In the Name of Edfolk

"You mean the Marquis intends to give it to me?"

"If one has received a kindness, is it not right to repay it, regardless of station?"

"Ah, Father, what is this all of a sudden?"

Judging by Senior's reaction, this was certainly nothing they had arranged beforehand.

Duchamp was watching him now with an altogether different look—grave, keen, the sort of gaze for which the word businessman might have been coined.

"I hear you do not take large investments."

"No. I suppose I have a selfish wish to lead the business myself."

"Spoken like a man."

"Thank you for the compliment, my lord."

"Even so, I think it best that you accept what I am about to give. From this moment, what I tell you is a right you ought to claim."

He spoke as if to say that Blow should take it, short of the sky itself splitting open. At those words Blow nodded without hesitation.

"I think so as well."

"Good. Effective this very hour, every enterprise that bears my name will extend you the fullest courtesy, should you request its cooperation."

"Enterprises, my lord...?"

"I mean every place that carries the name Edfolk."

Of House Edfolk, some put it this way.

Which was to say that Edfolk's business had already sunk deep into the fabric of everyone's daily life. Hot water in people's homes, refrigeration in the restaurants—all of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it existed because of the household magic Duchamp had created. And the place that bought and processed the greatest share of the mana stones that made that magic usable was, as a matter of course, the works that bore the Edfolk name: Edfolk Processing.

"As you know, there is nowhere that researches more progressively than the places that carry my name. For instance, I hear you are presently attending to the making of potions. Is that so?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Then I am also saying that I will grant you the authority to consult the records of my research institutes—the ones studying mana stones and medicinal herbs."

What does a new enterprise find most difficult when it is trying to take root? Information. A gap in information inevitably opens into a difference that can never be closed. And now he was offering to set that information directly into Blow's hands. Blow could almost hear, all the way from here, the sound of Jane swallowing in the kitchen as she listened.

"That is far too generous."

"Too generous? Now that is a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that this is only the beginning."

"There's more?"

"I hear you have quite a bond with Paulos Monastery as well."

"Ah, yes. We currently take deliveries of beer from the monastery."

"So I have been thinking of entrusting you with the use of our family's lands in Roten. What do you say?"

Roten...!

Carbonated water and hot springs, and that vast lake with Paulos Monastery set beside it—Roten. The place was rising as a resort these days, and it held an extraordinary geographic advantage besides, lying at the midpoint between Caipol and the Imperial Capital. If one assumed a swift journey by flight magic, it was a relatively near city, one that could be reached in a single day. To be trusted with the use of it was a truly enormous opportunity, and Blow, who knew that better than anyone, felt his heart begin to pound as if it might burst.

"Most of the land in Roten is held by our House Edfolk. Excepting, of course, what belongs to the monastery."

"I'm aware of that."

"Then this will be simple. In fact, I confirmed in a report what you did at the monastery. Marchen organized it very neatly."

"You mean the conversation I had with the abbot?"

"Yes. It impressed me so deeply that I read it several times over. According to that account, you were even thinking of work for the children at the orphanage."

"Yes. That is one of my goals as well."

"If so, would your developing Roten not be a very good thing for the monastery too? The children would not have to go to the trouble of leaving Roten."

It really was an incredible proposal.

Blow had turned the matter over so hard that his head had grown hot. He wet his throat with water, then carefully opened his mouth.

"It really does seem like a fine proposal, my lord. Only..."

"Only?"

"I think the shares ought to be settled properly. The right to use the land, and the investment itself, already seem sufficient for me."

"I was of the same mind. Handing over the land itself is a bit much, after all."

"Father, even so, you ought to give Young Master Blow some land. Wouldn't the work go more smoothly for him if you did?"

Yulia slipped in on Blow's side, and Duchamp answered her in a gentle voice.

"Daughter, of course. If it proves necessary, I intend to transfer a portion of the land to Young Master Blow at a modest price."

"Ah, in that case, it seems fine to me as well."

"To return to the matter—Young Master Blow, what do you mean to do once you have that land? I am not, of course, telling you to decide this moment."

"It's something I've been thinking about all along, but I would love to build a carbonated-water works there. It is the midpoint between the Imperial Capital and Caipol, after all."

"That's a wonderful idea, Young Master! There's no need to go out of one's way to come here and process the water."

"You wear your absorption in business plainly. To have an answer ready at once."

"I don't reach your level, my lord, but I am doing my best."

