Lost Child of the Dawn

by Mamare Touno

  Lately, they were hosting tea parties nearly every day. If she swept up immediately like this, it would make work easier for the person in charge of early mornings. Tomorrow, the Adventurer women would probably come to call again. In particular, the small black-haired girl—Akatsuki—had come every day for the past ten days or so.

  “You look very tired today.”

  “Yes.”

  Raynesia wasn’t saying much.

  She really must be tired. Elissa couldn’t blame her. Madame Henrietta and Madame Marielle had done just as they pleased with her. After returning from brunch, Raynesia had been subjected to yet another dress-up tournament. Remembering her mistress’s voice—which had pleaded for mercy in a truly pitiful way—Elissa chuckled a little, deep in her throat.

  It was Elissa’s job to dress her mistress in such a way that she could present her anywhere without embarrassment.

  Yes, meticulously managing Raynesia’s clothes was her duty as well.

  After all, due to her mistress’s appearance, people noticed her. Thinking of outfits day after day was a monumental task.

  For example, if she had a conference with a merchant, and she wore the same dress to the conference after that, she’d probably be held in contempt for “always wearing the same dress, even though she was the daughter of a dukedom.” As a result, Elissa and one other of the ladies-in-waiting’s jobs was to keep types of dresses on hand every day whenever she changed clothes, morning, noon and night, and to keep a careful record of the accessories she wore each time.

  If they were dealing with People of the Earth nobles and merchants, that sort of conventional treatment was enough. It was a troublesome duty, and it required puzzle-like planning abilities, but if she thought about it as being a time-honored job, it was nothing.

  When dealing with the Adventurers, though, she had trouble. After all, there was simply no precedent. If it was an audience or some other formal occasion, it was possible to design outfits according to the topic of the audience or the requirements of etiquette. However, these recent tea parties were considered purely private affairs. An overdone outfit risked incurring the Adventurers’ displeasure. Still, even if it was all right to wear casual clothes, she didn’t know what sorts of clothes were considered “casual” according to Adventurer common sense.

  After all, Adventurers wore all sorts of clothes. Most Adventurers seemed to distinguish between clothes worn for battle and ordinary clothes for around town, but for some, the line between the two was blurry, and it wasn’t unusual to see individuals who spent most of their time in plate armor.

  There was another problem as well. In an attempt to learn the Adventurers’ preferences and customs, she’d examined dresses and outfits which it would have been hard to call dresses in Akiba beforehand, and the prices had been all over the map. Though imperfect, the House of Cowen was a great noble family. That meant that, although the Adventurers’ equipment was expensive, it wasn’t as if they couldn’t purchase casual clothes. However, even if that was so, the pricing was far too incomprehensible. It was common for a silk shirt to have a price fifty times higher than the practically identical shirt hanging next to it.

  The shopkeeper had explained that the materials were different.

  The longer she listened, the more astounded she was, but Adventurer shops sold boots made of tanned Gorgon hide and bustiers made with Falnat down, as if that were only natural. Clothes made by subjugating and using such high-level mystical beasts were so expensive that even the dukedom, which had one of the People of the Earth’s greatest fortunes, couldn’t afford to buy them up one after another.

  Truth be told, the dress-up tournaments that were held day after day were, in part, the result of Elissa having asked Marielle for advice. “Just relax and leave everythin’ to me,” Marielle had declared merrily, and thanks to the clothes she brought in, Raynesia’s Adventurer-compatible wardrobe was gradually being filled out.

  For the sake of that project, Elissa felt no hesitation about offering up her mistress for a dress-up doll party. In any case, if she didn’t do something like this, Raynesia wouldn’t budge an inch. Elissa thought it was good medicine for her.

  She loved and respected Raynesia nonetheless, of course.

  When she’d spoken sharply during that conference, Elissa had felt like applauding: Even if it was her own mistress, that had been splendid. However, Raynesia was a fundamentally indolent, cowardly, thoughtless, feather-pillow girl (meaning her head was stuffed with down).

