was the kind of straight-backed stubbornness that defined the man.
I'm something of a celebrity in Iron Hall, you know.
Of course, most people only knew the name and wouldn't recognize the face… Still. An architect of Builder's caliber ought to have known him, shouldn't he?
"It would be good if you did. He's extremely brilliant."
Fenri was clearly enjoying himself, refusing to say the name to the very end. Fine. I'll play along.
"Since you asked, I'll answer. The first problem is fine. Bladewin's annual budget is set to roughly triple compared to last year. And next year it'll climb even higher."
Honestly, Robon had no precise sense of how much money it would take. Flipping an entire city this size would cost a fortune. If the money ran short, he'd just have to earn more somehow.
Builder nodded.
"I'll address the second problem together with the third. First — closed sewers are entirely buildable. We can also bury the sewer pipes underground so outsiders can't get at them. I can build the machinery to dig the tunnels myself. And the reason the city's drainage keeps clogging is that it isn't using the gradient properly. Iron Hall sits on highland. If we make proper use of the slopes, sewage will flow downward on its own, and we can build a highly effective sewer system. More than anything — if we don't change it now, we won't be able to later. It has to be perfect, you say? Nothing in this world is perfect. Putting work off while you hunt for perfection is just the rationalization lazy people use."
Builder's expression hardened.
"You don't seem like a man without thoughts… Speaking of perfection is only meant to put the careless on notice."
"Then help me. Because I'm not a careless man."
"And what are you supposed to be? How am I supposed to know whether you're careless or not? That's something you prove with results, not words."
"Results, is it…? I think those have already been proven."
Builder tilted his head.
"That water in front of you — isn't that water purified by a Robon-001?"
"It is. What does that have to do with—"
His pupils went wide.
"Don't tell me…?"
"And those lightbulbs set into the ceiling. Haven't they made your work a lot easier?"
Builder shot up from his seat.
"Are you — Robon… Bladewin… my lord?!"
Finally caught on.
Robon wasn't the type who got a thrill out of being recognized. But this was a little fun.
"That's right. I'm Robon Bladewin."
Builder seized his hand as if snatching it out of the air.
"I respect you! Truly! I've wanted to meet you for so long!"
The reaction was more intense than expected. And this was the man who hadn't recognized him?
"I'm terribly sorry I didn't know you. I've been so buried in work…"
He seems like my kind of person.
That was fine by Robon. He liked workaholics.
"It's all right. Shall we talk again, then? For the future of this city?"
"Gladly!!"
"My father never imagined people would go this far. He only thought about the rain falling from the sky, and designed to prevent flooding."
"That's exactly why city design is hard. You have to account for every variable."
Robon was no expert in urban planning. If anything, he probably knew far less than Builder. He was simply sharing a few scraps of information and tips he'd picked up living in the modern world.
Even that was enough to expand Builder's thinking at a startling speed.
"We should make the sewer pipes from materials that rust as little as possible in water. And for the longer stretches, lay them in single continuous runs. At the joints, we should use three-way pipes with a branch that leads up to the surface — so if something goes wrong, we can clean the sewer line easily through that access."
"Good thinking."
"And when it rains, water will soak into the ground and find its way into the pipes. If you're also planning to bury electrical lines, we should seal the pipe joints with something like rubber so water can't seep in."
The work proceeded at a breakneck pace.
Builder was even sharper than Robon had expected. Like father, like son, as they said.
Most of the ideas and the overall design outline came from Builder and his colleagues. Robon just tossed comments in from the side.
Perfect. Wasn't that exactly why you went looking for specialists? Their modern knowledge might be thin, but people who had spent years in the field had deeper insight into the relevant problems than he did.
After entrusting the city's sewer plan to Builder, Robon was heading back to the manor when he spotted an unusual building.
A dilapidated old structure with a large cross mounted on it, half falling apart. Could this be the church people said was in Iron Hall?
It was strange — and oddly compelling — that a church would sit not in the city center but out on the fringes, and in Duskrow of all places.
Before he quite realized it, his feet were carrying him toward it.
Creeeak.
As if on cue, someone pushed open the door from inside. A man in priest's robes of pure white velvet embroidered with gold thread.
"Have you come to pray?"
He pressed his hands together and bowed slightly at the waist and head.
"…Am I allowed to?"
"Of course. The church welcomes anyone who seeks it out."
Curiosity stirred.
"May I go inside?"
"Yes. Please, come in."
The interior was cleaner and better kept than the outside suggested. It looked like an ordinary house converted into a church.
At the far end of the central aisle stood a massive stone statue of a goddess. In front of it sat a small dais and eight long wooden pews.
"Can anyone just come here and pray?"
"Yes. It is the Goddess who receives the earnest prayers of wandering souls and guides them onto the right path."
Robon had been irreligious in his previous life as well, so the words didn't particularly land. He was simply curious what a church in this world looked like.
He walked farther in. No one else was praying.
"So I just go and pray?"
"That's right. You're in luck. The Goddess's revelation descends only twice a day. And one is due soon."
"You can receive a revelation just by praying?"
"Not quite. It is true that those who pray fervently may receive one — but She does not grant revelations to everyone."
I've heard that kind of line somewhere before.
It smelled like a con.
"If it's twice a day, is there a set time?"
"There is. If you look at the clock over there — the revelation usually comes when the long hand is between the eight and the ten. Think of it as every morning and every evening. That said, the exact moment shifts a little from day to day, so you should arrive early and be at prayer."
A fixed time was unexpected.
Clocks in this place had error margins that were all over the map. This world had any number of broken pieces, and time was one of them. Clocks existed, but inaccuracy was the daily norm, and as a result the people of this world had almost no concept of precise time. Ordinary serfs divided the day into morning, midday, evening, and night, and that was about it.
For someone adapted to modern society, the casual attitude toward time in this era had been a constant source of stress. Communications weren't developed, and even time itself couldn't be kept properly — how was anyone supposed to get anything done? If times were at least firmly set, fine, but even making an appointment was a struggle.
"All right."
As it happened, the hour was drawing toward nine in the evening. By that clock's measure, anyway. What time it actually was, who could say.
This church was somehow still using one of those things.
Robon sat on a pew, folded his hands, and closed his eyes.
He'd spent hours arguing sewer infrastructure with Builder until his head felt ready to split. This was as good a chance as any to rest while he pretended to pray.
Revelation, right. If anything like that were real, this church wouldn't be so empty you could hear the flies…
Sssssaaaaa…
In that instant, a bone-deep chill brushed the back of his neck and touched his skin.
Startled, he opened his eyes.
Golden radiance was flowing over the statue of the goddess.
…What?