Blow's Notebook
"Blow, Deblique!"
The voice had the warmth of a man greeting an old friend, and Blow's brow drew tight. There was no tie between them worth calling one.
Up close, the man's eyes were strained hard with effort—so at odds with the smile hitching at his mouth that the whole expression felt grotesque.
Jane, who had followed behind Blow, offered a formal greeting to the young master. Greig ignored it as if he had not seen her at all. At the sight of it, Blow's breath went long.
"...Greig Campbell."
"That's right. Business treating you well? I'd forgotten I meant to drop by."
"Lukewarm."
"Haha. In this Dusk Block? Fortune's been kind to you."
"Yes. Thanks for the envy."
"Do you even clear a gold a day?"
Greig said it while jabbing a plump finger at the ground of the Dusk Block. The tone was calculated to scrape at the temper, and Blow made an effort to hold his anger down.
"Come for potatoes? We're not open yet."
"Potatoes? You take a joke too far."
"Then I'll be going in. I've got opening prep to do. Good to see you."
Blow would have liked to walk past him then and there, but Greig stepped into his path and opened his mouth in a sly voice.
"I came because I have business. You don't imagine I walked all this way just to look at your face?"
"For a reunion, you're being remarkably unpleasant. Say one more thing in that tone, and I'll answer you at the same level."
"Haha. Of all people, hearing standards from you, Blow. That's rich."
"The feeling is entirely mutual. If your business is so urgent, why don't you spit it out and get lost?"
"Are you angry, by any chance?"
"If anyone ought to know exactly what I look like when I'm angry, it's you. I'm starting to feel a little hurt."
Remembering the man Blow used to be, Greig's face flushed a deep red.
"You... you bastard."
"I packed a lifetime of beatings into you back in our second year. You ought to have learned something by now, Greig."
"Things have changed since then. Unfortunate for you, I'm afraid."
"Right. I heard you drew a spectacular spirit. Shame, though. All that comes to mind is you rolling around on the sparring floor."
At Blow's unabashed manner, a stifled snicker rose from among Greig's attendants. Greig's clenched fist, of course, was trembling.
"...Yes. That's what I came to talk about. How about a spar, for old times' sake. An official one."
"A spar? I'm not even enrolled anymore. Did you collapse during the summoning rite too?"
Greig answered the incredulous question with a sinister smile.
"What does that matter? You dueled the knight-school brats next door often enough."
"That was because our interests aligned. Did you come here thinking I'd actually accept this?"
"Picking the fight first—that was aligned interests too, I suppose?"
"Then why don't you take the beating first this time?"
"I'm saying it because I don't want to."
A duel dressed up as a spar, sprung on him out of nowhere. Blow frowned, dumbfounded. Once, he would already have grabbed Greig and made him kiss the cobbles of the Dusk Block. Now he neither wanted to nor had any reason to. The whole situation was simply a nuisance.
"I'm not interested, so I'd appreciate it if you left. I'll be going."
"Why? Think you can't manage it, now that you're a half-wit without a spirit? You used to fight like a man starved for it."
...Would you look at this bastard?
The intent behind the words was plain, and Blow tried not to let it reach him. The key slid into the lock and turned, and Greig's voice cut in again.
"Your head really must be wrong. Then again, if you'd trade the famed sword Drenor for Jane... tsk."
The words carried a sour stink, and Blow's hands stopped dead.
"You son of a bitch. What did you just say?"
In an instant the air sank heavy. A flame that had not been there a moment ago rose in Blow's eyes.
"Did I say something wrong? I heard it clearly enough."
"Who told you that?"
"I had no idea you were the sort who scoops up other people's leavings. And plays the fool while doing it, no less."
Blow let out a short, broken laugh, and his fist rose. Greig tipped his chin, as if daring him to come.
"Young master!"
At Jane's earnest voice from behind him, Blow's hand froze where it was.
"I'm... all right. If you're angry because of what he said about me, please—put your anger away."
A long sigh slipped from Blow as he looked at her. A moment later his hand came down, and Greig, delighted, burst into a piggish laugh.
"Hahaha! The great Blow Deblique, holding himself back? What a sight! I've always thought Jane was a useful right hand. And Hervena, for that matter! Pity for the rest of us—you really are a man blessed with the people around you."