  Elissa respected and loved her, but if asked whether she could constantly serve her with respect, she’d have to say it was doubtful.

  Well, this is for Raynesia’s sake, after all.

  As she folded up a lap robe, Elissa pondered.

  It wasn’t just the clothes.

  Having friends of the same gender who were her own age, or marginally older or younger, was a rare experience.

  It was one thing for Elissa, who was the daughter of a low-ranking noble, but for Raynesia, who’d been born the granddaughter of the Cowen dukedom, they might be even harder to find than a good husband.

  Elissa remembered the perfect smile her mistress had worn in the palace at Maihama, and at the Ancient Court of Eternal Ice. Aristocratic society was strict. A single bad rumor could be fatal, particularly for young women.

  In order to survive surrounded by the watchful eyes of the gossipy sparrows at court, Raynesia had acquired elegant manners. The mask she’d chosen to protect the honor of her grandfather and her family was so perfect that it had won her legendary renown and the name “Eastal’s winter rose.”

  However, for that very reason, Raynesia had never had a real friend. Her relationship with Elissa might be relatively close, but even so, a lady-in-waiting was a lady-in-waiting.

  “Still, although it may not be my place to say it, you looked as if you were quite enjoying yourself.”

  “Pardon…?”

  “I think it’s good that you’ve made friends.”

  This was really true.

  Elissa thought that, over the past two weeks, Raynesia’s expressions had grown quite varied.

  “They aren’t friends.”

  —However, the words that came back weren’t what she’d expected.

  “Hmm? Then what are they, pray tell? When you spoke with them… Well, sometimes you seemed to be at your wits’ end, but you looked as though you were having fun.”

  “They’re Adventurers.”

  Raynesia answered Elissa’s question without any particular enthusiasm.

  “I wasn’t having fun while we talked. The Adventurers are different from us. They’re much too different. The etiquette I’ve learned doesn’t work. Unless I put my feelings into words and communicate them properly, they won’t understand, and if they don’t, we can’t talk to each other.”

  That was probably correct.

  The Adventurers weren’t particular about social standing. When they held tea parties, they even invited Elissa. Similarly, since being posted to Akiba, Elissa had acquired a few acquaintances: Madame Henrietta, who worked in a way with which she could sympathize; Riezé, who bore a very slight resemblance to her little sister back in her hometown; and Serara, who was so domestic she would have loved to have her as a fellow lady-in-waiting.

  Of course, as Raynesia said, Adventurers and People of the Earth were very different. Sometimes their views conflicted, and sometimes they couldn’t tell what the other was saying. However, it wasn’t so bad they couldn’t join hands.

  Elissa thought Raynesia had taught her more about that than anyone else.

  For that reason, at the same time, she asked a question, as though urged on by her doubts:

  “But you were so…”

  “If I had even a little fun, I have to tell them I had fun. If I’m sad, I need to say I’m sad, and if I’m happy, I have to express my gratitude. If I don’t, they won’t understand, so I do it. You know, too, don’t you, Elissa? I’m really more idle and cowardly
and…irresponsible. To be honest, I couldn’t care less about fashionable society and the nobility. If I could take naps every day, that’d be enough for me. In any case, I don’t really understand that sort of thing.”

  Raynesia’s murmur sounded somehow bored.

  “It’s a job.”

  “—Is it, then.”

  “…”

  Raynesia looked away, leaning limply against the back of the sofa. Spelled out in words, it looked as if she’d grown tired of it, or had given up or, at the very least, as though her attitude was irresponsible. However, beautiful girls had it good from start to finish, and even that careless pose was as pretty as a picture, which made it impossible to deal with.

  Elissa was the only person Raynesia showed this sort of pose to.

  In the presence of People of the Earth nobles, she acted like the perfect lady, and naturally she did so with princesses her own age as well. Even with the Adventurer women, although she was genuine, she was meek as a lamb. It might have been Raynesia’s armor, designed to keep her innermost heart hidden.

