Nobility really shouldn't show their emotions so transparently, I thought with a soft sigh.
"Damuel, what do you think?"
"Eh!? A-ah..."
When I gave his mantle a little tug, Damuel snapped his gaze toward me as if waking from a trance, glanced back at Brigitte, and cleared his throat as though trying to compose himself.
"Ahem... I think it's good."
...Don't just blush and mumble! If you don't say it more clearly, she won't know it's a compliment! Come on, you can do it!
I cheered him on silently, but Damuel was fundamentally hopeless when it came to this sort of thing. He couldn't look Brigitte straight in the eye—his gaze kept drifting—and no further compliments came.
One more word, I urged silently as everyone watched, but nothing more emerged from Damuel's mouth. His eyes just darted about aimlessly.
"If that's the case... the outfits Lady
Brigitte glanced down at her own outfit as she said this, and Damuel nodded vaguely. "Mm, well, sort of..." I wanted a more decisive opinion, but Damuel's brain had clearly melted from lovesick infatuation, and he wasn't much use anymore.
"If there don't seem to be any problems, then let's have Brigitte's outfit tailored as is. I'm done with the cutting, so Damuel, you can leave now."
With that, I wrapped things up and ushered Damuel out of the hidden room.
I shut the door with a snap, then cautiously checked on Brigitte. After something that obvious, there was no way she hadn't noticed.
"Um, Brigitte..."
I called out to her, surrounded as she was by tailors, and Brigitte offered a slightly bashful smile.
"Damuel really is easy to read, isn't he? It's the first time a man has looked at me like that, so it's a little... embarrassing."
No, no—if you've never had someone be that shamelessly obvious before, that's all it is. Brigitte is beautiful, so there have absolutely been others.
Either those looks never entered Brigitte's field of vision—which was occupied entirely by thoughts of family, territory, and fighting—or the only person she had eyes for was her former fiancé. One of the two.
"Brigitte, so... how do you feel about Damuel?"
"I don't think Damuel himself is a bad match. He's not the type to usurp Ilgner's position, and as a second son with no title, he's unburdened. He's fundamentally hardworking too. And if you consider him as one of Lady Rozemyne's favored knights, then as far as Ilgner goes, there's nothing unfavorable about it."
My eyes lit up—this sounded surprisingly positive, but then Brigitte smiled brightly.
"However, the gap in Magic Power is too large, so he's ruled out."
With that lovely smile, she cut him down completely and without hesitation.
Come to think of it, the Chief Priest had told me that couples with a large Magic Power gap couldn't have children, which meant they couldn't marry. Apparently, a large Magic Power gap also ruled someone out as a romantic prospect.
...To be ruled out on the very spot you fall in love is just too cruel.
My blessing has been slowly increasing Damuel's Magic Power, apparently, but I don't know exactly how much it's grown or how far he still has to go. If he tried hard enough, could he make it into Brigitte's romantic candidates?
I turned the thought over, but someone like me—without any romantic experience and without any common sense about this world—had no business meddling in other people's love lives. It would only end badly. I'd keep cheering for him quietly in my heart and leave it at that.
...If he could solve the Magic Power problem, a path might open up. Hang in there, Damuel.
"Now then, which story shall I work on?"
After parting ways with
Over the winter, I'd listened to the children and written down several stories about knights. Using those as a base, writing the manuscripts shouldn't be too difficult.
"Maybe I should start with shorter pieces that could eventually be collected into a volume of knight tales?"
"It's a test run, so wouldn't it be best to start with shorter texts?"
Consulting with
I began writing a tale of a knight who slays magical beasts, presents a magic stone to the woman he loves, and lives happily ever after.
After several days of work, the manuscript was finished, and I hurried off to the orphanage with it in hand. I needed to commission illustrations from
"Wilma, I'd like you to draw illustrations for this knight story. Use the Chief Priest's face as a reference."
"...Lady Rozemyne, if you do that, you'll get scolded by the Chief Priest again."
Wilma looked at me with a worried expression. But I shook my head. I had a secret weapon.
"It'll be fine. I'm only using him as a reference. The knight in the story and the Chief Priest are completely different people. The names are different, and I clearly state in the book that this story is a work of fiction—all organizations, persons, and events depicted are entirely fictional."
"My goodness... You really do think of these things one after another."
After staring at me with wide, exasperated eyes, Wilma tilted her gaze upward and pondered for a moment.
"In that case, I'll change things like the hairstyle to make him look like a somewhat different person."
"Wilma, thank you!"
"I did enjoy drawing the Chief Priest, so I was just as sad when it was forbidden, you know."
She let out a soft, conspiratorial smile, and Wilma agreed to handle the illustrations.
"The illustrations will be done via stencil printing after all the text has been printed. Also, since an entire page will be taken up by the illustration, I won't need to worry about where to place text or what size to make it. The illustrations won't go in right away, so there's no rush."
"Understood."
As I finished speaking with Wilma and stood up, the children—who had been playing in a corner of the dining hall to stay out of the way—came running over.
"Lady Rozemyne, are you making a new picture book?"
"What kind of picture book is it this time?"
