No One Picks Up a Fallen Magnolia
The department head's office of the Student Welfare Division, in the student union.
Julbert had at last let Greig in—the same Greig who had been begging for a private audience since morning, day after day. Unlike Greig, whose face was crumpled as if his pride had been stepped on, Julbert wore a smile as he lifted the teacup from the desk.
"Greig, what brings you? Come to talk about your elder sister, the one who just became student council president of the Serdia Imperial Knight Academy? I already sent my congratulations by letter."
"No."
At so blatant a deflection, Greig's fists trembled.
"Then what is it?"
"Th-the election."
"Didn't we finish this last time? I told you we weren't a fit."
"What, exactly, is the reason?"
"The reason..."
Julbert let out a short, incredulous breath of a laugh and went on, low.
"Do you need one? Didn't I already say it's because you don't look likely to be of any help to our election?"
"Am I that lacking?"
"You aren't lacking. If anything, you overflow, and that's the trouble. Doesn't His Highness Randolph, the Second Prince and our student council president, favor you in particular?"
"Are you slighting me?"
"Now why would you take it that way? Was there something in what I said that grated on you?"
Under Julbert's gaze, gone suddenly cold, Greig's body drew in on itself.
"I know that after the election for president, the student council is made up chiefly of those who campaigned together."
"James. Is there any such article in the school regulations?"
"There is not."
"There you have it. If you had done your council work properly this year, wouldn't whoever is elected president afterward give you a place, whoever it was?"
A brief silence. Then Greig ground his teeth and spoke.
"What would you have me do?"
"I'm telling you there is nothing to do."
"I have to be the next student council president. And for that, I have to be on the council next time!"
There was a logic to it. Even the Second Prince Julbert had named had served as a department head on the council.
"You know perfectly well what my father's temperament is like!"
"And what has that to do with me? Am I your nursemaid?"
"I'll work until my body breaks!"
"Do you not understand when a man puts it nicely?"
"I'll get rid of Blow for you."
At that, the corner of Julbert's mouth moved, ever so slightly.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"You'll know soon enough. When the time comes, please think it over once more."
With those words left behind him, Greig went out.
Julbert watched him go without expression, and a thin, cold smile had just begun to spread at his lips when James, silent until then, carefully opened his mouth.
"It is proceeding as you said, young master."
"He's a boy with exactly that much imagination. He's telling himself that Blow was going to be removed anyway, so he may as well do it with his own hands, make his bid for Hervena, and stamp the rest down with money. And collect my trust along the way."
"I believe you have spoken of this before. Did you not say as much at the teahouse last time?"
"What did I say?"
"That no one picks up a fallen magnolia. That no one would go out of their way to pick up something already soiled."
"Did I say that?"
James remembered it precisely. On the day Hervena had come within a breath of casting magic on Greig, Julbert had said those words over tea with him.
"In any event, it seems you stand to lose nothing, young master."
"Is that how it falls out?"
"Even if Greig brings Blow down, Hervena will not cross over to Greig, so it will not matter. And though it is unlikely, should Blow defeat Greig, House Campbell will drop out of the contest for Hervena."
Julbert, listening, clapped twice and smiled at him.
"James, your view of things keeps widening."
"What will Greig do now?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
Julbert dropped sugar into his tea and shrugged.
"How so?"
"Think of what that fellow has already done. Turned away by me, he went scurrying off to Yulia, and then he came back to me again."
"Ah."
"A man of that measure has only one move left to him. He'll go looking for Blow before the day is out."
The building beside the potion shop, the one that was to become Blow's new restaurant.
While she helped the barbarian Ornn with the work, Jane watched Blow closely as he fired off one instruction after another.
"The counter can be narrower than the one at the potion shop."
"Ah, is that so?"
"Customers won't be setting goods down on it, will they?"
Ornn and the other barbarians nodded hard, as if the point were obvious. Jane alone went on feeding the spark of suspicion she had lit before.
No matter how I look at him, he's too precise. Too practiced.
That was the Blow in her eyes. She turned over how her young master had settled on roasted potatoes for the menu, how he had come to this Dusk Block, how he had said beer only tasted right when it was cold, and more besides.
Just as her unease was deepening, two of the other barbarians checked the time and shouted to the room.
"Lunch first, then we keep going!"
"It's lunch! Lunch!!"
"Aigoo! A break at last."
Hans, who had been working hard right up to that moment, dropped onto the floor with a thud. Ornn regarded him with a pleased look, then went over to Blow.
