Chapter 71 - The Farm in Irttat
Chapter 71: The Ship of Exile 05
The next morning, they knew it was good weather the moment they woke up.
When the early spring sun came through the second-floor glass window, Violet pushed open the bedroom window.
She stretched, leaned out and looked around, then jumped straight down from the window in her nightgown.
She landed in the flower bed below, raising a scatter of dead leaves that caught on the loose-woven cotton gauze of her nightgown.
Touching solid earth again, Violet let out a breath. She walked outward through the flower bed, and the source of life within her flowed into the soil beneath her feet, radiating in every direction from the places her footprints fell.
An indescribable spring stirred through the whole yard.
Plant stems softened inch by inch. Dark green replaced withered brown. Fullness replaced shriveled dryness. Upright replaced stooping.
The Starlund pink roses in the flower bed lifted their heads. The dried, desiccated blooms dead on their stems were nudged off by new buds forming below, dropping in large clumps into the soil, beginning immediately to decay back into earth.
The shrubbery filled swiftly with new tender leaves, rustling in the morning breeze.
The lawn erupted with untamed growth, tall dandelions and low blue-eyed mary spreading across it, until even a passing butterfly seemed to pause in astonishment.
“There.” Violet pressed a hand to her forehead, her expression faintly rueful. “Today is going to require a proper tidying.”
It was a busy day. They swept and cleaned every floor of the building, including the small attic protruding from the roof, and the shop connecting to the yard.
At dusk, Lucita knocked on the door of the neighbor at No. 12 Rose Street to borrow a pair of gardening shears.
The neighbor looked at her young face and hesitated before asking, somewhat awkwardly: "Have you just moved into that old yard next to the cemetery?"
Lucita nodded.
"I'd advise you to cancel the lease soon. That yard..." The neighbor looked around conspiratorially. "They say it's haunted."
"Gaia will protect us." Lucita put on the expression of a reckless young person, taking the shears without concern: "Thank you for your generosity and the warning."
The neighbor felt she had done her duty and sighed, closing the door.
They trimmed the flower beds and lawn themselves, then drew up a list of necessities, candles, charcoal, kitchen and dining implements, and so on, to purchase at the market the next day.
Also, some of the wooden furniture whose paint was peeling would need a craftsman to come and touch it up.
Aside from that, the house was already essentially transformed.
Their kitchen was not yet fully functional, so dinner was bought from a restaurant.
Dinner began at dusk. They sat around the square table in the living room, sampling the local Viktori flavors: cream bread, smoked and poached ham, and a vegetable galette scattered with cheese. The mildly tart cream soup was also very good.
Compared to Irttat, where spices of every variety were abundant, the human world's flavors were somewhat limited.
Probably because sugar and salt were the cheapest and most readily available seasonings. And after the factory-driven maturation of sugar refining, sweetness had become indispensable at the human table.
Viktori, as one of the centers of the human world, was particularly representative of this sweet tendency.
People pressed granulated sugar into neat cubes and stored them in elegant glass jars. Whether it was hot soup or coffee, in went a cube.
Lucita went along with local custom and bought a jar of sugar cubes.
It was a pleasantly novel culinary experience, a sweet and satisfying meal.
Even so, her eyes kept drifting to the spice jars she had already arranged on the mantelpiece, and she found herself looking forward to getting the kitchen fully equipped as soon as possible.
Before they had finished settling in and getting everything properly in order, the Spring Tower's opening day arrived.
The date was printed on the notice the Spring Tower had sent: the fifteenth of February.
Thinking of enrollment, Lucita's mind instinctively conjured a scene of crowds and commotion.
That scene did not materialize. When she followed the city map to the Spring Tower, located at No. 49 Robin Street in the hills on the far eastern edge of Viktori, the entrance was extremely quiet, not so much as a guard in sight.
This was her first direct encounter with the magical tower, the place that represented humanity’s highest power, the mysterious domain monopolized by the nobility. It bore no resemblance to what she had imagined.
It was a tower that seemed almost to touch the sky, its lowest level measuring roughly fifty meters in diameter. It backed against the low but continuous ridge of Spring-Awakening Hill, in the suburban outskirts near the capital. The surrounding blocks were entirely private gardens belonging to nobles. All the way here, not a single person had been seen walking about.
Unlike the ornate architectural tendencies of the main city, the tower was ancient and plain, built entirely of bluestone, its joints neat and tight. A few rows of windows were sparsely set along its body, all simple square stone casements, without a single decorative flourish.
It was clearly a very old building. The stonework was mottled, covered in the marks of wind and time. Running a finger across it left traces of weathered stone powder.
Lucita even suspected the tower had been built before the Great Calamity, a survivor from that prehistoric age.
She stood before the heavy stone door, at something of a loss.
The door looked massive. Would knocking even make enough sound for anyone to hear?