While I had been attending the dedication ceremony, the autumn divine blessing picture books had all been completed, and the winter divine blessing books were currently being made at the workshop. Being curious about new book content—my education of the orphanage children was working quite well indeed.
"Hehe. After the winter blessing picture books, I'm going to make a knight story book. This time there will be a lot more text, though—do you think everyone will be able to read it?"
"We'll definitely learn to read! Learning new words is fun too."
Being stared at by so many eager, determined little faces filled me with joy. I hoped they'd all grow up to be book lovers. And when they got older, I wanted them to make all sorts of books for me.
That night, as usual, I was hearing the day's work report from my Attendants when I looked up at Gil and
"Gil, Fritz. The manuscript for the knight story is ready. I'll start typesetting tomorrow afternoon. Please let
"Understood."
Gil answered crisply, while Fritz, who had been deep in thought, softened his calm, dark brown eyes with a gentle squint.
"Gil will want to handle the typesetting, so tomorrow I'll take the orphanage children out to the forest. Gil, make sure you listen carefully to everything Lady Rozemyne says and learn the process properly."
"Leave it to me."
The next day, I breezed through the morning's work with a spring in my step. I wolfed down lunch as quickly as possible—I could hardly stand the wait to get to the workshop. Eating in a hurry, I spoke to
"Fran, I'm heading to the workshop after lunch, so I'd like to change into clothes that can get dirty..."
"We do not have any such garments here."
Fran's eyebrows lowered in a troubled expression.
"Lady Rozemyne, a lord's daughter does not do manual labor with her own hands. Therefore, no clothes meant to get dirty have been prepared."
"But... if ink stains get on this, they won't come out, will they? Is that really acceptable?"
I plucked at the High Priest's white robes. If black ink got on these pristine white garments, it would be a disaster, and it wouldn't be a good look for the High Priest to be wearing dirty clothes.
"There are several outfits from my Shrine Maiden Apprentice days stored in the
"Understood."
I headed to the Orphanage Director's room with Monica and Damuel, and following Fran's instructions, I changed into clothes from my time as Mine that were stored there.
Among the remaining outfits was an apprentice uniform from the
"I'll change into this one. It's the only one with sleeves that don't flutter about."
"Yes, indeed."
Monica surveyed the garments and nodded.
With a nostalgic heart, I slipped my arms into the apprentice uniform's sleeves. It was a little tight, but not unwearable. I had grown, after all. That difference from when I was Mine stood out, and I felt a small pang of loneliness.
Just as I finished changing, Gil arrived, having completed his lunch.
"I'll be going to the workshop with Gil, so Monica, please go help Wilma. There's illustration work I've commissioned her for, so she's probably busy."
"Leave it to me."
I sent Monica off to the orphanage and headed to the workshop with Gil and Damuel. Today, Fritz had taken everyone to the forest so I could work undisturbed. It seemed to be the first time since spring that the children had gone to the forest for papermaking, and they had left in high spirits.
"I made sure everyone would be out so that if Lady Rozemyne's typesetting runs a bit out of control, it won't be a problem."
Gil puffed out his chest proudly, and Damuel—dragged along for everything as always—wore a bitter smile.
"It's not about making it okay for her to run out of control. It's about making sure she doesn't in the first place."
"To stop Lady Rozemyne from going on a rampage about books, you'd need the aid of
Gil shrugged and shook his head, indirectly saying he knew no such method. With a brand-new printing press in front of me, there was no way I could restrain myself. That was apparently the shared understanding between Gil and Lutz. Yep, not wrong at all.
"Lutz."
"Mine!? ...Ah, I messed up. Sorry."
When I walked into the workshop with Gil, Lutz's face went stiff with surprise. Realizing it was the apprentice uniform that startled him, I spun around on the spot and struck a sharp pose.
"Lutz, how is it? Nostalgic, right?"
"...More confusing than nostalgic. You keep getting my attention, so next time, put on a different outfit, would you?"
"This was the only one with workable sleeves. Deal with it."
As I said this to the pouting Lutz, I made my way to the typesetting stand in the workshop. I pulled out the lowest type case from the stand, and my mouth curled into a grin at the gleam of the metal type.
"Lutz, Gil. Where are the composing sticks and the interlines?"
"The interlines, composing sticks, and setting rules—all the small tools
I let out an awed breath at the sight of the neatly arranged interlines, composing sticks, and setting rules. Beautiful. The thought that I could actually print with these was truly moving.
I was about to check every drawer in the typesetting stand when I realized something alarming. ...I couldn't reach the stand.
"Gil, bring me a step stool."
"Actually, wouldn't it be better to put the type cases on the workbench? There's no way everyone can work in front of this stand."
Nodding at Lutz's words, I had the two of them arrange the type cases on the workbench. I was a little disappointed—I'd wanted to look cool typesetting in front of the stand.
"Alright, let's start typesetting. So, you've typeset text for the picture books before, right? The method is mostly the same, but this time we're printing a book full of text, so we need to make sure the number of characters per line and the line spacing are consistent to keep it readable."
I handed Lutz and Gil the manuscript to be printed.