"Those names don't belong in that filthy mouth of yours."
"Angry? Why not finish what you started? I don't mind."
An orange magic circle unfurled across Greig's right hand, and from behind his head a fairy-shaped spirit popped up, glowing in the color of his mana. Jane stepped forward to block him, shaking her head, her whole body trembling. Seeing an expression that looked ready to spill tears at any moment, Blow tossed the words at Greig.
"Go."
"Fine. I'll yield this one. I'll be waiting for your answer."
Greig declared it as he pleased and turned to leave. One of his attendants came up and pressed a duel writ into Blow's hand, sealed with the crest of House Campbell. The moment they were gone, Blow crumpled the writ and flung it to the ground, then went back to the door.
Clack. Clack.
Whether from the anger still burning in him, the key kept spinning uselessly inside the lock. Blow drew a deep breath, gathered himself, and took hold of the key again—and that was when he heard it. Jane's voice, her shoulders slumped, reached his ear.
"Young master. I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"As someone who's become your right hand... I feel as if I'm a flaw on you..."
"Jane!"
His voice rose higher than it had when he snapped at Greig, and Jane flinched hard.
"Don't ever put words like that in your mouth again!"
"Young master..."
"If you say things like that, then everything I just held back becomes nothing!"
"...I misspoke. I'm sorry."
"Don't ever say that again. Understand? And..."
Blow hesitated, his lips working, and only just managed to add the rest.
"I'm the master, and I'm the one who's sorry. Making you listen to filth like that."
Warmth was packed tight into the words, and Jane's eyes closed. Then her head bowed, and something pattered onto the ground like rain.
"Let's go in. We've got the evening service to prepare."
"Yes..."
With that the inn door closed, and the clouds overhead began to stain themselves the color of ink.
At 4:40 in the afternoon, with everything set so he could open at a moment's notice, Blow was catching a short rest in his room.
It was a habit he had picked up in boyhood, back when he was Han Ji-hoo. The one battered CRT television in the house, its picture poor, had been monopolized by the father of that world, and no toys or books were ever given to him. So whether the day was hard or good, there was only one thing he could do: close his eyes and hope for a happy dream.
Until he met Grandpa, Han Ji-hoo slept and slept. Ten hours. Twelve. Just as he had fled reality then, Blow Deblique was now briefly running from a rage that boiled in him. If he faced it half-ready and the feeling surged, a mistake during the evening service would be a disaster.
Then, from the first floor, a smell both fresh and sweet began to tickle the tip of his nose.
Hm? What's this? Is Hans cooking something?
His eyes opened on their own, and by the time he had managed to sit up, a knock came at his door.
"It's Hans! Young master!"
"What is it?"
"You should have dinner. A bit early, I know."
"You cooked? The smell's made it all the way up here."
"Haha, I put some effort in."
Blow figured it was better to put something in his stomach anyway, climbed off the bed, and opened the door. Standing there with Hans was someone he had not expected at all.
"Young maaaster!!"
Blow's eyes went wide at the sight of Melo, who was not supposed to arrive for another two days.
"Melo? How are you...?"
"I wanted to get here sooo badly I slept on the carriage the whole way!!"
"And you cooked the moment you arrived? You must be exhausted. Come and rest."
"I'm not!!"
Only then did he notice Megan on the first floor, looking up at him. While she bowed, Jane—who had gotten up at some point—came out rubbing her eyes and startled.
"Wha—?! Melo! How did you get here!!"
"I came as fast as I could!! Jane!!"
A smile settled onto Jane's face, which had been dark all this while. Seeing it, Blow finally let out the breath he had been holding.
"Come down and eat!! I made food!!"
About an hour earlier, at the mouth of the Dusk Block.
Melo and Megan, who had grown quite close on the trip down to Blanya and back, were even holding hands.
"The young master will like it, won't he?!"
"He'll like it for certain. He'll be surprised, I expect."
"We should have a party! With the young master, and Hans, and Jane!"
"Is Melo cooking again today?"
"Today, maybe not...! I want to ask them to buy us something tasty!"
"Right. You had such a hard trip up, didn't you?"
"I did!"
They had come by changing horses instead of sleeping at inns, so the journey had been grueling, but Melo's face looked brighter than ever. Chattering like that, they walked on until the Nyx Inn—so missed, so longed for—came into view.
