As I clung to
The Outer Wall was the wall that protected the city, and up close it was remarkably tall—about two to three stories high by Japanese standards, and plenty thick too. Gates stood on each side of the Outer Wall—east, west, south, and north—and there were apparently several Soldiers who checked people entering the city.
The Gate in front of us was the South Gate, and I could see several Soldiers. One of them was supposed to be my father.
I couldn't tell which one was Dad, but Turi apparently could. Hugging the bundle tight, she waved a big wave and broke into a run.
"Daaad!"
"Turi, what's wrong!?"
"You forgot this! See, you need it, right?"
Turi beamed and handed the bundle to our startled father.
She's so kind. Way too kind, Turi. Back when I was Reina, I never said anything that sweet to Dad. Even now, my real feelings keep threatening to slip out—something like "If you forget stuff and Mom's mood plummets, it's a pain for me too, you know? Remember how she was this morning?"—and it's a problem.
"Ah, you saved me. ...Huh? You left Mine behind!?"
After accepting the bundle with visible relief, Dad furrowed his brow. It seemed he'd only noticed his beloved daughter Turi and hadn't spotted Ralph and the others at all, let alone his beloved daughter number two being carried on Ralph's back.
Turi shook her head vigorously and pointed at Ralph.
"No, she came along too! See, Ralph's carrying her."
"Huh? Oh, right."
Perhaps feeling awkward about not noticing, Dad's gaze drifted vaguely before he placed a hand on Ralph's head.
"Sorry you had to carry her, Ralph."
"We were heading to the forest anyway, so it was no big deal."
As Dad ruffled his hair in that tousling way of his, Ralph wore an annoyed expression and set me down from his back. Then he picked up his own luggage, which he'd had
"Thanks, Ralph. And thanks to you too, Lutz and Fey."
After seeing Ralph and the others off through the Gate on their way to the forest, Turi and I were let into the waiting room by the Gate.
The Outer Wall was thick enough to fit a room about six tatami mats inside it, so while it wasn't huge, there was apparently a waiting room and a guardroom built into it. The waiting room was a plain room with a few simple tables and chairs and one cabinet.
With the same feeling as when I'd gone sightseeing abroad, I was looking around curiously when one of Dad's colleagues came in with water.
"What lovely daughters, bringing a forgotten item all the way here."
From our house to the Gate was about a twenty-minute walk at Turi's pace, so the kindness of bringing water was deeply appreciated.
I gulped down the water from the wooden cup in one go and let out a big breath.
"Ah. Delicious. I feel alive again."
"Mine, you barely walked at all, you know?"
At Turi's puckered-lip remark, everyone burst out laughing.
I puffed up my cheeks in a pout, but since they'd all seen me being carried on Ralph's back, I had no grounds to argue.
While I was drinking a second cup with everyone still laughing at me, a single Soldier came into the room. He took a small wooden box—like a toolbox—from the shelf and immediately left again.
His hurried manner made me furrow my brows involuntarily.
"Dad, is something wrong?"
"Probably just someone suspicious coming to the Gate. Nothing to worry about."
Dad flapped his hand dismissively, telling me not to worry, but his hurried manner made me a little anxious after all. Was it really okay?
After all, this was the Gate, and the gate guard was flustered. Wasn't this totally the flag for trouble?
Contrary to my state of mind, Turi showed not a shred of concern and tilted her head.
"What kind of suspicious person? Have I seen them before?"
She apparently couldn't immediately think of anyone who would make the gate guards panic at the Gate she always passed through.
Dad stroked his stubbly beard with his palm, searching for words.
"Um, someone with the face of a criminal, or maybe a nobleman we should give the Lord advance notice about."
"Huh..."
Apparently criminal-looking people were judged by their facial features alone. But given their living conditions, I doubted information transmission was very developed, so maybe stopping people who looked like criminals and investigating wasn't unreasonable.
"They wait in a separate room while the higher-ups decide whether they can enter the city."
Ah. So that was why there were several waiting rooms by the Gate. That made sense.
The waiting room for noblemen and the one for criminals were probably different in every way, from size to furniture. The world was a harsh place everywhere.
While I was thinking this, the young Soldier came back quickly carrying the wooden box and something rolled up like a tube. His expression held none of the tension of an emergency situation. Just as Dad had said, it was nothing major.
Then, holding his luggage in his left hand, he stood before Dad and struck his left chest twice with his right fist. Dad also stood, straightened his posture, and returned the same gesture—so it was probably this world's form of salute.
"
Seeing Dad's stern expression—something I'd never seen at home—I let out a small "Oh." I only knew his slovenly side, so this was very refreshing. He actually looked pretty sharp when he put on a stern face.
"Count Rowinwalter wishes to open the City Wall's Gate."
"Do they have the split seal?"
"Confirmed."
"Very well, let them through."
Otto saluted once more, then sat in the chair directly across from me. He placed the wooden box on the desk and unfurled the item he'd been holding.
My eyes were glued to it—smooth, slightly thicker than paper, with a faint smell. It could only be one thing.
Parchment!?
I wasn't sure if it was truly parchment, but it was paper made from animal skin. I couldn't read it, but there was this world's writing inscribed on it.
While I stared wide-eyed, Otto took an inkwell and a pen made from some kind of reed-like plant from the toolbox and began writing something on the parchment.
Whoaaa! Writing! There's someone here who can write!
The first civilized person in this world! Please, teach me this world's writing!