  —I suppose there was that individual as well…

  Elissa remembered the big sandy-haired man. True, Raynesia did seem to have opened her heart to that young man. However, the elements of not being able to lie or deceive him figured largely into that Raynesia hadn’t had the freedom to choose in the first place.

  Hadn’t she ever wanted that?

  If I had even a little fun, I have to tell them I had fun.

  That was what she’d said.

  Still, didn’t the fact that she was thinking that way mean she was confessing that she had enjoyed herself?

  Even if she was tired enough to nap on the sofa before dinner, Elissa thought that if she looked forward to each day enough to wake up the next morning without any help from her maids and be thinking about what to wear, then surely they were friends, and it wasn’t simply a job.

  Hadn’t Raynesia been enjoying life a lot more since coming to this town full of Adventurers?

  However, her princess turned her gaze to the window, which had already begun deepening to indigo, and she didn’t seem to have realized this simple fact of friendship. Either that, or she was avoiding the word friends. Elissa didn’t know whether she’d given up on those somewhere along the way, or whether she’d never hoped for them in the first place.

  Elissa felt something like mild pity.

  This girl, Raynesia, who’d been blessed with beauty and acclaim and wealth and even status, sometimes seemed to have abandoned something once and for all. It would be sad if the heroic courage she’d shown at the lords’ council had been born from resignation like that.

  As the princess gazed out the window, naturally her expression was beautiful and fragile, but it also held a trace of boredom. At the sight, Elissa heaved a sigh.

  She wanted to help her mistress, but she knew that lukewarm advice wouldn’t reach her.

  Raynesia’s excellent lady-in-waiting was well aware that Raynesia was just as stubborn and unreasonable as she was lazy.

  1

  Although there was no particular rule about it, people at the RoderLab who had the same subclass and were doing similar research formed fixed groups, becoming communities that called themselves “sections” or “departments.”

  For example, Mikakage and the other Chefs performed experiments to test the limits and properties of new cooking methods and the act of cooking on a daily basis. In order to do this, they needed an abundance of clean water, ingredients, and fuel, as well as facilities such as kitchens, ovens, heating equipment, items with refrigerating and freezing functions, knives of all types, a variety of containers, mortars, mixers, and more.

  The value of the groups known as guilds lay in being able to jointly possess large-scale facilities which would have been difficult for any individual to scrape together. Of course, since they were owned by the group, it wasn’t possible to use them by yourself, but even so, the idea of being able to use a top-of-the-line kitchen if you contributed a small amount of money to the guild was appealing. Lately, exemptions were often given even for these contributions. This was because their joint development projects with Shopping District 8 was proving profitable.

  The RoderLab held a dozen or so kitchens of varying sizes with all sorts of facilities, and they were used by the roughly seventy members of the cooking section. It was only natural that members of the same class would connect with each other to draw up schedules or adjust the equipment they planned to use.

  “Allie!”

  When the carefree young man appeared in the small kitchen, it was late afternoon. The light that streamed into the room seemed to have had a hint of orange diffused into it, but it was still too early for sunset.

  Startled by the sudden visitor, Allie the Alraune, a petite plant spirit, shivered and leapt up. Grabbing that chance, he caught her easily.

  This young male Cleric with awful taste (he was wearing three shirts with loud patterns layered over each other) was Aomori. Both Mikakage and this colleague of hers—who, in spite of being an Adventurer, wasn’t very dependable—were Chefs, and in terms of affiliation, they both belonged to the cooking section.

  Allie, who was holding a potato in each hand, flinched, then began to struggle, twisting and wriggling.

  “Don’t torment Allie, Aomori.”

  “I’m not tormenting her. Am I, Allie?”

  The struggling spirit, who was only as tall as a girl who’d just entered preschool, was wearing an outfit that was identical to Mikakage’s. She was a shy girl. To Allie, Aomori was like a scary uncle who seemed to approach to shower her with affection, but always teased her instead. Below the macaron cap that matched Mikakage’s, her big eyes were wet with tears.