"Boss, have your lunch and then carry on."
"Ah. Is it that time already?"
"Yes, Boss."
"Do you remember everything I said today?"
"My head isn't the best, so I wrote it all down."
Blow nodded, as if that would do.
"Then I'd like to stop somewhere else this afternoon. Is that all right?"
"Ah, yes, by all means. I'll carry out everything you said, faithfully."
"Thank you. I'm off, then. Enjoy your lunch."
He pressed a single gold into Ornn's hand, and the other two barbarians roared loud enough to lift the roof.
"The boss is a man of real generosity!!!"
"A man who feeds you is a good man!! We won't forget this kindness even in the grave!!"
Blow nodded along with their blazing fervor.
I'm only handing over what I haggled off...
The barbarians, who had no way of knowing what he was thinking, went on praising him for a good while after that. Jane, who had been watching for an opening, came to stand at his side.
"I—I'd like to go too!"
She meant to settle the doubts about him that had taken root today. Blow tilted his head and asked, as if he didn't follow.
"Hm? Don't you have work this afternoon?"
Ornn glanced at Jane once, then spoke.
"It should be fine. All that's left today is simple labor."
"Well, I'd rather have one more person along than go by myself."
Hans's mouth fell open at the sense that disaster had struck, and he asked in a voice that didn't believe what it was hearing.
"Th-then you mean I'm the only one who has to stay here...!?"
"Hans, put in a bit of hard work for me."
Blow patted his shoulder and walked out. Jane pressed her hands together in apology and hurried after him.
A huge shadow fell across Hans, who stood dazed by their desertion.
"Hans! Name your lunch!"
"Today we eat whatever Hans wants to eat!!"
Hans, who had no wish to turn toward them, barely managed to drag his head around, and while he struggled to list the options for lunch, Blow was already on his way to Eggbottles, the liquor wholesaler he had stopped at the last time he went to market. He meant to settle on what beer the restaurant would serve.
That monastery lager I tasted last time—Pilsner Paulos. I need to get them to supply as much of it as they can.
He still carried a thick, lingering attachment to the lager of which he had been given exactly one glass.
Contrary to his hopes, the owner of Eggbottles, hearing him out, looked troubled.
"Pilsner Paulos only comes through in limited quantities. A little of it arrives now and then, so I'm afraid I can't supply you with it steadily, young master."
"A shame. I hate to say it, but I've been to other shops, and they didn't even seem to have laid eyes on a lager."
"If you truly want it, I think you'd do best to go to the monastery yourself."
"The monastery?"
"Yes."
He thought of Francis, who had always looked at him with a face full of regret, and could only let out a heavy sigh.
"From what I heard briefly last time, don't you have some tie to the monastery, young master?"
"A bad one."
"Aha. But isn't a bad tie still a tie? It isn't my place to judge you. The truth is, I've been to your roasted-potato shop once."
"What? When?"
At Blow's startled question, the owner stroked his mustache once and answered.
"Not long ago. You weren't there, Lord Blow. That trusted aide of yours standing behind you was."
"Ah. I've been so busy looking at other places that my head's been elsewhere. You should have said something."
"But because of that, I was able to see it all the more clearly."
"Maybe because we're in the same trade, that makes me more nervous."
"The potatoes tasted truly excellent."
A smile spread over the owner's face as he recalled it, and Blow, cheered by praise from a senior in the business, answered with a smile of his own.
"Thank you for putting it kindly."
"I wasn't putting it kindly."
"May I ask what you mean?"
"To speak plainly. When I first heard that you were going into trade, Lord Blow, I thought the young master was throwing another childish fit."
Jane, watching quietly from the side, gave a nod so slight it was barely there.
"This is Caipol, after all. A city where no one would find it strange if anyone went under."
Blow said nothing.
"Young master, do you know what I felt from your potatoes?"
"Honestly, I don't."
"Humility. And hunger for it."
"Humility..."
"No noble would even have imagined it. Selling potatoes in that Dusk Block is something even I, a commoner, would shrink from."
"I thought it would make money."
"And you carried that thought all the way into action, didn't you?"
The owner of Eggbottles filled his glass, a faint smile on his lips.
"It stirred me, truly. I even grew ashamed, wondering if I myself had been sitting stagnant all this time."
Blow was silent.
"Will you take a glass?"
A beer was held out to him. Blow shook his head.
