"Dad, please?"
"What is it?"
I folded my hands together and made my request to my father, who had brought me water while I lay listlessly in bed, my fever still unbroken. I asked him to take a piece of spare wood from around the house, something about the size that could fit in my hand, and carve mirror-writing on it using a Soot Pencil so it could work as a stamp.
"What are you going to do with this?"
"Hee hee~ I'm going to use it to check the ink."
"...Hah. If your fever doesn't go down, I'm not showing you the finished product even if it's done."
Two days had passed since I asked my father. My fever finally went down, but that sparked a debate between
"Oh, I—"
"Mine is only going to say she wants to go no matter what, so just be quiet!"
"...Yes."
Since everyone agreed with Turi's words, I wasn't allowed to participate in the discussion despite being the person in question.
With nothing to do, I rummaged through the storage room looking for a thin board. In a corner of the kitchen where everyone was deliberating, I wrapped a ragged cloth around the board, then carefully wound bamboo bark over it to avoid damaging the paper.
...Hee hee.
I'd made something that looked like a baren. This would be necessary for woodblock printing.
By the time the baren was finished, it seemed they had reached a conclusion: I could go to the
My motivation was overflowing. I prepared the stamp my father had made, the soap, and old clothes that were stained enough to be thrown away without worry, and set out.
"I'm looking forward to this, Lutz."
"...Yeah, me too."
Lutz seemed to enjoy making new things too, and he looked positively bubbly.
"Hey, Mine. How are you going to make it? You can't exactly lend a hand, right? Can you explain it to me first?"
I'd been told that a Blue Shrine Maiden Apprentice must not practice in the workshop. I nodded and began explaining to Lutz.
"When you make paint, you do it in small batches. That way it mixes more cleanly. First, you put the soot on the marble slab, right? Then you make a little hollow in the center with your fingertip, add a bit of linseed oil, and mix it with the palette knife. Use less oil at first, and if it's really not enough, add it drop by drop until it's right. Once the palette knife has mixed everything together, you switch to the kneading rod and just keep kneading."
I demonstrated the amounts of soot and oil with my hands as I explained, and Lutz furrowed his brows slightly.
"...How long is 'just keep kneading'?"
"It depends on the pigment, so I can't say for certain. When I used to make it, it took about twenty minutes... um, about as long as it takes for the water in a soup pot to come to a rolling boil. But other people who used different pigments sometimes weren't finished even after the soup was done, so there's a wide range."
You have to keep kneading until the paint develops a nice sheen. Even with effort and determination, it's exhausting. When I explained the timing using cooking as a reference, Lutz's eyes went wide in surprise.
"...You could really make that? You, Mine?"
"Back then I was tough and energetic — that was my whole thing. People always said I was fine as long as I had a book to read. I had a perfect attendance record at the 'school' library, you know."
"Well, you're a long way from tough now."
I nodded vigorously at Lutz's words. I couldn't help thinking that if my body weren't like this, there were so many more things I could do.
"Anyway, I'm heading to the workshop."
"Yep. I'll say goodbye to everyone and then head over."
"...Right. Take your time."
After finishing my greetings to the attendants in my room, I was about to start making ink right away when
"I don't know what you intend to make, but practicing the fechspiel takes priority over going to the workshop, Mine."
My fever had finally gone down, I had permission to go out, and I thought I could finally start making ink — only to be ambushed from an unexpected quarter.
"But, Rosina—"
"Daily practice with your instrument is extremely important. You've already missed five days. To regain your sense, you'll need to practice more than double your usual amount. ...Five days missed means five times the practice?"
At the mention of five times the practice, Rosina's eyes began to gleam with excitement.
She was serious.
Rosina was absolutely the type to make me practice five times as hard if she meant it. Just as reading books all day was not the least bit painful for me — in fact, it was enjoyable — Rosina was someone who could live for music.
I immediately shook my head vigorously.
"No! I'll practice as usual, I promise! I'll be diligent!"
"Very well."
Rosina smiled sweetly and held out the smaller fechspiel. I took it and got into position. As a review, I tried playing the first lesson, but just as Rosina had said, my skills had deteriorated during all the time I'd spent in bed with fever.