But at an hour when the lights should have been on, they were out. The moment she saw it, Melo sensed something off and stopped dead.
"Huh? Did they go somewhere else..."
"I didn't get any word of that. Shall we go in and see?"
At Megan's words Melo nodded and squeezed the hand she was holding even tighter.
What greeted them as they stepped carefully into the inn was a Hans who looked somehow worn thin.
"Melo? Megan? What...? How are you here so early!"
"Hans!"
"Aigoo! You came without so much as a word!"
Realizing how they had come, Hans hugged Melo as she ran to him. A moment later she lifted her head and looked up at him.
"Where's the young master?"
"He's upstairs. Resting a bit before we open."
"And Jane?"
"Yes. Aigoo, of all the good days for you to come..."
"Did something... happen?"
"Well..."
Hans told Melo and Megan the story he had heard in brief from Jane earlier. The more Melo listened, the more tears welled in her eyes.
"That's awful."
"Hearing words like that, both Jane and the young master must be heartbroken."
As if she had made up her mind, Melo rolled up her sleeves, showed him a clenched fist, and spoke.
"Then there's no helping it! Hans! Can you run to the market for a bit?"
"You're going to cook now? You must be worn out from the trip..."
"The young master and Jane are hurting more!"
"All right. I'll go as many times as you need."
"Then..."
Melo whispered as if sharing a secret. Hans nodded along the whole time, then headed out.
At last Melo stepped into the kitchen, swept her eyes over the world that was hers again, and began pouring water into the pot.
"What is all this!"
Jane's eyes went round at the dish filling the big pot. The first thing she saw was the red of tomatoes embroidered among a host of mussels. Garlic and onion sent up a wonderful smell with them, and that scent alone was enough to brighten every face.
"It's tomato mussel stew!"
"How did you even make something like this?"
"Ta-da!"
Then Melo, smiling, held up a book for all of them: Food and Cooking of Caipol.
"It said Caipol isn't that far from the sea, so seafood's easy to get! So I tried it."
"Really? If it's good, we could put it on the restaurant menu."
"That would be nice."
A little later, while stew and pasta were being portioned onto each plate, Blow asked Melo offhand.
"You made pasta too?"
"Yes. It says they taste good together. But! Please try the broth first!"
"Yes, Chef!"
Jane was the first to dip her spoon into the stew, take a generous mouthful, and bring it to her lips. What met her first was the mussel's salt and clean freshness, as if it still held the sea. Then came a sweet-sour wave, and right behind it the firm, sharp bite of garlic closed the flavor with perfect precision. It was the taste a stew—or any broth—can give the one who eats it: a warmth through the whole body. A healing stew, in other words.
Jane, her mood lifted all the way, looked at Melo and nodded.
"It's really good, Melo."
"Jane."
"Hm?"
"Cheer up!"
"Thank you... Melo."
A full, clear smile spread across Jane's mouth, which had been a little stiff until just now.
"It's really delicious!"
"So... we get to eat things like this every day?"
"This one's going on the menu."
With Jane and the others each adding a word in turn, dusk settled outside the inn.
With Megan and Melo joined in, the evening service passed far more easily than the day before. Hans, back from hard construction work with the barbarians, and Megan and Melo, heavy with the fatigue of travel, went straight upstairs, while Blow sat in the hall turning over his plans for the business.
Megan brought potatoes too. Starting tomorrow, we can drop the limited quantity.
He finished the thought, closed his notebook, and was just stretching when Jane, done with the last of the kitchen cleanup, spoke to him carefully.
"Young master."
"You worked hard today too."
"What are you thinking of doing?"
She was almost certainly asking about the spar with Greig. Blow, who had already made up his mind, gave her a small smile as he answered.
"The truth is, I've already decided."
"How should I write the reply?"
Blow paused a moment, and instead of answering, held out the notebook that had traveled with him all this time.
"Before I say anything, I think you should read this."
Jane remembered what she had asked him about his dream—forgotten for a while because of Greig—and accepted it carefully.
"I will."
"You had a hard day."
Blow patted her shoulder and went upstairs.
Jane sat in the nearest chair and set his notebook on the table. After a brief hesitation she let out a soft breath, and began to read from the first page.