"I have the evening trade to run, so I'll take the thought alone. When I drank last time, I couldn't quite keep my focus."
"Haha. Life really is something worth living a long while for."
He laughed and promptly drained the glass he had offered Blow. Blow had, in fact, been thinking there was little point in drinking something that wasn't even a lager—but the man was so moved that he supposed it was a good thing either way.
"Anyway, in the opinion of this humble man, why not try taking hold of that bad tie once?"
Blow did not answer.
"If a bad tie is nothing but a bad tie, then so be it. Still, wouldn't it be better to try at least once?"
"If that's the way that leaves no regrets, then I suppose I should."
After that, Blow brought up wine as well as beer. The owner smoothed his beard and added a word.
"Go to the monastery and come back, and then we'll talk. Paulos Monastery has been more famous for its wine than its beer since old times."
It was as if the man were setting him an assignment, but Blow didn't mind. All of it was being said for his sake.
Lighter of heart, he left Eggbottles and turned his steps toward the inn. Jane, who had been listening to them in silence, asked, careful and sideways.
"You're going to the monastery? Everyone will look at you unkindly."
"I was given an assignment, so I ought to do it. It's awkward, just as you say."
"From the person who never properly did his school assignments?"
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't forget that I'm your boss."
Jane laughed before she could stop herself, and in the laugh she felt how much easier she had grown with him. She still had the occasional complaint—the Meow-Meow Potion, or being hauled without warning to a remodeling site—but even so, there was a reward in it. It felt like watching a sprout in a flowerpot grow, faithfully, day by day. And her master Blow, since he had come to himself, had not treated her carelessly, nor anyone else. She could hardly believe he was the same scoundrel as before.
Because of that—because this present was so very good—she was afraid. Afraid the moment might end before she knew it. So she decided to ask him. The Blow of now, she thought, might be able to ease that fear.
"Young master."
"What is it?"
"If you don't mind, I'd like to hear about the dream you said you had."
"Hm? What's this, all of a sudden?"
He was more than a little thrown by it. Jane went on without wavering.
"My memory is fairly good. I'm not much with magic, but."
"I know that. You were called a genius once, weren't you?"
"In my memory, for all the drinking you did, Lord Blow, you never once said the word 'lager.' Nor that beer had to be cold. Last time you said you'd eaten the sausage and vegetable stir-fry Melo made, didn't you?"
"I did."
"But in my memory, you have never once put food with tomato in it into your mouth. I've never heard of this friend from Parso you said inspired you, and seeing that even my lady finds tomatoes novel... it doesn't seem likely you came across them before I became your aide, either."
Not knowing what to say, Blow scratched his head. Jane kept on.
"The day after I followed you to Blanya, when I asked why you were going into trade, you told me you'd had a dream."
"I remember that."
"So I'm curious. Just... what kind of dream was it? If I knew, I think I could understand the young master you are now a little better."
He said nothing.
"The truth is, the young master beside me is so unfamiliar. Sometimes he frightens me. Sometimes I lose sleep over it. And sometimes I feel as if I've been caught under an illusion spell."
There was curiosity in her face, and a sorrow as well. At words so earnest and so bare, Blow closed his mouth. It wasn't that he had nothing to say. He simply didn't know what to say, or how.
In one light he had changed, and in another he had not. Did that mean he had to lay out, piece by piece, everything he had lived through? Jane was not just anyone. Would it not be all right to tell her? But there was no pleasure in the telling, and the stories were nothing but far too dark. Could he keep hiding it from her forever? And yet that sad look on her face seemed to want the truth...
Silence stretched between them for as long as his deliberation did.
A little later, when the Nyx Inn showed in the distance, Jane forced a smile.
"I'm sorry, young master. If you don't want to speak of it..."
"No. No. To you, at least, I think I ought to tell it. Only I'm no good at saying it aloud, so when we get to the inn I'll give you my notebook. Read it."
"The notebook you've been writing in ever since the carriage?"
"Yes. I'm still writing in it, actually. But I put the important parts down first, so it should be all right."
He said it with a bright, easy smile. For some reason Jane looked away from his eyes, but she was curious about the notebook he had been filling so diligently, and she thought it a relief that her unease might finally ease.
"Hm. But why is he over there?"
Just as she was thinking what a relief it was, Blow's face, turned toward the inn, twisted. Hearing him, Jane looked that way, and her eyes could only go round.
Greig Campbell stood there with a host of maids and retainers, greeting them as if he had been waiting all along.