"Lutz, you handle this page. Gil, this page."
I placed the manuscript on the workbench, picked up a composing stick, and handed them each one. A composing stick was a slim wooden box you could hold in one hand. It was where you arranged several lines of metal type.
"Put the interline in the composing stick. Yes, this thin wooden strip. You'll arrange type to match its length. That determines the number of characters per line, so don't let anything overflow. Once the interline is in place, put in the setting rule."
"Hey, what's this setting rule for?"
Lutz picked up the thin metal strip and squinted at it. I placed an interline followed by a setting rule, then began searching for the first character.
"The setting rule makes the metal type slide more easily. It slides more smoothly than on bare wood, making it easier to align. Ah, found the first character."
I fished the desired piece of metal type from the case, checked that it wasn't upside down, and placed it in the composing stick with a satisfying clink.
"Always search from this direction."
"Got it."
From there, all that rang out was the clinking of metal touching metal. Once the first line of type was set, I placed the interline, removed the setting rule, and lined it up next to the next interline. Then I began setting metal type all over again.
"Hmm, where is it?"
"Ah, here."
Not accustomed to it at all, I was slow at picking out the type. Lutz and Gil were squinting hard as they searched too.
Once several lines of type were set, I carefully transferred them to the galley without disturbing the arrangement, then began setting type in the now-empty composing stick. And repeated.
"This is going to take an absolutely ridiculous amount of time."
"It'll get faster once you're used to it."
I shot back while diligently setting type.
But my enthusiasm only lasted at the start. By the time I was halfway done, I was completely exhausted. Staring at the tiny characters to line them up made my eyes blink rapidly, and I was worn out.
I'd started off strong, but I was the slowest of the three to finish typesetting a single page.
Once a page's worth of type was set, I carefully bound it tightly with page cord so the type wouldn't shift. That completed the galley.
"That's the typesetting done. Next is the galley proof. Since we'll use the printing press for that, it might be good to call Ingo,
I carried the assembled galley to the printing press. Johann had built it according to the design specifications. I carefully placed it on the press. Since it was designed to print a spread, I set the galley Lutz had assembled on the adjacent page's position.
Then I arranged the quoins, furniture, and chase around it, leaving appropriate margins, and locked it in the wooden frame.
"That's the preparation done. Now I'll apply ink and do a test print. See this mark on the paper? Align it with the mark, and hold it down with this board."
The lid closed over the paper, and when folded further, the paper landed perfectly on top of the galley.
"I believe if you turn this handle, the bed should move."
"Let me see. Give it here."
The handle that I couldn't turn with my own strength moved easily with Lutz's or Gil's strength. The bed slid smoothly, just as ordered.
"Then, if you really crank this lever—it uses the principle of the lever—it'll print. Right now there's no ink applied, so it won't print, but..."
"...I think I roughly get it."
Gil looked up from the writing board where he'd been noting the order.
Typesetting was done, so today's work was finished.
"Tomorrow I'll call Ingo and the others. You've got no work—just watch. ...You must feel a bit better after today's work, right?"
"Sure do. I'll behave tomorrow."
Rather than behaving, it was more accurate to say I'd be completely dead tired from today's work and probably unable to move.
The next day, Ingo, Zack, and Johann arrived. Everyone was in work clothes since there was work to be done.
I was the only one conspicuously dressed in the immaculate High Priest's robes, there to observe.
"Now then, let's perform the test print on the new printing press. Gil, Lutz, you may begin."
At my words, the two nodded and started the galley proof as planned.
They applied ink, placed the paper, clamped it down with a snap, and folded over the platen. Lutz turned the handle while Gil pushed the bed, sliding it under the press.
Everyone watched their movements with interest and tension. The craftsmen in particular had furrowed brows as they observed the two at work.
With a great heave on the lever-based handle, there was a loud bang, and the press plate moved.
They pulled the bed back out, removed the paper-holding board, and took out the sheet.
"...It worked."
Unlike the small stencil press that could only print one page at a time, this had printed both pages of a spread simultaneously.
"Oh, it came out perfectly."
"So this is printing. ...I don't know what's written here, but it's impressive."
Seeing the completed test print, the craftsmen let out a collective breath of relief. I smiled at their expressions—faces released from the tension of wondering whether the commissioned work would turn out alright.
"Thanks to the three of you working together, the printing press has turned out wonderfully. I'll arrange for the remaining payment to the Gilberta Company and for a report to be filed with the Guild. It must have been a difficult winter, wasn't it? What parts were especially hard?"
When I asked, the craftsmen—now free from their tension—each shared their hardships.
"Since you certified me as a
At Johann's muttered words, tinged with a sigh, I tilted my head with a hand to my cheek.
"Johann, incredibly busy... Does that mean you found a new patron? Is there still work even after being dropped from the Gutenberg program?"
"Ugh..."
It seemed he hadn't found a new patron yet. Johann averted his gaze awkwardly.
Damuel, you will live strongly. I'm sure of it.
And I was excited about the printing work. It felt a little like going back to the old days.
Next time, a request from the Gilberta Company.