She deeply doubted it.
She circled the base of the tower and found a bell hanging on the outer wall, looking rather new, probably cast within the last ten years.
She reached out toward it, and before her fingers even closed around the rope, the iron gate at No. 48 Robin Street swung open.
Lucita turned toward the sound. A brown-haired girl of about fifteen or sixteen peered out from the gate, calling across to her: "This… Young Master, are you here to study at the Spring Tower?"
This was the first time anyone had called Lucita “Young Master”.
She answered, somewhat taken aback: "My name is Lucita. Is this the Spring Tower? How do I get in?"
"Understood, Young Master Lucita." The girl corrected herself with some surprise. Lucita for a moment wasn't sure how to react.
Perhaps “Young Master” was a standard respectful form of address here?
In the experience of the magic apprentice Lesley, those who came to study formally at the Spring Tower were descendants of great noble families, and opening with “Young Master” was the safest approach. Though she was puzzled why this lord had neither servants nor stated surname, she didn't dare ask further.
Lesley was the heir of a viscount family, not high enough in rank, and lacking in magical talent. She was not here as a student, but as a magic apprentice to the great figures, which was a better name for servant.
Even the opportunity to be a servant was a resource that many petty noble families competed fiercely for.
Here, they could gain proximity to the kingdom’s highest powers, glimpse a corner of the mysterious force of magic, and if one happened to awaken an innate gift through study, might even become a close schoolmate of a prince’s child.
It was a path to the heights.
Lesley was one of these apprentices, currently assigned to receive and guide new students at the entrance.
She addressed Lucita respectfully: “The April Tower itself is where the professors research and give instruction. To enroll, you enter through here. This is the Golden Buckthorn Garden, which serves as the lodging and learning space for introductory students. I am the apprentice assigned to welcome you. Before we go in, may I see your invitation letter?"
"Of course." Lucita had thought ahead and moved the invitation from her space into her brown suitcase, one of the items she had inherited when she first arrived in this world on the train. She opened the case, took out the invitation, and handed it over.
The extreme plainness of the case made Lesley’s brow twitch. This was the first student she had ever received who was dressed and equipped so simply. She briefly questioned whether this was really a "young master" at all.
She carefully and discreetly verified the invitation, and once satisfied, put on a smile and ushered Lucita inside.
There were probably some families who liked to send their children out into the world for adventure and trials. This young lord was simply unusually frugal and unbothered by appearances.
Following Lesley inside, Lucita found the Golden Buckthorn Garden to be astonishingly large.
A neat, elegant dense wood connected to the hills on the left. Clean stone paths and an ornate fountain. A white marble sculpture before the main building, which appeared to be in the image of the creator god. The flower beds were filled with neatly trimmed shrubbery, and the unidentified plants, not yet in bloom, were impossible to identify at a glance.
The colonnaded walkway and the Roman-style continuous stone building looked like they had some years on them. The occasional elegantly dressed youth carried a book in and out of doors.
From some room or other came the sound of a harp ensemble, lingering in the courtyards.
Lesley looked toward the music's source several times, with eyes that were almost reluctant to leave.
The music was, genuinely, quite beautiful.
Lucita noticed, and asked casually: "Do you like music?"
Lesley startled, uncertain whether she was flustered by having been caught daydreaming or by the form of address, and hurriedly said: "I could never deserve the formal ‘you’ form of address! Please simply call me by name. I do like music very much. I’m so sorry."
"I see." Lucita didn't pay the form of address much mind. In a new place, one followed local custom. If someone asked to be called something, then that was what you called them. She simply happened to recall a certain melody: "I heard a very fine piece recently, only I don't know what it's called. Could I hum a bit and see if you recognize it?"
"It would be my pleasure."
Lucita thought back carefully to that piece missed on the fool's ship on the Gloire, and hummed two low lines.
“It died before the next spring came
The newly born starling sang its mourning song
…”
She sang, and saw Lesley's expression become somewhat complex.
Lucita stopped. "Do you know what it's called?"
Lesley seemed to make up her mind about something, and said with a forced smile: "So you know this piece. It's called ‘The Overwintering Bird’, a work composed five years ago by a commoner musician named Franka. It's been banned now. Of course, if you enjoy it, that's a different matter entirely."
"Banned?" Lucita was puzzled. "Why was it banned?"
Lesley's expression became faintly alarmed: "Please don't put me in a difficult position. If you want to verify the reason, there are any number of ways to find out. Someone of your standing won't suffer any consequences from knowing this, but it's different for me."
Lucita, who had been consistently treated as a “bigwig," opened her mouth and said nothing.
She realized she had touched on a sensitive subject, and that in this context, "bigwig" might offer a certain measure of protection.
The Overwintering Bird...
She looked at the migratory birds arriving in the forest with the early spring, and narrowed her eyes.
Comments
Post a Comment