The Hygiene Revolution (4)
A week flowed by—sometimes as slowly as a dripping faucet, other times as swift as an arrow.
Sarka retrieved the object she had been carefully guarding for the past seven days with trembling hands.
It was the soap bestowed upon her by the young master... no, by His Majesty the King.
When she had first received it, the bar was as soft as freshly baked bread, leaving an indentation at the slightest touch. But after a week of drying in a well-ventilated, shaded spot, it had transformed into something entirely different.
Sarka pressed her fingertip lightly against the surface.
"It's... firm."
The moisture had evaporated completely, leaving the bar as smooth and solid as a sculpture carved from ivory.
Her greatest worry had been the scent. She had fretted constantly, fearing that as the soap dried, that fresh apple fragrance would vanish into thin air.
But it was a groundless fear. The moment she brought it close to her nose, Sarka’s eyes widened.
"Whoa..."
The space left behind by the departing moisture was now filled with a densely concentrated aroma. The freshness of a green apple was deepened by a honey-like sweetness, so intoxicating that merely smelling it made her feel refreshed.
Sarka wrapped the soap carefully in a towel. She picked up her bath basket and stepped out of her room.
Her destination was the public bathhouse of the Prague Royal Palace.
Originally, it was a forbidden zone enjoyed only by royalty and high-ranking nobles. But immediately after his coronation, Ulrich had opened it to everyone working in the palace.
'Everyone who serves the palace has the right to be clean.'
However, Sarka had never once set foot inside until now. Though the doors of the system had opened, the threshold of social status remained high.
The magnificent marble tubs and the hot water. She hadn't had the courage to enter that luxurious space clutching a grimy bar of lye soap.
But today was different. Inside her basket lay the secret weapon the King had made for her with his own hands.
Creak—
The public bathhouse of the Prague Royal Palace was truly a different world. The floors and walls were finished with smooth marble, and natural light poured in from the dome in the ceiling, softly enveloping the interior.
Fortunately, it was early, so there was almost no one around. Sarka quickly hid herself in a corner filled with steam. With trembling hands, she took out the soap.
An ivory-colored, hexagonal apple soap. It looked rustic, yet possessed an inexplicable air of elegance.
She filled a basin with warm water, wetted the soap, and rubbed it carefully.
In that instant, a miracle occurred.
Bubble, bubble.
The lye soap she had used before would only spit out a slimy, gray juice no matter how much she rubbed it; it never produced anything resembling real foam. But this apple soap was different. She hadn't even rubbed it many times, yet a rich, dense white foam bloomed on her palms like whipped cream.
"My goodness..."
She rubbed the foam onto her body as if bewitched. It was soft. A smooth sensation, as if she were coating her body in the finest silk or milk cream, wrapped around her entire frame.
Most surprising of all was the scent. Meeting the hot steam, the soap foam exploded with fragrance. The foul smell of lye and sweat vanished, replaced by the refreshing scent of fruit, as if she were standing in the middle of an orchard in May.
Sarka bathed every inch of her body, drenched in happiness. The refreshing feeling of old grime being washed away was divine. Finally, after rinsing off the foam with water, she touched her forearm and gasped once more.
"It's so soft..."
Usually, after washing with lye, her skin would feel tight and sting as if it were cracking. But now, even though she had washed until her skin squeaked, it remained moist. Was it thanks to the apple oil the King had added? Her rough hands and forearms felt as soft as a baby’s skin.
Sarka fell into a trance, breathing in the subtle apple scent lingering on the tips of her wet hair.
That was when it happened.
A noisy clamor poured into the silent bathhouse.
"Oh, my god! Look at how humid it is in here!"
"I told them to ventilate! What on earth is the caretaker doing?"
"Ugh, it's so stuffy."
Sharp, irritable voices. It was Katerina von Wartenberg and her entourage of followers. They burst in without hesitation, as if they were the owners of the space. Draped in silk robes, holding expensive perfume bottles and ivory combs, their attitude was unbridled.
