Let's Have a Word, Young Master Blow.
"Senior, I have been to another world."
"...What?"
Yulia's eyes widened, as if what she had just heard could not possibly be believed. Blow drew a notebook from his coat, worn thin from use, and held it out to her.
"It's all written down in here. For now I'll explain only what matters—the parts you need to know."
"A-all right. For now, Young Master."
Once he had heard that drained reply, Blow gave her a shortened account of everything he had been through. His story began with the rite to summon a spirit, passed through his days in a convenience store, and ran on as far as the potion subscription and even a pair of slacks. All the while Yulia listened, her mouth falling open in shock, her head tilting in puzzlement, her brow now and then drawing tight.
By the time he finally came to a stop, having spoken without pause, it was deep night, and only moonlight remained. Yulia had done nothing but listen, yet the shock of it left her staring blankly at him over a beer gone cold.
"I'm sorry. For not telling you beforehand."
"Young Master..."
"Yes."
"We agreed you wouldn't say you were sorry."
"Ah—but this, at least, I wanted to say exactly that way."
Yulia studied his face, then tipped back the beer in front of her and drained it.
"So that was it..."
"..."
"I did think you'd changed too much to be the same person. Then when did Jane find out?"
"Just before your duel with Young Master Greig," Jane said. "I'd been at his side for a long time, so I ended up asking first. And the Young Master told me without hiding any of it."
Silence settled over them again. Yulia let out a long breath, and her shoulders sank.
"All right. I understand, for now. I think I need a little time as well. The way you said you did, earlier."
"I understand, Senior."
"May I go, then, for tonight? I'll take the notebook and read it."
"Yes."
But from the moment she picked up the notebook and rose until she stepped outside and climbed into the carriage, Yulia never once looked at Blow. It was a cold expression he had not seen on her in a very long time. Sorry came ahead of every other feeling, and because he could add nothing more, he had no choice but to see her off with a face as stiff as the day they had first met.
Back at the table he raked a hand through his hair and spoke to Jane, his voice threaded with a sigh.
"I'm sorry to you, too, Jane. I should have just kept it off my face."
"Don't be. Even if you had, you would only have been anxious. Better to settle it properly now and be done with it."
"You think so?"
"Yes. That's what I think."
With that, she lifted the corner of her mouth at him.
She's doing this to put me at ease.
He was quietly grateful, and quietly watching her, when Jane spoke again in a voice she had made deliberately bright.
"Young Master, shall we do what we can?"
"Hearing it from someone else, it sounds new."
"Of course it does. Whose right hand do you think I am?"
She was smiling. Blow gave her a nod that was almost a small bow.
"All right. Where do we start?"
"What His Highness Prince Randolph said at dinner. Could you give it to me exactly as he said it?"
"Ah. You mean to write it down."
"Yes. With time it will blur, and it feels like too important a conversation for that."
"I hadn't thought of that. You're right. From now on I should keep a record of the important talks."
"Yes. I've already organized your conversation with Marquis Duchamp, and the meeting minutes, separately, but..."
"When?"
Startled by something he was hearing for the first time, Blow looked at her. She turned her eyes away, embarrassed.
"Just whenever I had a spare moment. Linne helped a great deal, though."
"Thank you. For sorting it on your own, without being asked."
"It's only what needs doing."
"Right. Do what needs doing."
To Jane, serious as ever, Blow recited everything he could remember of the conversation he had shared with the prince that day. A hair's difference in wording could change the meaning, so he took pains to carry the nuance as well, and wherever a phrase was ambiguous he marked it in parentheses. When he had set the exchange down with care, he drank water instead of beer. Dark circles had gathered beneath Jane's eyes.
They were no longer hiding anything from each other, so it was probably nothing more than the sheer amount of work laid on her. A little sorry, Blow called her name with care.
"Jane. You, managing the potion shop. Are you all right?"
"Yes. I can manage."
"If it's too much, would you rather just be my secretary? I'll leave you as much of your stake in Foresti Made as I can."
"..."
"I only thought it might be better. You're doing twice the work of anyone else, and I don't want you buried under it."
Jane, who had been checking the record, stopped her pen, thought for a moment, and shook her head as she looked at him.
"It's hard sometimes, but it's still fun."
"I'm glad of that, at least."
"But I do think you'll need a secretary before long. Someone to put the work in order. Someone like Marchen, or Sophia."
"I said it because you're the one doing that work now. And Red Forest took on more people this time, too."
"Even so, once Red Forest is under control to a certain point, I'll think about it then."
"Then I'd better work hard."
