Chapter 17: Preparing for the Journey (1)

　In the Blacksmiths’ Village, every forge was lit by the time the sky began to brighten, and the ring of craftspeople hammering iron echoed everywhere.

　Some appeared to have worked through the night. Blackened from head to toe with soot, they hurried about the village in the morning sunlight.

“Good morning, Flora. It was noisy last night. Did you manage to sleep?”

“Good morning, Barbara. Strangely enough, I slept soundly!”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

　Dolph and the others had worked late into the night, drawing plans, making lists of needed materials, and apparently building prototypes. Some people dislike voices and other sounds while they sleep, but I seemed to have slept deeply with the noise as my lullaby.

　Even now, sounds drifted through the window: hammers striking iron, saws cutting wood, smaller hammers briskly driving nails, loud calls from people carrying something, and laughter. The village overflowed with noise, yet none of it was unpleasant. It sounded almost like cheerful music.

　Once I had washed my face, I immediately began preparing breakfast for everyone.

　I sautéed corn and onions in butter, mashed and strained them into a corn-soup base, then added potatoes, vegetables, and barley and simmered everything before finishing it with cheese. The result was a hearty barley porridge. I also prepared herb-steamed chicken and several egg dishes.

“I’m starving… I can’t go on… I’m going to die of hunger…”

“Hey, don’t die yet! Stay with us, Mister Lumberjack!”

“Mister Lumberjack, breakfast is almost ready! Hang in there!”

　For some reason, Gilbert returned home supported by the village children.

“…Listen, children, I’ve told you again and again that I’m not a lumberjack! I’m only helping today! Old Man Dolph must still resent me for lying about becoming one, so he spread the story…”

　Surrounded by children, Gilbert’s shoulders slumped. Before he knew it, Dolph was standing behind him with an enormous smile.

“What are you talking about? If you spend the whole day chopping wood as a lumberjack, it won’t be a lie, will it?”

　Dolph laughed as heartily as ever while Gilbert pretended to weep dramatically and the children comforted him.

　Apparently Gilbert had been sent to cut timber since early morning.

　Ordinarily, green wood had to be seasoned, but the village possessed a secret technique that could dry it naturally within a few hours.

“Ah… delicious. I feel alive again… Your cooking is wonderful, Flora…”

　Seated at the table with the children, Gilbert spoke with heartfelt relief and devoured his breakfast. Seeing him eat so much with such happiness delighted me as the cook.

“Sorry, am I eating too much? I don’t want everyone else to go without.”

“Don’t worry. The magic pot is in a good mood again this morning, and if we run out, I’ll make more. Seeing everyone enjoy it makes cooking fun and worthwhile.”

“The Soup Lady’s food is delicious!”

　As we talked, I handed Gilbert his third helping of corn-soup barley porridge, and his eyes shone with delight.

　When silent, Gilbert had a dignified and surprisingly handsome face, but for some reason the way he ate reminded me of a large dog. I would keep that observation to myself.

　After cleaning up breakfast, I began making the bag Barbara had requested for our travel equipment.

　Using a treadle sewing machine Dolph had made himself, I stitched pieces of tanned leather together. I lined the inside with quilted cloth padded with cotton, creating a double layer, and paid special attention to strength so the bag wouldn’t tear under heavy iron pots and tools.

　When it was finished, I immediately tried putting the pots and utensils for our journey inside…

“…? Barbara, is this magic too?”

　Although the bag looked large enough to hold only one pot, three pots and a kettle already fit inside, with plenty of room remaining. Yet when I lifted it, it was light.

　Barbara beamed like a child whose prank had succeeded.

“Correct! But the magic is actually built into the sewing machine—and the needle and thread as well.”

　She came to stand beside me and carefully examined the bag full of pots and kettles from every angle, gently stroking its seams.

“Yes, wonderfully done. Even with magic built into the tools, not just anyone can use them at any time and achieve the same result. I was right to entrust this to you, Flora.”

　Barbara lovingly patted the leather tool bag I had made.

　Perhaps my experience as a seamstress had helped. Her praise made my heart feel light enough to float.

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