"Eek...!"
Sarka’s shoulders, tucked away in the corner, instinctively hunched. It was a conditioned reflex. She turned away hurriedly, wishing to appear as if she weren't there at all. But she could not escape the sharp eyes of the maids.
"Oh?"
Katerina stopped dead in her tracks. Her gaze caught the small back huddled in the corner of the bathhouse.
"Isn't that Sarka huddled in the corner over there?"
At those words, the maids following her burst into laughter in unison.
"Oh, you're right! My goodness, Sarka actually came here?"
"She has no shame. She must be planning to dissolve her lye soap in the water we use."
Katerina waved her hand in front of her nose, wrinkling her brow with an exaggerated gesture.
"Girls, let's open all the windows. It's already humid, and if the smell of a commoner mixes in, how are we supposed to bathe properly?"
She loaded up the vitriol she intended to fire at Sarka. She planned to humiliate her by using the stench of lye and rancid pig fat as an excuse. Katerina strode toward Sarka.
"Sarka. I told you. That cheap soap you use is..."
However, her words could not continue to the end.
"...Huh?"
What hit her nose was not the disgusting stench she had expected. It was sweet. And fresh. A refreshing and rich scent, as if she had just taken a bite of a freshly picked apple, stimulated her olfactory senses.
Katerina stopped breathing in confusion. She was supposed to be hurling insults, but instinctively, she felt it was a wonderful scent.
The maids following her were the same.
"Oh my, what is this scent?"
"Where is that fruit smell coming from?"
"It smells like honey, too..."
The maids sniffed the air and looked at each other. It was definitely coming from where Sarka was. But it couldn't be a scent coming from Sarka. To them, Sarka was a being remembered by the smell of sweat, the smell of lye, and the smell of poverty.
"H-hello... Lady Katerina."
Sarka turned around slowly, her body tense. Her hands were covered in white foam. And between that foam, the ivory-colored, smooth hexagonal object shyly revealed itself.
Katerina’s gaze fixed on the object in Sarka’s hand. Her pupils shook as if an earthquake were occurring.
"You... what is that?"
Katerina knew soap well. She had been using the highest-grade Castile soap her father had bought from an Italian merchant at great expense, cherishing it every single day. But what was in Sarka’s hand now looked whiter, firmer, and smoother than the Castile soap she used.
Above all, that overwhelming scent. Her own soap only had a faint lavender fragrance, but that soap was emitting a deep, rich scent as if a whole bottle of perfume had been poured into it.
Sarka pulled the soap to her chest and answered cautiously.
"It is... soap."
"I know it's soap! I'm asking what kind of soap that is!"
Katerina shouted sharply. It was a cry mixed with jealousy and bewilderment. "There's no way you could have bought something like that with your salary! Did you steal it? Did you swipe it from some noble lady's room?"
The maids whispered.
"That's right, there's no way Sarka could have something like that."
"She must have stolen it. She's a thief."
Sarka shook her head violently. Her eyes reddened with injustice, but this time, she did not back down. This soap was a gift from the King. She could not let it be treated as stolen goods.
"No! I didn't steal it!"
"Then where did you get it! I've searched all of Prague and never seen a soap that smells like that!"
Katerina reached out to grab Sarka’s arm. At that moment, Sarka squeezed her eyes shut and shouted.
"H-His Majesty...!"
It was a small, timid voice, but thanks to the acoustics of the bathhouse, the words were delivered clearly. "His Majesty Ulrich... gave it to me himself."
Silence. A stillness as if cold water had been poured over the bathhouse descended. Katerina’s mouth hung open, and the maids' eyes widened.
"What...? His Majesty?"
"The King?"
They quickly crunched the numbers in their heads. That soap was clearly an extraordinary item. It was at least as good as the highest-grade Castile soap, if not better. If so, the price must be beyond imagination. It was surely a precious item worth several gold coins.
