Sugar Apple Fairytale - Volume 4 - Chapter 5.1

Chapter 5

SUGAR CANDY FOR SOMEONE

“I wonder what sorts of candies are usually made for the Selection for the First Holy Festival?”

“Usually, they are centered around the motifs of the twelve patron saints of the state church, as well as Ancestor King Cedric. The candies are meant to draw in good fortune for the new year, after all. As for their size, they usually make them about as tall as me,” Valentine responded.

King made a disagreeable face. “How boring, making statues of saints and kings,” he said. “If we sculpted plants, we could use more colors.”

“Plants, in the middle of winter?” Orlando coldly replied. “That would disregard all sense of seasonality. If Ancestor King Cedric is the standard, then he will do. That’s the perfect theme to represent strength.”

Nadir grimaced. “I don’t like sugar candy sculptures that are too big,” he said. “They’re so awkward-looking.”

“I doubt a straightforward representation of strength will be enough. I think something simple, like an abstract symbol of God, would be amazing. But when it comes to size, the bigger the better, absolutely,” Valentine added.

It was the day after they had decided to participate in the Selection. The four candy crafters, who had gathered in the workroom, responded one after another to Anne’s question, each with a different answer.

“Wait a minute!” Anne raised her hand. Her cheek was twitching. “Aren’t you all just describing the kinds of things that you like to make?!”

When she said that, King had on a surprised look. “Surely, you’re assigning the sculptures for the Selection to one of us, right?” he asked. “To the one who seems like he’ll make the best sugar candy. Am I wrong?”

“Oh, I get it. Excuse us. King, you’ve got it wrong. Anne’s making it. She’s merely asking for our opinions, no doubt,” Valentine said, as if the idea had just flashed through his mind.

“What? Is that true?”

“…It is not…”

Anne was perplexed by their fundamental misunderstanding. The other candy crafters were all wearing the same puzzled expression.

Okay, I’d better explain this point by point.

Anne, who had never worked on such a project with other people before, was fumbling her way through her new job as head candy crafter. She wasn’t happy that she had somehow confused all four of her colleagues, but she stood up in front of the workbench where everyone was seated.

Then she informed them once again.

“You’ve all explained to me that up until now, a single crafter takes responsibility for executing a single job. This time, I thought we could change our way of doing things. Fortunately… Well, I don’t really know if I can call it that, but at the moment, the workshop has no commissions. So the five of us here are going to put our heads together and decide on what kind of sugar candy sculpture to make. Then I want us all to make it together. If we do that, then half a month is plenty of time for us to create a masterpiece.”

The Paige Workshop’s methods emphasized the individual artist. Each commission accepted by the workshop was assigned to a single candy crafter. They then reached an agreement with the client over what they were going to make by having them choose what they liked from among the things the crafter wanted to create. They didn’t make things strictly according to the wishes of the client. The whole process was focused around the candy crafter.

It was probably beneficial for the candy crafters, who would leave and work independently sooner or later. It fostered a sense of responsibility in the individual artisans. That explained why the Paige Workshop had been very protective of its traditions.

However, the method left them at a disadvantage with so few crafters.

“Decide together and make it together?” Orlando frowned. “I doubt five candy crafters will be able to agree on a single piece. If it’s not something that we each want to make, then we won’t feel like working on it. And anyway, why do all five of us need to agree in the first place?”

“I’ve thought about it. If we can get together and decide on something that we think is best, then that ought to turn out to be something that lots of people would choose. I mean, it’ll be shaped by five opinions instead of one. Don’t you think the chances of being chosen at the Selection will be higher if five people contribute rather than just one? If we can agree, everyone can make what they want and be enthusiastic about it.”

Orlando snorted. “If there’s anything that all five of us can agree upon, that is.”

“We’ll find something.”

The fact that they had several crafters collaborating should work out to their advantage. It would be good in the same way that two people would have more fun than being by themselves. The more heads they could put together, the stronger they would be.

Anne had been all alone after her mother, Emma, died. But Challe and Mithril had become her friends. Two were better than one, and three were better than two. Their combined strengths couldn’t possibly end up making them weaker. There was no way this wouldn’t be fun. That was what Anne hoped in any case.