Hearing that, Duchamp gave a small shrug, took a sip of the tea set before him, and spoke while looking from Blow to Yulia and back again.

"It is my wish that you, Young Master, and you, Yulia, join your strength and see this development of Roten through properly. I am giving you an opportunity of this kind in part because, whatever else may be said, you are Yulia's partner."

"Because my working hard is a good thing for Lady Yulia, and by extension for you as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠well."

"You could put it that way. And did you not say it yourself? That your movements speak for House Edfolk."

"Yes. I've said something to that effect."

"Then should those steps not carry a proper weight? Succeed in Roten, and you will have gained just that much strength."

"I think so too, Father. That's also why, when I first made the contract with the Young Master, I meant to offer him a large signing payment."

They fit together this well?

In any case, it was plainly a good thing, so Blow answered with a smile.

"Then we will confer on the plans through the winter and report them to you, my lord."

"Rather than that, why not come to the Imperial Capital once?"

"Pardon?"

"I am saying you should stop by the capital in winter. Together with your investors."

The Imperial Capital. He had known he would have to go someday, but not this soon.

When he hesitated over an answer that was, in truth, daunting, Duchamp smoothed his beard and added, a smile resting on his lips.

"I shall see about arranging an occasion to introduce you."

"You—you yourself, my lord?"

"Just so. Is an old man being a bit much?"

"No, it isn't that. It's simply too extraordinary an offer for me."

"Not at all. Even this does not repay half the kindness I received. And Roten, in any case, is something I am doing for my own profit."

"Would it be all right if I took a moment to set my thoughts in order?"

"As long as you like."

While Blow caught his breath beneath this succession of far too enormous offers, Duchamp, pleased even by that, watched him with a smile.

At a glance, Yulia seemed quite taken with Young Master Blow as well.

He had a scoundrel's past, yes, but with a face that handsome and a sense for business, he was a thoroughly decent man no matter how one turned him over. In a matter of months he had achieved a dazzling growth; already he kept the remarkable Hervena as a trusted right hand, and he had even taken an investment from Rachel. Even that Bjorn seemed fond of him.

At this rate there was no need to look far ahead. From next year onward, proposals of marriage would come pouring in for Young Master Blow. Then what he himself had to do was perfectly plain: throw his full weight behind them, so that Yulia and Blow might be joined. If the two of them raised Roten together, they would surely draw even closer than they were now.

Forgive me, Young Master. Repaying a kindness is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠part of it—but a generous measure of my own selfishness has gone in as well.

Duchamp looked at Blow with a meaningful gaze. Watching her father, Yulia gave a nod so slight it was barely there.

I never even said a word, and Father has given his permission.

She laid her hand over Duchamp's, where he sat across from her, and smiled brightly.

"I'll do my very best."

"Yes. I trust you will do well."

Some time later, the long meal at an end, Duchamp stood before Hills and looked back over everyone who had come out to see him off.

"Truly, thank you, Blow Deblique."

"Not at all. I only did what needed doing, and I've been given something so far beyond me that I think it will take a long while just to digest it."

"If it proves hard to digest, seek out Marchen and Yulia. I will be expanding Yulia's authority a great deal this time as well."

"Father..."

"She runs a hotel that well. It is only natural."

And then the two of them met each other's eyes. Yulia, her own gone bright with tears, quietly leaned into him.

"I'll do well from now on. As much as I failed to, until now..."

"No, Yulia. Even so, have you not grown this splendidly?"

"I'll come see Mother and my younger siblings soon."

"In winter, it would be good to come and share a meal with Young Master Blow."

"I'd like that."

What is this? Why does it feel as if I don't get a say?

Blow's eyes had narrowed, and he was tilting his head, when Duchamp opened his umbrella and shifted his gaze to him.

"It seems the time has finally come for me to think of the next generation, Young Master Blow."

"To be spoken of as what comes after you, my lord. That is truly an extraordinary honor."

"Then I, too, must keep striving, so that you may go on thinking so."

"Will you travel by flight magic?"

"Since I am going that way, would it not be good to stop by Roten once?"

"Most wisely said."

"It was truly a pleasure to meet you."

"For me as well, it was truly an honor."

And then Duchamp stroked Yulia's hair once more, with open affection. She smiled toward her father more brightly than she ever had, just as she did when she looked at Blow.

"I'll see ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you again, Father."

"You must stay healthy until then."

With that, Duchamp drew away together with a deep-blue magic circle that was the very image of Yulia. Yulia kept waving until he could no longer be seen, then looked at Blow beside her and quietly opened her mouth.