With abilities like these, there was no way I could move on to the second lesson. In a cold sweat, I practiced diligently until the third bell rang.
"You were able to concentrate quite well."
When the third bell rang, Rosina smiled and praised me. Being complimented by a beautiful woman made me happy unconditionally.
Now, finally, I'll go to the workshop! I thought — but next it was Fran who stood in my way, announcing, "The Chief Priest is waiting for you."
"Um, Fran... I'd like to go to the workshop, you see."
"Your morning duties involve assisting the Chief Priest. Since you've been bedridden with fever for some time, the Chief Priest's paperwork has piled up, and he's been worried about you. Let's go together."
Fran showed no intention of backing down. It was true that my sudden illness had caused worry.
But I wanted to go to the workshop. I wanted to toss the Chief Priest's assistance work aside and make ink.
"Um... Fran..."
"If it's in the afternoon, I won't say a thing. I'll accompany you."
"Mine, you must learn to remain composed and smile gently even in situations like this, mustn't you? Besides, there are surely many things you must do even if they are difficult or unpleasant?"
Fran had stacked wooden tablets on the table, instructing me to "have this sorted by lunch." Unable to argue against Rosina's advice — Rosina, who was terrible at math — I bowed my head in defeat.
Smiling cheerfully in a situation like this was impossible for me. Even thinking so, I managed a strained smile, close to tears.
"Rosina's opinion is quite right. Understood. I'll go to the Chief Priest's room now..."
With drooping shoulders, I made my way to the Chief Priest's room. It wasn't that I disliked sorting paperwork, but knowing that something fun awaited me today made even simple tasks feel burdensome.
"Ah, you've finally recovered. Come here."
The moment we met, the Chief Priest handed me a Magical Tool that prevented eavesdropping. When I gripped it, I could hear his voice.
"This year, it seems the Gray Priests at the orphanage were all sent out quite early to clean the fireplaces and chimneys. What exactly are you scheming?"
"Don't say such unkind things. I simply wanted to make ink suitable for Plant Paper. The Gray Priests were collecting soot for me as raw material."
When I explained my reasons, the Chief Priest pressed his temple lightly and sighed.
"I see. I understand this is something the workshop needs. However, be mindful not to do anything too flashy and provoke the High Priest's anger."
"...Yes."
I'd been so busy I'd nearly forgotten, but come to think of it, there was that troublesome person, the High Priest. Was I the only one who felt that whatever I did was sure to anger him?
After finishing my assistant duties and lunch with the Chief Priest, I could finally get started on making ink. Lutz had apparently anticipated that I'd be tied up in the morning and had been overseeing the papermaking.
"Of course there's a backlog of things to do after five days off. It's good for you to cool your head anyway, Mine."
"...It's already plenty cool."
The workshop had everything neatly arranged: soot collected by everyone, linseed oil purchased by
"I heard that everyone cooperated to gather the soot. I'm truly grateful. Today I'd like to try making ink. This is very physically demanding work, so except for the adult Gray Priests, everyone else should continue with papermaking as usual."
After thanking everyone and delegating the tasks, we began making ink.
"Alright, Lutz. It's your turn."
Lutz was up first. He seemed to remember the instructions well. He placed the soot on the marble slab, hollowed out the center with his finger, and dripped in a small amount of oil. Then he began mixing it evenly with the palette knife.
I had memories of making oil-based paint before, so I didn't think we'd fail, at least. However, since we weren't particular about the quality of the soot or oil, the finished product might not be great.
"It looks like it's mixing nicely. Shall we switch to the kneading rod soon?"
Paint turned out better when made in small batches with thorough kneading, so I had Lutz start with a small amount, and it seemed to be going well. Once everything was mixed, we switched to the kneading rod and kneaded, kneaded, kneaded. Just kneading with single-minded determination.
Sweat beaded on Lutz's forehead, his face flushed red as he poured all his strength into kneading the ink.
Hang in there, Lutz!
As a Blue Shrine Maiden Apprentice, I couldn't lend a hand, and if I tried, I'd only get in the way. Kneading that stuff took serious effort. In my Honobono Reina days, maybe, but with my current body I'd be more of a hindrance than a help.