"You always do. I'm really fine."
"When the people come up from Blanya, I'll sort the staffing properly."
"Yes."
Without either of them prompting the other, they began to read down through the record they had just made. After a long while Jane folded her arms and tilted her head.
"I've read it several times. We don't have to take it only in the worst light, do we?"
"Why?"
"People save the most important thing for last, don't they? As a rule."
"That's true enough."
"His Highness went on at length about his worries for the continent, and only then told you he hoped you would not. I wonder if that was what he most wanted to say."
"That much is true."
"And does His Highness have any reason to treat you as an enemy? You haven't taken the First Prince's side."
"That's also true. I haven't even met His Highness the Crown Prince."
"What I mean is that, unless something enormous happens, that's how it looks from everything so far. His Highness said he'll leave for the Imperial Capital tomorrow or the day after, anyway. Wouldn't it be all right to see him once more in winter and judge then?"
"True. Then until then I'll do as you say, and put my effort into keeping steady."
"And if this talk with Senior Yulia goes well, you ought to be able to get her help, too."
But Blow could not simply agree. The look on Yulia's face as she left could not be read so kindly. He even found himself thinking that an invisible line might be drawn between them, now that the distance had lately fallen away. And thinking that, he could only feel a deeper gratitude for Jane, who stayed quietly beside him no matter what happened.
As if she had felt his soft gaze pass over her, Jane flinched, then smiled awkwardly. Blow stroked her hair, gentle.
"It will turn out well, Young Master."
"You mean Senior Yulia."
"Yes. It took me a long time, too, after I found out. To come to terms with it."
"Thinking back, I do feel I wronged you."
"What do you mean?"
"Not telling you about the experiment."
"It's enough that you know now."
Remembering that time, Jane pouted as if still aggrieved. Blow carefully avoided her eyes, cleared his throat, and lifted his beer glass.
"Let's have a drink."
"It's nice, sometimes, drinking like this. Just the two of us. Quietly."
"It is. Let's do it now and then."
"If it's all right with you, Young Master."
The Pilsner Paulos had already gone flat. A long time had passed since it was poured; it was lukewarm, and the bitterness of the hops came through all the stronger. Even so, in the relief of a long day ended, Blow and Jane could look at each other and smile.
The next day, at Hills.
Whatever else had come of it, the day had begun, and Blow meant to put his strength into living it as he always did.
"Young Master, the work on the facilities is finished. Would you care to take a look?"
Once the morning rush was over, Ornn the barbarian—who had gone down saying he still had work left—came up again and offered him a respectful bow.
"I'll go right down."
"Yes."
The cellar of Hills had been divided, around the mana stone at its center, into two parts: cold storage and a freezer. High on the walls, just as Blow had asked, ventilation had been installed. It was working properly, and he could set aside every worry about humidity and the quality of the air. He looked the place over with care, then gave a thumbs-up to Ornn, who stood modestly waiting on his word.
"You worked hard, Ornn."
"Not at all. Aside from installing the vents, it was only a matter of dividing the space. It wasn't difficult."
"And the magic—Jane comes every morning and casts it. Is that how it should be?"
"It's Supreme Tier magic, so checking it once a day ought to be enough."
"Understood. I'll tell Jane that separately. Are the second shop and the doughnut shop coming along?"
"Yes. We're aiming to finish both within next week."
"Thank you for always putting in the effort."
"I have to do my best. It's work you entrusted to me."
"Ah—and I just walked the whole place. Have the goods all been moved in as well?"
"Yes. They weren't heavy, so we moved them quickly."
These were barbarians who could walk about unbothered with an oak cask in each hand, so the work would not have been hard. Even so, they had done it without being asked, and he was grateful. He nodded at Ornn.
"I never said a word, and you did it anyway. Thank you."
"We only did what needed doing. Ah—that reminds me. When is Miss Megan coming up?"
"Next week or so, I expect."
"Aha. I see."
"Why?"
"The truth is, she always brought us something to eat. Now that we've stopped having it, well... I find myself missing it."
Hearing that, he thought Megan really did have an eye for the small things. And when she returned, the first person he would bind with a retainer's pact would probably be Megan. Ornn watched him stroke his chin, then ventured, carefully:
"Young Master."
"What is it, Ornn?"
"You don't look well. Has something happened?"
"Does it show?"
"To be honest, my eyes catch it now and then."
"Only because you aren't the only one."
"Hoh. Someone remarkable, then. They can't have lived longer than I have."
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"We barbarians don't live as long as elves, but we do live quite a while."
"Ah. Right. You do..."