She was currently fumbling her way through everything, and all she could do was let those vague hopes guide her.

King shrugged awkwardly. “But…how do we do that?” he asked. “No matter how long we stand here talking over one another like this, the five of us are never going to agree on anything. Our artistic preferences are just too different.”

As King had pointed out, therein lay the problem.

“You’re right,” Anne replied. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone around who can tell us what kinds of candy sculptures this workshop used to make for the First Holy Festival, back when they participated in the Selection? It would be nice if there was some hint in the past about what might appeal to everyone.”

At that, Valentine put a finger to his chin. “I believe I heard something from Glen,” he said thoughtfully, “about some sort of diary that the maestros have kept from generation to generation. There might be a clue written in there.”

“If such a thing exists, I’d like to get a good look at it.”

“I’ll go ask him,” Valentine said and stood up immediately.

Before long, he came rushing back to the workroom. He was nearly out of breath, but he managed to inform them that Glen still had the diary of the maestro three generations before him. But it was an important item, and he refused to let it be removed from the house. He had apparently told Valentine that if they wanted to read it, they could look at it in the dining room of the main house.

So Anne headed there, along with the other four candy crafters.

Elliott was sitting in the dining room wearing his traveling overcoat. He had piled about ten books on top of the table and was waiting for them with a grin.

“You’re interested in reading these? Well, I’ve never had any desire to, but good luck!”

“Are you going out?” Anne asked.

Elliott shrugged. “Yeah. I’m going to Lewiston for the repayment thing I told you about, at the guild. The guild there keeps very old records, and they might be useful, you see. I’ll be back this evening. I’ll help you out when I return.”

He then headed for the front door, waving good-bye.

He always seemed to be busy dealing with the workshop’s monetary issues. Anne had hardly ever seen him settled down at the main house. He never let anyone see him looking tired, but on occasion, he would wander around vacantly with a very bored expression.

“There’s no need to put all the burden of reading these on Mr. Collins. If we split them up, I bet we’ll be done in no time,” Anne said exuberantly.

She picked up a book with a brown leather cover that was sitting on the very top of the pile. It was not so much a book as it was a collection of sheets of parchment bound together with thread, with a stiff cover attached to the front and back. It did have a spine, but it didn’t fit all that well. Still, preserving an individual’s diary, no matter how imperfect it may be, was exactly what she would expect of the main studio of a faction.

She opened the book, looked at the words written in ink, and involuntarily groaned.

“…What is this?”

The four candy crafters peered over Anne’s shoulder to look at the book she had opened. Mithril, who had been sitting on Anne’s shoulder, hopped down onto the table and read the text out loud.

“Autumn-fills-the-air-and-the-seasons-change-as-they-always-have-but-at-my-age-I-dream-not-of-change.”

Following the lines with his finger, Mithril read the words out loud then looked up at Anne.

“A magic spell?” he asked.

“Might be.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Orlando sounded exasperated by their exchange.

Anne was breaking out in a cold sweat, but next to her, Valentine was calm. “It’s because it’s an old diary,” he said. “The language is ancient, and it’s hard to read.”

“No way! Absolutely no way. Not on my life!” Nadir went pale, as if he had seen a demon or something, and started backing away. “I’m sorry, Anne. I can’t read this. I mean, don’t make me read this. Please. I’ll do anything else, I’ll clean, do laundry, I’ll even give you a massage. So don’t make me read it. My head will explode if I do.”

“Well, I’d be in trouble if you exploded…,” Anne responded. “But…can anyone here read this?”

Valentine cracked a smile. “I can read it,” he answered. “And I think Orlando might be able to as well? Right, Orlando?”

“I can.”

At that moment, the two men looked incredibly dependable.

“I’ve got no chance,” King said, scratching his head awkwardly. “I’m with Nadir, on cleaning, laundry, and shoulder rubs,” he mumbled, looking down at the pages of the diary miserably.

“Well, I’m not confident I can read it, but I’ll give it a shot,” Anne said.

At least it was better than the initial feeling of hopelessness. Anne didn’t know how things were going to turn out, but she had something she needed to do, something she needed to find. And she had something she needed to consider.