I'd prepared a Gray Priest as a relief worker, thinking it would be too much for a child's stamina, but Lutz didn't complain and finished all the way to the end.
"Once it has about this much sheen and stickiness, it should be fine."
I immediately took out the stamp my father had made, dabbed it onto the finished paint, and pressed it onto a failed piece of Forin paper left in the workshop. The characters for "Mine" were stamped out. A murmur of "ohh" rose from those around us.
"...The ink really turned out."
"Soot and oil making ink..."
The Gray Priests, seeing their first new product being created, stared wide-eyed at the oil-based paint. They'd apparently been skeptical that it could really be made from just soot and oil.
I imagined the art workshops probably used similar methods, but the priests would have had no opportunity to see it. Perhaps paint-making methods were treated as closely guarded secrets.
"Now then, Gray Priests, please each try making a small batch. The finished ink should be placed in here."
I had Fran bring out a ceramic container for the oil-based paint, and had Lutz pour the paint into it.
"Alright, Lutz, please wash your hands and face thoroughly with this soap, and then take a break."
One of the Gray Priests took Lutz's place and began making ink. The other two brought different tools and started making their own batches. They added a bit of oil to the soot and kept mixing.
While the Gray Priests worked hard, I used the finished oil-based paint to test things out — writing letters on paper with a whittled pen tip, drawing lines on a board — to check the paint's condition.
For use as ordinary ink, the viscosity was far too high. It would need to be diluted more to be practical. But as woodblock printing ink, it seemed perfectly fine. If I had to nitpick, I'd say it would be hard to do woodblock printing without the roller I'd used in class. The thickness of the ink would be uneven. I wanted a roller, or at least something like a brush.
"How did the ink turn out, Mine?"
Lutz returned after washing his hands and face. Still, the black hadn't completely come off his fingertips. It seemed we'd need a stronger soap too.
"It's a success, for now. I'd love to make other colors too in the same way..."
"Other colors? You can make other colors?"
Lutz's eyes went wide. I told him, "As long as you have the pigment, the method is the same." It wasn't that other colors were impossible. The problem was where and how to obtain those pigments.
"What pigments are there besides soot?"
"As far as I know, most of them are made by crushing minerals? To put it simply, you take colored stones, grind them into powder, and knead them with oil the same way as the black."
Yellow ochre and iron oxide had been used as dyes since prehistoric times, and the blues from lapis lazuli and azurite and the reds from vermilion and cinnabar were relatively well-known. But whether I could actually identify raw ore if I saw it here was another matter entirely.
"Hey, Mine. Grinding stones to powder — who exactly is going to do that?"
Lutz looked at me fearfully, clearly hoping the answer wouldn't be him. I shook my head. I certainly wasn't going to make Lutz do the grueling work of crushing stones to powder. It would be too much for a child's body.
"Isn't there someone who does that kind of work?"
"I dunno?"
"I asked Mom about pigments at her dye workshop, and she said that if more people wanted them, the price of dyes would go up, so they'd refuse."
When I'd consulted Mom about pigments, she'd warned me: "A long time ago, when there was a push to open more art workshops, there was a dispute over the raw materials for dyes. Please don't stir up any trouble, Mine. I won't be able to go to work anymore." I didn't want to do anything that would cost my mother her job.
If I were gathering stones myself, that would be one thing, but purchasing pigments as the Mine Workshop wasn't impossible — though it would be difficult.
And the troublesome thing was, I didn't even know where to find minerals suitable for pigments. I'd only ever been within the city and the nearby forest, so naturally I had no idea.
"If we knew where to find it, yellow ochre would be the easiest to collect, wouldn't it? For making pigment, you have to crush it to powder, but it's already in pretty small pieces, right?"
"So who's going to crush it?"
Lutz's face practically screamed "I absolutely refuse." We didn't have the equipment to crush stones, and we didn't have the muscle, so it was probably best to give up on this for now.
"...If we went to a stone dealer, like a lumber dealer, they might have stone scraps. But grinding them down would be tough. How about we ask the art workshop about how they source their pigments?"
I suggested it, thinking there was a good chance they'd refuse just like the dye workshops, but Lutz shook his head loosely.
