The Blanket

The examinations of Fraussen Federal Magic University could be divided into three parts: mathematics, natural philosophy, and the rest.

The rest meant world history, Frauvian grammar, and questions of that sort, and the common view was that they scarcely moved the result at all. The true arena, then—the ground where the examinees would clash—was mathematics and natural philosophy.

Five questions in arithmetic. Seven in algebra. Three in elementary calculus. Three in elementary physics, and three in elementary chemistry.

Twenty-one questions in all, each of a different length and a different difficulty, and whether one passed or failed turned on how many of them one could solve. It was generally understood that working through fourteen or more put a candidate over the line. Set aside the single problem of highest difficulty in each field, and two wrong answers marked the lowest threshold of a pass. Put the other way, anyone with a fair confidence in their ability could afford roughly two mistakes.

None of that had the slightest bearing on me. I needed a scholarship. Sealing off every error at the source was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only the beginning. Beyond that, I had to raise my skill until I could solve every question of the highest difficulty.

"Hss..."

Two weeks nailed to the desk, and I was tying my head in knots over chemistry. Thanks to Benjamin's steady guidance, my mathematics and my basic physics were far richer than those of an ordinary Federation student. Chemistry, though, was nothing more than a smattering I had picked up on my own.

"Damn it. I finally solved it!"

Perhaps all the time I had hammered into the thing had paid off. At last I succeeded in working through a problem of the very highest difficulty. I had gripped that single question for three hours and driven my brain past its limit, so the instant I set the pen down I simply pitched forward onto the desk and slept.

Pit-pat. Pit-pat.

When the sound of raindrops tapping the window drew my eyes open, I found a blanket stitched with a dainty pattern drawn up over my shoulders. I eased the stiffness from my neck, folded the blanket with care, and set it on one corner of the desk. This was already the third time.

"Children—come and eat—!"

Susan's gentle voice, calling them to breakfast, drifted in from the kitchen. Gentle or not, dawdling was not permitted. There had been a morning when the twins, sunk in a late sleep, failed to come down even after she had called four or five times. I had watched her then, the smile never leaving her face, take up a frying pan in one hand and go striding up the stairs.

I made straight for the kitchen, the blanket in one hand.

Steam curled up from the breakfast laid out on the table, and Susan was already seated there. When our eyes met, her brows curved softly.

"Good morning."

"Susan. Good morning."

"Yes. Oh my, that blanket..."

"Ah. I put it to good use. Thank you, as always."

The blanket, I was sure, was one Susan laid over me every time, and so handing it back had already become a third occurrence. She took it, tidied it away, and only covered her mouth to laugh a soft ho-ho.

What was that? Like husband, like wife, perhaps. I was just thinking that Susan, no less than Benjamin with his occasional eccentricities, was not an entirely easy person to read—

"Good morning."

Lena, neatly dressed and finished with her grooming, slipped past my side. The greeting, of course, was meant for Susan. Being ignored like this had, after some two weeks, settled into just another piece of the daily scenery.

I turned to sit at the table, and someone tapped me at the small of the back.

"Hi! Good morning!"

"Ah—hello."

The twins. They barely cleared my waist. Bright blond hair, emerald eyes—identical twins, alike no matter where one looked. Telling them apart, though, was the simplest thing in the world. One child stood with a ponytail cinched tight and her hands planted on her hips. The other hid timidly behind her, stealing a glance my way.

The one with the ponytail brightened and asked me, eyes shining.

"Hey. Hey. Big brother. Did you learn my name?"

"Ellie. Right?"

"Hehehe. Correct!"

Delighted that I had gotten it right, Ellie scurried off and plopped down in front of the table.

"E-Ellie..."

"Good to see you too, Sally. Good morning."

I crouched and offered my hand to the child left standing alone.

"...G-good morning!"

Sally chose flight to the table over taking my hand. With temperaments this different, it would have been stranger not to tell them apart. I drew back the awkwardly extended hand, scratched my cheek, and sat down.

"Thank—you—for—the—meal!"

With Ellie's ringing declaration, everyone set to eating. The Oslo household, it seemed, ordinarily traded small talk over a meal; I could tell as much from the way the twins sometimes laughed and chatted with Susan. Even so, it would have been a stretch to call the air warm.