Orlando, Valentine, and Anne began reading the diaries right there at the dining table. King and Nadir headed out to clean the workroom and maintain their tools.

They started reading the diaries in order, beginning with the oldest one. As Orlando and Valentine silently flipped through the pages, they took notes on the entries related to the Selection.

Meanwhile, Anne delved into one of the books with Mithril, desperately trying to decipher the text. It brought her to the verge of tears.

“Oh-the-stars… Oh, what does that mean?”

She looked at Mithril with watery eyes, and Mithril folded his arms and tilted his head as he thought it over. “Couldn’t it mean, like, Oh, the stars are out?” Mithril replied.

“So then this says, How it sparkles after kneading and tempering. Oh, the stars are out! Is that what it means? These are words of praise for himself, for kneading his silver sugar well? He’s singing his own praises?”

Orlando was sitting across the table from Anne and groaned when he overheard them struggling.

“Idiots.”

Valentine was sitting beside Anne with a wry smile. He had been writing on a piece of notepaper for a while, and when he finished covering it with dense lines of text, he held it out in front of Anne.

“Sorry for meddling, but this might be useful?”

He had made a vocabulary list. The old words were on the right, and to the left, he had written their meanings in the modern language.

“Since even silver sugar was written differently in the old orthography, you have to read it this way. I’ve noted the meanings of some other words that appear frequently.”

“Valentine, thank you.”

Anne almost cried with gratitude.

Mithril accepted the notepaper. “Thank you so much! You’re really a great guy, you are. Totally different from that man over there making fun of people!” Mithril exclaimed loudly.

“I’m perfectly happy not being a great guy,” Orlando grumbled miserably, without even lifting his head.

Elliott had said he would return in the evening, but he hadn’t come back yet. He had many miscellaneous duties and often did not return home as planned, so no one paid it any mind.

Elliott was unable to help them, but thanks to Orlando and Valentine, there were only three volumes left to read by dinnertime.

Two of the three belonged to the previous maestro, so they were written in the modern language. Even Anne could read them. The remaining diary was written in the same incomprehensible words as some of the others, but it was only a single volume, so Anne figured she could probably get through it that night. With that expectation, they wrapped up the job before dinner.

Orlando and Valentine, who had been reading the whole time, had dark circles under their eyes.

After dinner, Anne had Mithril and Challe rest in their chambers while she remained in the dining room alone.

She proceeded to read through the remaining diaries and drew the light of the candle close to her. It was night, and nearly winter. A chill rose from underfoot, but it would have been wasteful to light the large dining room fireplace just for herself, so Anne brought a blanket down from her room, wrapped it around herself, and sat in a chair.

She wasn’t making much progress. She was tired and felt drowsy.

Even so, the steady work of reading the diary yielded something useful.

It was mentioned that back before the Selection system had started, when the Paige Workshop was still exclusively making the sugar candies for the First Holy Festival, the opinions of the workshop frequently clashed with those of the clergy.

If the candy crafters made what they wanted to make, there was a chance that it wouldn’t suit the clergy’s preferences. And if that disconnect had been the impetus for starting the Selection in the first place, then they would have to craft the sugar candy that the state church wanted for the First Holy Festival. That much was clear.

But the four crafters of the Paige Workshop would likely refuse to make anything other than what they themselves wanted to make.

Oh no. What can I do to get everyone interested in creating something the church will like?

For a while, Anne vacantly watched the dancing candle flame. Black soot rose steadily from the tip of the fire.

“Brr.”

Anne squirmed around inside her blanket. Then from behind, a gently steaming cup was held out in front of her eyes. When she turned around, a fairy with orange hair was smiling down at her.

“Here. Have something warm. It’s herbal tea, to warm the body.”

“Thank you, Danna,” Anne said.

The fairy smirked. “I’m Hal.”

After he said that, Anne noticed the fairy was wearing pants and a shirt, rather than a dress. His hair was also somewhat shorter than Danna’s.

“I’m so sorry! Oh, but you do look just like her.”

“It’s fine. Danna and I were born from the same tree at the same time, so we look a lot alike. I think we are what humans call twins.”

“I see. So fairies can have twins, too? I never knew. Thank you for the tea. It’s a big help.”