"Young Master?"

"Yes, Senior."

"Shall I try growing my hair out?"

"I am curious what you'd look like with long hair. I think it would suit you."

"It will take longer than you think."

"Well, it isn't as if we're only going to see each other for a day or two and be done."

Just as I am in the Young Master's yesterday, and in his today, I will be in his tomorrow too.

Cheered through and through by that, Yulia set about earnestly storing the sight of today's Blow in her eyes.

That evening, at Hills, they were busy preparing a staff dinner to celebrate Yulia's victory.

"Whaaat—development rights to Roten?"

"Well, that's just how it went. Figured I ought to tell you, seeing as you're an investor."

"Isn't it wonderful, Skadi?"

Yulia had at some point claimed the seat beside Blow and was beaming at her, and the sight left Skadi uneasy. She spoke to Blow in a needlessly prickly tone.

"Didn't you say balance was what mattered?"

"He went out of his way to press it into my hands, insisting it was a right I was supposed to take. What was I supposed to do?"

"...Then I want to invest too."

"The Roten development is very likely to be entirely separate, so you coming in would be good."

"Then I suppose I ought to study a little."

"Oh my, Lady Skadi, studying? What a wonderful thing to say! For a start, next year, how about coming to understand an organization by doing the student council with me?"

It was already the third time Yulia had offered Skadi a place on the student council. But her thinking had changed a great deal since the first time she had been asked. Even she could see that there was a great deal to learn from that beaming Yulia. It was the very thing Maxim, who had served as her aide, had been telling her all along. On top of that, Yulia—who these days kept drawing closer and closer to Blow—had begun to catch uncomfortably in her eye.

Still, if I join the secretariat, I'll be at Senior's side, so I might be able to keep her in check, at least a little.

When Skadi let the silence hang, Yulia went on in an easy voice.

"If you join the secretariat, I'll introduce you to a teacher who can instruct you in management, and I'll help you in all sorts of ways."

"Ah..."

"And I want to do that for you."

"I'll think it over a little more."

While the two of them talked, the staff of Red Forest and of Hills, and even Haghia and Marchen, took their seats. Then the Traffic Light Trio and Linne came up to the table, eyes sparkling as they looked at Yulia.

"Senior, you're truly incredible!!"

"You were so, so amazing, Senior!!!"

"And the magic was really impressive too!"

"Thank you, all of you, for receiving it so kindly. I'll make sure to show you plenty more from here on."

After that, their questions came pouring down on her. Blow stepped away toward the kitchen for a moment, and Jane, with something weighing on her mind, quietly came up to him.

"It's all good, but it's a bit of a shame Hervena couldn't come."

"I told her to come, but she said it would probably be too awkward if she joined, so she didn't want to."

"That's true, but still."

"Let's call Hervena separately tomorrow or the day after. Just Skadi, about."

"Yes, understood."

Just as the two of them were talking, Haghia came to Blow and unfolded a magic circle.

"Young Master, a communication has come from Blanya."

"I already spoke with Mother a little while ago. Who is it?"

"Shall I connect it for now?"

"Go ahead."

The moment Blow nodded, the circle began to glitter. A short while later, the voice of Romang, Melo's mother, came across.

Ah. I forgot Romang was there.

While he cleared his throat again and weighed what to say, and how, Melo—glad to hear her mother's voice—peeked her face out from the kitchen.

Which is to say, about two hours before the communication reached Blow.

When Meigan Browngrass's carriage entered the mansion at Blanya, several servants were waiting outside together with Luce, who might well be called the lady of the house. A few hours earlier she had heard Meigan's plan for the act from Blow, and her face had not looked particularly pleased.

What on earth is that boy thinking.

Word had already spread all through Blanya that the business was doing extraordinarily well. She had said she understood over the communication, but if anything struck her as strange, Luce meant to cut it off herself, as she saw fit.

At last the carriage wheels came to a stop, and Meigan stepped down. Everyone who saw her could only freeze where they stood. Hollow eyes, a whole body trembling like an aspen, shoulders slumped in a way that was nothing like her, the corners of her mouth dragged down—even Luce, who had heard the whole of it from Blow, found Meigan's condition so poor that it seemed something had gone terribly wrong.

"Meigan..."

"My lady... hhk..."

With those words Meigan folded to the ground, and great round tears spilled from her eyes. The murmuring of the servants who had come out to receive her, and of those watching from within the mansion, began to swell.