As I watched Otto's hands with rapt attention, Dad placed a hand on my head with a "What's wrong?"
I looked up at Dad and pointed at what I believed to be parchment. I needed to confirm the name so I could ask about it next time.
"Dad, Dad. What's this?"
"Ah, it's parchment. Paper made from goat or sheep skin."
"And this black stuff?"
"Ink and a pen."
Just as I'd expected.
Now that I'd found paper and ink, I could finally make books.
Suppressing my urge to dance with joy, I clasped my hands tightly in front of my chest and looked up at Dad. It was a full-body, soul-pleading beg.
"Hey, Dad. Can I have some of this pleeease?"
"No. It's not a toy for children."
My attempt to leverage the full force of cuteness appropriate for my age was unceremoniously rejected.
Of course, being rejected didn't mean I'd give up easily. They'd once said I had the tenacity of a leech who wouldn't let go and the stickiness of hot mochi, so they really shouldn't underestimate my adhesive attachment to things related to books.
"I want to write things like this. I want some. Please."
"No means no! Besides, Mine, you can't even read, can you?"
True enough—if I couldn't read, I wouldn't need paper or ink. And precisely because of that, Dad's words represented the biggest opportunity for me.
"Then I'll learn, so teach me. Once I learn, you'll give me some, right?"
If a young junior Soldier could write, then Dad, who was basically his superior, surely could too.
I'd never imagined that someone in a household that didn't have a single sheet of paper could write, so this was a truly delightful miscalculation. If Dad could teach me to read and write, maybe reading books in this world wasn't just a dream.
With a sense of having taken one step closer to my ambition, I was beaming from ear to ear when nearby, someone burst out with a "Pfft." When I looked around for the source, it turned out Otto had been listening to the parent-child exchange over parchment and ink, and he'd started laughing as if he couldn't hold it back.
"Ha ha ha, 'Teach me,' he says... Pfft, Captain, you were never good at writing, were you?"
In that instant, I heard the sound of a crack forming in my ambition. Like being splashed with cold water, my smile froze—I could feel it happening.
"Huh? Dad, you can't write?"
"I can read and write to some degree. There's clerical work, so I need to read, but I don't need anything beyond what's work-related. I just write down the names of people coming in from outside, that's all."
"Hmm..."
I stared at my father with cold eyes as he made excuses with a somewhat sulky expression.
In other words, Dad's literacy level was roughly equivalent to being able to read the hiragana chart and maybe write the names of classmates in Japanese? About first grade, if that.
If Otto, who looked so young, was calling him "not good at it," then he was definitely the level of a first grader who sometimes misspelled friends' names.
Honestly? Useless.
"Now, now, don't look at your father with those eyes."
Otto—the very person responsible for my dad's plummeting stock—wore a troubled expression and chided me for my attitude. Then, as if to defend Dad, he explained about a Soldier's work.
"Soldiers maintain public order in the city as their job, but when a big incident involving nobles comes up, a knight-class officer handles the reports, and for minor incidents, everything's reported verbally, so they don't come into contact with writing much. As long as you can write a person's name, that's enough."
With Otto's support, Dad puffed out his chest again. Apparently, my cold stare had actually hurt him more than I'd expected.
"Farmers can barely read—only the village headman can—so Dad's plenty impressive."
"Then, impressive Dad, I want some of this. Pleease."
If he was so impressive, I wanted my dear father to hand me a hundred sheets of paper in a shower of generosity.
I stared intently into Dad's eyes as I begged, and he actually took a step back, as if intimidated.
"...One sheet costs about a month's salary. You think I can give that to a child?"
What!? A month's salary!? Wha—how expensive is parchment!?
Well, sure, that was definitely not something you'd hand out freely, even if it wasn't for a child.
This explained why there was no paper in our house, and why there were no bookstores in the city. It was all the same reason—parchment was priced far beyond what a Commoner could afford.
In a household where Dad barely earned enough to get by, asking for paper to make books was pointless. There was no way they'd buy it for me.
I drooped my shoulders in disappointment, and Otto gently patted my head to console me.
"Shops that cater to Commoners don't sell it in the first place. Paper is something used by Nobility or by powerful merchants and officials with connections to the Nobility—it's not something children use. If you want to study writing, how about using a Slate? I used to have one—want me to give it to you?"
"Really!? Thank you!"
I nodded immediately and gratefully accepted the offer of a Slate. Since I was at it, I wanted to study writing too, so I'd go ahead and appoint Otto as my teacher.
"Thank you, Otto. Please, please teach me to write. I'm counting on you."
While I begged with a smile, Dad looked back and forth between me and Otto with an extremely pitiful expression, which I chose to ignore.
Being able to practice writing and getting a Slate were both wonderful things that lifted my spirits, but what I really wanted was a book, and what I needed was paper.
Because a Slate couldn't preserve anything. It was basically a blackboard—you wrote on it and erased it over and over. Fine for practicing characters, but a Slate was no substitute for a book.
The fact that they wouldn't sell paper to Commoners was beyond anything I'd calculated.
With no paper, how was I supposed to make books?
If I couldn't get paper, what should I do? What was the answer?
I could make it myself, obviously.
Before making books, it looked like I'd have to start from the beginning and make paper. But making paper probably wasn't easy. It was definitely not something I could do as an extension of child's play.
Ugh, the road to books is so long!
So, disappointing news: Parchment was expensive too.
From here on, let's work hard toward Papermaking.
Next time, I'll think about paper I can make myself.