He must have been the other fairy working in the main house. It had been a little less than a week since Anne started living here, but this was her first time meeting him.

“If you want to thank someone, thank Danna. She wanted to bring you tea, but she was embarrassed, so she made me come do it.”

“Why was she embarrassed?”

“Apparently, she felt awkward bringing you tea when she hadn’t been ordered to do so. She said she would have been even more embarrassed if you turned it down.”

“I would have never turned it down. Not when she went out of her way to do something so sweet. Danna seems very kind.”

“You made her happy. So she wanted to do something in return, she said.”

“Oh, did I do something?”

“That was the first time that anyone had ever asked her to eat a meal together.”

“Oh, that? But I just invited her because I was feeling lonely.”

Anne turned her gaze toward the kitchen, where she assumed Danna was hiding. She caught a glimpse of orange hair near the kitchen doorway. She could sense a charming, bashful presence just from seeing the vanishing strands of hair.

Anne spoke clearly, so that she could be heard from the kitchen. “I like eating together with other people. So if you can’t eat meals at this dining table, let’s go on a picnic in the forest and have lunch together or something, okay? …Would you tell Danna that?”

The orange hair that had been slipping in and out of view came to an abrupt halt. Then it anxiously withdrew deeper into the kitchen.

Hal seemed to notice as well, and he smiled wryly.

“Certainly.”

Then Hal happened to look down at the book in her hands, and he frowned.

“Looks like you’re reading something difficult.”

“Hal, can you read this?”

“No. When it comes to stuff like that, I think only old people, or those who studied very hard in school, can decipher it. In this house, the sole people who received a proper education are Orlando and the young mistress. It’s impossible for me.”

Hal sounded disappointed as he headed back into the kitchen.

“Right, so I guess Bridget can read it. She does seem smart.”

Anne looked toward the corridor that led out from the dining room. At the other end of that corridor was Bridget’s room.

A thought suddenly occurred to her.

Maybe I could ask for her help. I could give her that piece of candy and ask her to help read this.

Bridget might accept the candy if it was a gift of thanks.

Anne shed her blanket like a second skin and went back to her room. Mithril was snoring away, but Challe was awake. He looked at Anne quizzically when she picked up the sugar candy that’d been sitting by the window, but he didn’t ask her anything.

Anne took the candy with her back down to the first floor.

With the little jade-colored bird in her right hand and the old diary under her left arm, she walked down the dark hallway. When she reached the door to Bridget’s chambers, she took a deep breath. Bridget would probably be upset with her for showing up. But she wanted to hand her the candy directly.

Anne readied herself and knocked. There was no answer.

When she knocked once more, a probing voice replied from the other side of the door.

“Who’s there?”

Before Anne could give her name, the voice asked with a faint sense of hope, “Challe?”

Anne’s chest throbbed at the frail, questioning voice. She could tell that Bridget had been holding on to the slight possibility that the person she loved might come and see her.

Even though Bridget knew it was impossible, she still hoped for it. Anne heard it in Bridget’s voice.

“It’s Anne… I’m sorry.”

She could tell the presence on the other side of the door grew tense.

“Sorry,” she repeated. “Um, I want some help. From you, Bridget.”

The door slowly opened. Bridget’s expression was blank, and her complexion was terribly pale.

“‘Help’?”

“Right now, I’m reading through the diaries of the past maestros of the Paige Workshop, but it’s very difficult. When I asked Hal, he said that you might be able to read them, since you went to a proper school and studied hard. I never really went to school, you see. I hated studying and even skipped out on church school.”

“I didn’t necessarily like studying, either. It’s just that I’m the Paige daughter, so I couldn’t do anything unbecoming.” Then Bridget curled her lips ever so slightly into a small smile. “So then what’s the deal? If I help you, will Challe come to my room?”

“That’s up to Challe. If he wants to come, I’m sure he will. I don’t know. But I’ll give you this as thanks.”

She held the little jade-colored bird candy in her hand out in front of Bridget.

Bridget gave it a surprised glance. But then she immediately averted her eyes.

“Unless you can guarantee that Challe is going to come, I won’t help you.”

“I see… But I’ll give you this candy anyway. Because I made it for you, Bridget.”