  “A-o-mo-ri!”

  When Mikakage scolded him, Aomori responded as usual, muttering—“It’s not Aomori. It’s ‘Blue Forest’”—but he put Allie down. Still holding her potatoes, Allie ran around behind Mikakage and crouched down, huddling by her feet.

  “Got anything to eat here?”

  Aomori pulled a nearby chair over and sat down, asking a question that was pretty irresponsible for a Chef. Without rushing, Mikakage pointed at the pot. Aomori shambled over to it. Then, with bizarre cheers of “Yo-ho” and “Wahoo,” he began filling his plate.

  Paying no attention to Aomori, Mikakage kept peeling potatoes with a small petty knife. Every time she peeled one, sweet Allie handed her the next one. Since Allie was so short, the way she stood on a special stand, leaning out over the kitchen table with ears twitching, was adorable.

  Mikakage was a Druid, and Allie was one of the nature spirits she could summon, but there was no time limit on that summoning. In other words, unless told to go back, Allie would be there forever. Mikakage thought of her diminutive attendant as a little sister, and she lived with her, without sending her back. The miniature cook’s coat and pastry chef hat matched Mikakage’s, and had been specially ordered from the RoderLab’s clothing section.

  Mikakage had spent the period of chaos and confusion that had followed the Catastrophe with Allie and her other small attendants. Her little-sister helper Allie. The Myconid who carried her belongings. Orchis, the lullaby songstress. If they hadn’t been with her, she probably would have been crushed. Mikakage was glad she was a Druid.

  “So, this.” At Aomori’s voice, Mikakage turned her ears (and nothing else) his way.

  “What is it?”

  He probably meant the contents of the pot.

  She was pretty sure that was… Searching her memory, Mikakage answered.

  “Horned Yakuu shank and chickpea stew. It’s seasoned with salt and pepper, cream, butter, and several kinds of herbs.”

  “Is that right. I don’t get it.”

  At Aomori’s frank response, Mikakage shrugged.

  Hearing things like that would only cause her trouble. Mikakage wasn’t good at cooking to begin with.

  People might ask, “What are you talking about? Your subc
lass is Chef,” but Mikakage thought of herself as a confectioner, and she didn’t feel like a cook. It wasn’t that she was completely incapable of making food for meals, but as a rule, she left everything to the pot. Pressure cookers were wonderful: All you had to do was put in the ingredients, add the seasonings, and heat it, and most of the time it turned into food of some sort. Mikakage considered them a great invention and used them all the time.

  “By the way: cheese.”

  “Huh?”

  Aomori, who’d been eating thick potage-style stew, looked up, tilting his head to the side in confusion. When she asked for cheese again, he said, “Oh! Oh, right. Yeah, it’s done, it’s done,” and pulled something that looked like badly shaped tofu out of a refrigerated tote at his feet.

  Accepting it, Mikakage sniffed it, checking the smell. It was definitely ricotta cheese.

  This would broaden the range of sweets she could make. Should she go with cannoli? Or keep it basic and make a cream cake? She could pair it with pudding, too. If she was going to make something, she wanted to surprise people.

  “Thanks.”

  “Yep.”

  Aomori drank water as he answered. He wasn’t a regular Chef, either.

  He was an odd one who’d switched over to Brewer and, although he worked to create all sorts of ingredients, he didn’t do any cooking on his own. That being said, in a way, that was only natural.

  If you wanted to cook normally and serve the food to customers, your best bet was to join Shopping District 8 and set up a shop. You could also get financing as one of the minor guilds affiliated with them. If you wanted to produce in volume and aim for the markets, the Marine Organization was the recommended route. They were currently creating a meal distribution system, and you’d be able to do business in a big way.

  This was the RoderLab, a place that attracted oddballs who liked researching and developing new things.

  In that sense, there wasn’t much difference between Mikakage and Aomori.

  “Are you making something else?”