"But most of us die early. We love a fight, and our courage is considerable."
"Come to think of it, how old are you? I've never asked."
"I'll be seventy soon."
At that, Blow could only stare, struck dumb. However he looked at the man, he had thought him somewhere around forty.
"And Bahama and Rihendel?"
"They're about forty."
"..."
"There's a joke that a barbarian's eyes don't truly open until around fifty. Give them another ten years, and they'll grow a little more steady, as I have."
"I see. Well, since I've been found out anyway, may I ask you one thing I've been wondering?"
"As much as you like."
"What do you do when there's something you don't understand?"
"Something I don't understand?"
"Yes. Everyone is afraid of what they don't know, aren't they?"
"Aha. Death, for instance?"
"Something like that."
Randolph was like that. So was Yulia, as she was now. No matter how hard he used his head, there were things he simply could not know. Ornn stroked his own chin at the question, then grinned at him.
"Do you happen to know what we northerners and barbarians believe happens after we die?"
"I'm ashamed to say I don't."
"We believe we go to Valhalla—a sanctuary prepared for heroes."
"I see. You'll go there for certain, won't you? Bahama and Rihendel still call you captain."
"I'm not so sure. These days I live a life far from battle."
"Even so."
"In truth, even within the tribe there are many arguments about it. But this is what I think."
"Which is?"
Ornn smiled warmly at Blow, and went on.
"Simply that one ought to spend the day well. Without regret."
"A day without regret..."
"When you go out to fight, you hope to come back alive, but you step forward thinking it would not matter if you died. Isn't that so?"
"It is..."
"I try to live every day that way."
"So that's how you could stand in Lady Rachel's way."
"Yes. If I hadn't, I would have regretted it."
It was simple, but it resonated. Blow drew a breath, let it out, and offered his right hand.
"I feel considerably easier. Thank you."
"You look it."
"I only ever receive help from you."
"Haha. It doesn't come close to what I receive from you, Young Master."
Ornn clasped his hand and lifted the corner of his mouth in a grin. Blow shrugged at him.
"Shall we head up?"
"Let's. I've been down here so long that even I, a northerner, am cold."
"Ah. Right. My mind was entirely elsewhere. It is getting cold."
"Young Master, I'll be going to Nainix. The doughnut shop is in the middle of construction."
"All right. Thank you, as always."
His heart considerably lighter, he was getting ready for the lunch service when the door of Hills burst open and Yulia came in, her face set hard. For some time now she had always met him with a bright, beaming smile, so the stiff expression was nothing but unfamiliar. Blow swallowed dryly and had no choice but to speak with care.
"Senior..."
"Young Master Blow."
"..."
Her tone, carrying on from the night before, shed a steady chill. Thinking it might not go well after all, Blow swallowed a sigh and bowed to her.
"I'll come out at once."
He put on his coat and stepped outside. Yulia, already seated in the open carriage of House Edfolk, spoke to him low and clear.
"Get in."
"Senior."
"Quickly."
"This may take a while. Let me just tell Hans and Melo about the dinner service, and then I'll get in."
"Do that."
The moment he climbed into the carriage, the wheels began to turn. He had no idea where they were going, or why, and could only watch Yulia where she sat across from him. She was expressionless, chin propped on her hand, looking out. The air was bleak, as if even the atmosphere had sunk, and he felt she would not answer him if he spoke. He kept his mouth shut and watched Caipol, now fully into winter. After several dozen minutes the carriage drew near the edge of the city.
How far does she mean to go?
A little thrown by the unexpected journey, Blow glanced toward Yulia. As if she had no interest in him at all, she still sat with her chin in her hand, watching only the world outside.
This is no atmosphere in which I can ask.
Around then the road began to worsen at a rapid pace. Outside, enormous trees stood in a wild crowd. It seemed to be the Deer Forest, said to lie near Caipol. In those woods, where the trees rose so high the sky could not be seen, the carriage stopped all at once. Yulia rose and murmured toward him, barely loud enough to hear.
"We'll get off here."
"Understood."
A short while later she was walking ahead of him at a slightly quick pace, as if to say he should follow. Blow swallowed and had no choice but to go after her. The farther he walked, the more the trees that had packed the forest seemed to thin. All at once a clear blue sky opened before his eyes, and with it a lake so clean and cool that it mirrored the sky exactly. Fallen leaves of every color. The cries of birds in the midst of the quiet.
Blow stopped before that still, beautiful scene and let his gaze sweep over it. Yulia had already turned to face him. A single tear dropped to the earth as she smiled.
"Young Master."