Kays Translations

Chapter 101: The Sprinkler

After finishing the letters and collection requests, I noticed that it was nearly time for our three-o’clock tea. Rosalia was probably still struggling with her new magic tool in the salon. I tucked the papers into my coat, asked a passing servant to prepare tea, and went to find her.

Rosalia stood with her arms folded and a deep crease between her brows. Evidently, the design wasn’t progressing as she had hoped.

“What’s wrong, Rosalia? Such a severe expression doesn’t suit your cute face.”

“Big brother!”

“Kyu!”

Mira launched themself at me. I barely swallowed the cry of pain that rose to my lips. A gentleman had to maintain his composure.

“I asked for tea,” I said. “Let us rest. A good idea may come after we clear our heads.”

“I hope so.”

“Kyu.”

Mira seemed to have been thinking alongside Rosalia and deserved praise. I stroked their head, earning a pleased chirp, but Rosalia still looked exhausted.

The servants soon brought tea and jam-centred biscuits from a well-known shop in the territorial capital. While we ate—and while I fed Mira a few small pieces—I asked Rosalia to explain the problem.

“I want to make something like a portable shower,” she said, “but it always becomes too large and heavy.”

So the obstacle was miniaturisation. Lamps and a few other magic tools had been reduced in size, but most devices remained bulky because their output depended heavily on the size of the magic circle. Producing a large volume of water required a large circle and therefore a large housing.

“Does the magic circle truly need to be that large?” I asked.

“When I reduce it, the water loses too much force. Then it can’t reach plants from a distance.”

I understood. Rosalia had taken my casual wish to water distant flowerbeds entirely seriously. This was partly my fault, and I could hardly admit that I hadn’t expected her to pursue the requirement so literally.

“Then what if the outlet were narrower?”

“Narrower?” Her eyes sharpened. “Big brother, please explain after tea.”

She had enough manners not to drag metal parts onto the tea table. I might have done exactly that and earned a scolding from Mother.

“Agreed. We’ll work together afterwards.”

While we finished tea, I gave the servant the letters for Father and the Adventurers’ Guild. Responses would take time, so my next priority was preparing the forthcoming tea party at the House Heine mansion.

I had watched Mother organise similar gatherings and understood the broad outline. More importantly, experienced servants would prevent any disaster. I could delegate without abandoning my responsibility entirely.

Once tea ended, Rosalia and I resumed work. I had wanted her to complete the device independently, but expecting a six-year-old to solve every engineering difficulty alone was unreasonable. The attempt itself had still taught her a great deal.

“Make the outlet pipe narrower,” I said. “For the same amount of water, a smaller opening should increase the pressure.”

Rosalia processed the metal with Craft, carefully joining the parts without visible seams. Meanwhile, I reduced the size of the nozzle assembly.

“Next we need to determine the smallest magic circle that still produces enough water. Let us make several versions. Rosalia, draw circles around this size. I’ll prepare the smaller ones.”

The smaller a magic circle became, the more exact every line had to be. We produced five patterns and built a compact metal housing for each.

“Time for testing,” I said. “We’ll use the garden.”

A servant carried the prototypes outside because there were too many for us to move safely. All five used the same detachable hose and nozzle, so only one outlet assembly was necessary.

Rosalia attached the hose to the smallest unit and checked the joint. I asked her to stand back. A wet dress would be inconvenient, but an exploding fitting would be far worse.

“Prototype One—activate.”

A few miserable drops fell from the nozzle.

The circle was too small. Mira happily lapped up the water and soaked their face.

Prototype Two improved slightly. Prototype Three produced a fine stream with a useful reach while keeping the housing reasonably compact.

“This is the one,” I said.

Mira was already damp enough to require a towel before we went inside.

We tested Prototype Four for completeness. The pressure exceeded the strength of the connection, and the nozzle shot across the garden. Prototype Five launched it even farther.

Mira was delighted. They chased the flying nozzle, brought it back, and wagged their thick tail as though inviting me to throw it again.

Perhaps holy dragons enjoyed games of fetch just as dogs did. Mars would undoubtedly fill several pages of his research notes with the discovery.

Then the open hose sprayed me from head to foot.

At least I hadn’t allowed Rosalia to stand beside it.

I took the nozzle from Mira and tossed it once more, partly for their amusement and partly because I was already soaked.

We selected Prototype Three as the foundation of the finished device and named our new watering magic tool the Sprinkler.

The inventor was free to choose the name. I briefly considered something grander, such as “Golden Rain,” but Sprinkler was clear, practical, and unlikely to cause misunderstandings.

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