The King had given such a precious gift directly to a mere maid-turned-servant? While the other noble maids hadn't received a single thing, only Sarka?
The maids' eyes began to waver. Perhaps that wasn't just a mere gift...
'Favor.'
That sticky, secret word brushed across the maids' minds.
"Could it be... is Sarka the King's...?"
"Well, they say she's served him for ten years. They must have grown quite fond of each other."
"To the point of gifting such precious scented soap..."
"The rumors about her serving him every night must be true."
Of course, there were no such rumors. It was merely a delusion they had just created in their heads. But the evidence before their eyes was too powerful. A man gifting a woman a scented item? And a special item that didn't exist anywhere else, just for her? This was an action that couldn't be explained unless they were in a romantic relationship.
Katerina’s face turned red and purple. She had ignored Sarka to her heart's content until now. She had thought of her as a lowly thing with no backing, no family, and no money. But what if Sarka was a woman favored by the King? What if the fact that she had bullied Sarka reached the King's ears?
A chill ran down her spine. Katerina tried to manage her expression and stammered.
"H-His Majesty...? Hmm, I see. Well... you've suffered for a long time, so he must have tossed it to you like charity."
But there was no strength in her voice. Because the quality of the soap was too overwhelming to be mere charity.
Just then, one of the maids standing behind Katerina stepped forward. It was Marta, who was usually the best at catering to Katerina's whims.
"Um... Sarka."
Marta glanced at Katerina, then showed Sarka the sweetest smile in the world. "That... smells really good. It's apple scent, right? How is it so fresh?"
"Yes? Oh... thank you."
"Your skin looks really good, too. I saw earlier that it foams really well. Can I touch it once?"
Marta grabbed Sarka’s wet forearm before she could even answer.
"Oh my! Goodness!"
Marta exclaimed with a fuss. "Girls, look at this! It's completely soft! It's like a baby's skin!"
"Really? I want to touch it too!"
"Oh my, it's true! It feels like I'm going to slip."
The maids swarmed around Sarka. They touched Sarka’s arm and smelled the soap, exclaiming in admiration. Katerina was pushed out of the crowd in an instant.
"Hey! What are you all doing!"
Katerina shrieked. But the maids seemed unable to hear her voice anymore. What was important to them now wasn't Katerina's outdated pride. It was the desire to use that fragrant soap before them at least once, and the survival instinct to connect with the 'future woman of the King' just in case.
"Sarka, where can I get this?"
"If we ask His Majesty, can we get some too?"
"My skin has been so rough lately, I've been worried..."
Sarka was bewildered by the interest of the maids surrounding her. Those who had been laughing at her just a moment ago were now looking at her with envious eyes. She looked down at the ivory soap in her hand. And she remembered what the young master had said.
'You can share the rest with your fellow maids or use it all yourself, do as you please.'
A simple smile spread across Sarka’s lips.
"Um... I have a lot in my room."
"What?"
"His Majesty gave me a whole box full. If you want... shall I share one bar each?"
Silence. Once again, silence flowed through the bathhouse. But the nature of this silence was completely different from before. The maids' expressions were filled with astonishment and joy.
"R-really?"
"You're just giving away this precious thing?"
"Not just letting us use it once, but a whole bar?"
They were the ones who had only envied the Castile soap Katerina used, never having used it themselves. Katerina would at most cut off a tiny piece of soap as a favor or let them rub it once. Even then, she would make a huge fuss about it, but Sarka was saying she would give them the whole precious thing. Even without any compensation.
It was a moment where they felt the difference in character.
"Oh my, Sarka! You really are an angel!"
"I knew you were kind from the start!"
"Can I call you sister? No, I will call you sister!"
The maids clung to Sarka, vying for her attention. Among them were some who had joined in bullying Sarka to curry favor with Katerina. But in the face of the soap's temptation, there was no such thing as face.