Lena gave off a quiet displeasure and bent herself to the food alone. The reason was obvious. It was me, sitting across from her. Had I been an ordinary citizen of the Federation I might have shrunk under it, but my own childhood had been far harsher than this, and it was much too late to start now. Trust was something one built little by little. For the moment, savoring a sausage glistening with grease mattered more. Meat first thing in the morning—how lavish.

I was sinking into the happiness of rain and sausage together when Susan parted her lips.

"Lena. Is the work at the telegraph office going well? You said last time you were short of hands."

"...The situation is about the same. The finances have gotten worse than I thought."

"Oh my."

"Even so, the business itself ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at the Eastern Telegraph Office is sound. If we bring in more people and raise a little more capital, it ought to recover quickly, so you needn't worry too much."

The Eastern Telegraph Office—the Fraussen telegraph firm where Lena served as the youngest advisor. From what I had heard, she had revived a company that had originally been in poor shape, only for it to grow precarious again of late. It was not that the revenue had dried up. If anything, the opposite. She must have been worrying in earnest; even with me sitting across from her, she let out a deep sigh.

"The greatest problem is that we haven't enough lines for the demand. We need both the people and the machines before we can add lines, and we aren't ready yet."

"I see. You'll have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to hire quickly, then."

"That part hasn't gone as I wished. Telegraph operators are skilled labor, so set them aside—even ordinary people who are simply strong and tenacious aren't so easy to find..."

"Hmm."

Susan, who had been sitting with her eyes closed in thought, lifted her head all at once, as if a good idea had struck her.

"Lena."

"Yes?"

"What about hiring Eugene?"

At those words, Lena and I opened our eyes wide at the same time.

"Mother. What are you saying?"

"You said you wanted someone fit and tenacious. Eugene means to become a magic scholar, so he ought to have learning laid up as well. He's exactly the sort of person you want, isn't he?"

"B-but..."

Lena's eyes darted. Her wish to object by any means she could find was plain to see. Then, as if a sound argument had come to her, she grinned.

"Where would someone who cuts into their very sleep to study find time to work? It isn't as if we have no new hires at all, so there's no need for any such thing."

"Hm?"

I answered her protest myself.

"How did you know I cut into my sleep to study?"

"...!"

"Did I ever say I was preparing for the entrance examination?"

"Yes. I—I heard you mention it the other day."

"I see."

But after thinking it through in earnest, I came to a conclusion. It was true that study kept me busy. One careless failure, and a whole year would be lost. Building trust with Lena and with the Oslo family, though, was not a matter of a mere year or two. We were people who would draw close and drift apart and share a lifetime. And if I set some money aside, would it not help me prepare the tuition against the chance I failed to win a scholarship? I put all of that into a single line.

"I'd like to try working at the telegraph office. May I ask you to let me?"

"Ehh?"

"How nice. Both of you, do your best!"

Joy and dismay crossed in the same breath.

A new identification card had been issued.

Lena had told me that to hold a job in Fraussen one needed a formal certificate of identity listing even one's place of residence, and so a new one had been issued. I could not bring myself to throw the old card away, and in the end I decided to carry both.

Once the card was issued, I set out for the Eastern Telegraph Office with Lena. Holding an umbrella beneath a pouring rain was unfamiliar enough on its own. Still unused to the streets of Fraussen, and with Lena only a few paces off besides, my steps felt all the more awkward.

Just as we were nearly there, she spoke quietly.

"...Your study time will be taken, but your rest will be properly guaranteed. The pay, though, may not be generous. Our circumstances aren't easy."

When I asked what the wage came to, Lena hesitated a little before she answered.

"A new hire earns about twenty pounds a day."

For the labor involved, that seemed a fair wage. Surely the conditions would be far better than a coal mine. Cool-headed businesswoman though she was, Lena appeared to be an advisor who could not quite bring herself to be harsh.

"We're here."

The day happened to be a holiday as well. I went in to the Eastern Telegraph Office with her, and the door creaked as I opened it and stepped inside.

The next moment—

"You've arrived, Miss Lena!"

As if in chorus, a dozen and more employees cried out their greeting all at once.