"Forget the tools — the moment I even brought up pigments, the boss told me absolutely not."
"Ah, so it really is a guarded secret?"
While I was talking with Lutz about this, the three Gray Priests had finished making oil-based paint. Being adults with strength, they were faster than Lutz. Watching the paint accumulate in the ceramic container, I couldn't help but smile.
"The stamp was a success, so I'll put off adding colors for now. Next up, I need to make a picture book using woodblock printing!"
For that, I'd need to rewrite the Holy Book in child-friendly language and get the Chief Priest's approval.
"Ink is pretty physically demanding work, so let's call it a day. My arms are sore too."
"Yep. Hey, about the papermaking — could you make a bit extra of the thicker paper for the picture book?"
"Got it. You go back to your room and think about the picture book while you rest. Got it?"
"Yees."
With the oil-based paint complete for now, I wanted to move on to making the picture book. After giving some encouragement to the children doing papermaking in the workshop, I returned to my room.
Sitting down at my desk, I immediately began rewriting the contents of the Holy Book in child-friendly language on paper Benno had given me. Since it was going to be a picture book, it didn't need to be overly detailed, and the simpler the language, the better.
After writing it through, I reread it. There didn't seem to be any particular problems. This should be fine as a picture book — I'd get the Chief Priest's permission.
"Oh, right. If I'm making a picture book, I need to consult with
Since Wilma wasn't comfortable around men, it would be better to bring Rosina rather than Fran as an attendant. Thinking this, I called out to Rosina, who was receiving practical instruction from Fran at the table. Rosina, who had been staring down the wooden tablets, immediately broke into a smile. The math had clearly been agony for her.
"Fran, Mine is calling for me, so I'll be going."
Rosina quickly began tidying up, and Fran nodded lightly as he stood and brought over several wooden tablets.
"Then please deliver these to Wilma. She doesn't seem to be very good at math either, but since she'll be responsible for the women's quarters, she needs to be able to handle it."
Fran handed Rosina the tablets from the half-finished calculations, plus additional tablets related to the women's quarters. Rosina blinked once, then smiled brightly.
"Understood."
What a proper lady. Not a trace of distress showed.
Rosina carried the ink, paper, and boards, and we headed to the orphanage. With the children working at the workshop, Wilma was apparently doing cleaning and soup-making during that time. The mother of the orphanage.
"Oh, Mine. And Rosina is with you."
Wilma greeted us with a warm smile, and I found myself smiling in return. My attendants were all beautiful women — a true feast for the eyes.
"What business brings you today?"
I was invited to take a seat in the dining hall and did so. After Rosina took her place behind me, I relayed the purpose of our visit to Wilma.
"Mine would like to discuss picture books today. She'd like you to draw the illustrations. Also, these are documents from Fran that she'd like you to handle, since you're responsible for the women's quarters."
Wilma's face paled slightly at the stack of wooden tablets. Rosina spotted a fellow member of the "overcome your weaknesses" club and smiled.
"It'll be fine, Wilma. You'll manage whether you like it or not. They say math and art are the same — practice and familiarity are what matter. Right, Mine?"
"That's right. Once you're used to it, mistakes decrease and speed increases. Let's overcome our weak points together, Wilma."
"...Yes."
I had Wilma and Rosina read the text I'd prepared for children, and they pointed out awkward phrasing or parts where I'd trimmed too much. Wilma suggested including all the words from the karuta cards to make the text easier to memorize, so I struggled through revising it.
In the meantime, Wilma sketched illustrations on boards roughly half the size of A5.
"Wilma, I'm truly grateful. I'll have these carved into woodblocks to make the picture book. Once I see how they turn out, I'll write the rest."
"Oh, I'm looking forward to it."
With the woodblock printing sketches done, I returned to my room in high spirits — only to find Lutz waiting with a demonic expression.
"I told you to rest in your room, didn't I, Mine?"
"Huh? Didn't you tell me to think about the picture book? ...Was that wrong?"
It seemed I'd misheard slightly. I hadn't been quietly resting in my room, and Lutz gave me a thorough scolding.
So the black oil-based paint is finished.
Next time, we'll make a picture book with woodblock printing.