"Come here, I'll scrub your back!"
"No, I'll comb your hair!"
A bizarre scene unfolded where the maids surrounded Sarka and served her. Sarka became the queen of the bathhouse in an instant.
"T-these things..."
Katerina trembled. Even Marta, whom she believed to be her most loyal follower, was now giggling while pouring water on Sarka’s back.
"Marta! Are you in your right mind? How well have I treated you all this time, how dare you in front of me...!"
Katerina screamed, but Marta glanced back and retorted nonchalantly.
"What do you mean you treated us well? All I got for serving you for a year was three fingernail-sized pieces of soap."
"W-what...?"
"Sarka says she'll give us whole bars. And honestly speaking... Lady Katerina, your soap doesn't even smell that good. It just smells like rancid oil."
Marta turned her head back to fawn over Sarka. "Sarka sister, can't you give me two? My younger sibling has weak skin too..."
Katerina couldn't stand the burning sensation on her face. Staying here any longer was proof of her own misery.
"...This is ridiculous. I can't stay in a place that smells this vulgar anymore!"
She turned around, holding her head as high as she could. As if to claim she was leaving of her own volition. But the maids in the bathhouse were already obsessed with the soap in Sarka’s hand. No one was paying her any attention.
Bang!
Katerina slammed the door shut for all to see and exited the bathhouse. Only then did the noisy laughter in the bathhouse disappear, and a heavy silence settled around the area.
"Ugh...!"
Katerina’s shoulders, left alone, heaved violently. In her hand, she still held the Castile soap she had prided herself on being the highest grade. But in the face of the overwhelming scent and the sheer volume of Sarka’s apple soap, her soap was nothing more than a lump of oil that was merely hard.
"Aaaaaah!!"
Katerina screamed and threw the soap she was holding. The broken pieces of soap scattered miserably across the marble floor.
* * *
Around the time the Prague Royal Palace was experiencing an unexpected commotion over soap bubbles, I took Janos with me and visited the artisan district of Prague, specifically the Soap Guild’s workshop.
The moment I opened the workshop door and entered, hot steam hit my face along with the heat. The interior was truly reminiscent of a battlefield. Dozens of craftsmen were shirtless, sweating profusely as they stirred the cauldrons, and on one side, they were busy cutting hardened soap with wooden knives. The artisan space, which should have been quiet and elegant, had transformed into a factory running without rest.
Just then, Josef, who noticed I had arrived, pushed through the crowd and ran out barefoot.
"Your Majesty! You've arrived! If you had given word, I would have come out to greet you!"
"Never mind. I have no intention of inconveniencing a busy man."
The stubborn expression of the old artisan, who had been so prickly just a few days ago, was nowhere to be found. Instead, a man with a factory manager's face—eyes sunken but gleaming with a strange madness—stood there.
"Anyway, the workshop looks like it's about to burst. Even if it's a temporary place before moving to Sternberg, it looks too cramped."
At my words, Josef scratched the back of his head, looking awkward.
"To be honest... it's killing me. Thanks to the new method you taught us, soap is pouring out, and this narrow workshop can't handle it at all. We lack space to let it harden, so we've even invaded the yard, and the warehouse has been full for a long time."
Even as he complained, the corners of his mouth were stretched to his ears. A man who had barely made one bar of soap a day his whole life was now churning out dozens, hundreds a day, so even if his body was tired, his spirit couldn't help but be uplifted.
"Bear with it a little longer. We are building a large-scale factory complex in Sternberg for you and the guild members to use. You will be given sturdy brick factories and houses for your families to stay in."
"Y-you're giving us houses?"
Josef’s eyes reddened. Overcome with emotion, he couldn't continue his words and bowed his head deeply.
"Y-Your Majesty. I am truly sorry. I don't know how to repay this grace..."
I patted Josef on the shoulder.
"You can repay the grace by making lots of soap from now on. Now, let's go inside."