Chapter 186. The Calm Before the Storm (3)
There is a district in Nortaris where ordinary tourists never set foot.
A street where the acrid smell of sulphur hangs in the air all year round. The Alchemists' Quarter.
Screech—!
Serena brought her new beloved car to a stop at the entrance of the alley. She was worried the scraps of iron scattered across the ground might tear her tyres to shreds.
"Brigitte, is this the right place?"
"Yes, it is."
"Hmm……."
"Apparently this is where the North's most traditional alchemists gather."
Fair enough.
Though, judging by the look of the street alone…… To put it kindly, it was a place where traditional craftsmen gathered—to put it bluntly, craftsmen who had fallen behind the times.
The reason being that the current trend was clearly defined: Mechanical Engineering is Mechanical Engineering, Alchemy is Alchemy. That kind of clean-cut classification was the mainstream.
This Alchemists' Quarter was more of a place where technicians who had missed that wave and taken an ambiguous path congregated. That said, unimaginable varieties of goods were occasionally discovered here.
"This way!"
Serena followed Brigitte, who was cheerfully leading the way, with a skeptical eye.
"Are you sure this is right?"
The place Brigitte had directed them to was a rough-hewn two-storey stone building that didn't even have a proper signboard. Scrawled in chalk on the corner of the door were the words 'Dalkin Workshop'—no proper sign, just that.
"Yes! I heard about it by word of mouth."
They went in anyway. Inside the shop was much larger and darker than it had appeared from the outside.
"Welcome."
A gruff voice came from the corner of the counter. A bearded old man was wiping his glasses, looked them over, and clicked his tongue.
"This is no place for young ladies of quality. Off you go."
No wonder business is bad.
"We've come to look at something. Something very expensive."
Serena clicked her tongue inwardly and answered with an air of haughtiness. The old man put his glasses on and studied Serena carefully before letting out a sigh.
"Well now, if it isn't the owner of the Renoir Workshop."
"That's right."
"Your reputation precedes you. Take your time and browse. Just be careful—touch the wrong thing and you'll get hurt."
"I'll be fine. I'm a Mechanical Engineer myself."
"The things in our shop are of a rather different grain from mass-produced goods."
His attitude had shifted noticeably. Of course, within that shift lay a subtle undercurrent of rivalry between a traditional craftsman and an innovative engineer. A Mechanical Engineer who valued efficiency, and a classical alchemist who sought the mystical—a pair forever on parallel lines, one might say.
"Wow……."
"Brigitte, you heard him. Be careful and take your pick to your heart's content."
"Yes! Sister!"
Even so, it all seemed purely magnificent in Brigitte's eyes. Serena shrugged a shoulder, watching Brigitte's sparkling gaze from beside her.
And yet, she felt a quiet sense of puzzlement. Just what was Brigitte planning to buy from this shop?
"Sister! I found it!"
Brigitte soon pointed to a piece of merchandise carefully enshrined in the centre of the shop floor.
"Excuse me."
"Hm?"
"Is that by any chance the 'Hestia'?"
At Brigitte's pointing finger, the owner's eyebrows twitched.
"Oho? A little young lady who can recognise that."
The owner rose from his seat and chuckled.
"Quite the eye you have. That's right—the pride of our shop."
It was nearly a work of art.
A sleek, streamlined body. At the centre was a chamber made of transparent tempered glass, wrapped all around by a complex arrangement of pipes. At the lower section was a precision control panel; at the upper section, an exhaust vent—a massive mechanical apparatus.
Serena folded her arms.
"Hmm…… The very essence of a machine is that functionality is beauty, but……."
Still, it was pretty, she'd give it that.
The owner shrugged and explained.
"It isn't just beautiful either. The Hestia is a high-precision alchemic furnace. This furnace can regulate temperature in increments of 0.1 degrees, and by reducing the internal pressure to a vacuum, it eliminates impurities to 0%—"
Before the owner had even finished speaking, Brigitte let out a cry of rapture.
"Just as I expected! Temperature regulation in increments of 0.1 degrees!"
"Well…… that is impressive, though it's really just a basic function—"
Before the owner could elaborate any further, Brigitte leapt up once more.
"With this, Sous Vide can be done perfectly!"
"Sous Vide…… that would be low-temperature cooking, wouldn't it?"
"Now listen here, young ladies, let me explain a bit more about the Hestia—"
Before the owner could say another word, Brigitte rattled off a torrent of speech.
"Yes! When you cook meat at a low temperature over a long period, it cooks far more evenly!"
At Brigitte's outburst, Serena was taken aback. Even the owner looked utterly dumbfounded.
"You're going to…… so you want to…… use the Hestia for cooking?"
"How much is it?"
Brigitte's eyes had already fallen in love. A wave of unease washed over Serena.
From what she'd heard of the specifications, something like this was ordinarily priced at whatever the seller fancied naming. Even at a glance, wasn't this the sort of thing supplied to alchemy nobles—research institutions or families with deep pockets like the Rosemore Count Family?
"Here—there's a price tag, isn't there?"
"Yikes!"
Serena went pale. She had expected it, but it was more expensive than expected. Expensive enough to purchase another brand-new Caliburn R.
"Th-this is too expensive……."
Brigitte drooped, shoulders sagging. But her eyes still refused to leave the Hestia.
Like the desolate gaze of someone looking at a former lover.
"Sister, I got ahead of myself. I'll just be satisfied with having seen it."
Just as Brigitte was about to turn away. Her gaze locked onto an old-fashioned box sitting in the corner of the display case.
"Oh? That's……."
Brigitte hurried over to stand in front of the box.
Inside the box sat a silver needle shaped like a thick syringe or a pen. At its tip was a small gauge.
"Could this perhaps be 'Gordon's Probe'?"
"That's right."
The owner replied without much interest.
"You stick the needle into a subject and it tells you the composition. Mainly used for making potions or measuring the purity of minerals, but……"
"Composition analysis! Sister! Then with this!"
Brigitte clasped both hands together.
"If you stick this in, you can see the salinity, sweetness, and maturity level inside the food as numbers, right?"
The owner, unable to hold back any longer, cried out.
"Oh come on! Young lady! Are you a cook? If you're a cook, just taste it with your tongue!"
"A tongue changes depending on your condition, but numbers don't lie."
Brigitte countered without batting an eye.
"To create a perfect recipe, you need data. Whether the salt is lacking or the sugar is excessive! With that, you can produce a consistently perfect flavour without any variation!"
"Ah, well…… I suppose……"
The owner himself flinched at that spirit. Serena sidled over quietly and looked at the price tag.
"……."
Sure enough, it was enough money for Serena to buy another new car. For something called Sous Vide or whatever, and what was essentially a syringe—two new cars……?
How to put it. She had agreed to buy her something, and it wasn't that it placed too great a burden on her finances—but the petty thought of paying that much for those things? simply wouldn't leave her alone.
"Oh! Th-this one is expensive too……."
Brigitte, having spotted the price tag belatedly, deflated once again.
Watching Brigitte like this, Serena felt something complicated stir within her.
Tonight, in her dreams, Brigitte would grill meat on that Hestia, check the seasoning with Gordon's Probe, and be blissful. And when she woke, she would sigh in the cold reality of her kitchen.
She might even sob pitifully. After making such a bold declaration, tucking her tail the moment she caught sight of the price tag?
"Tsk. If you weren't going to buy anything, you shouldn't have said a word. Making me get up for nothing."
Serena Renoir's pride would not permit it.
"Wait."
Serena stopped. Brigitte turned around with a puzzled look.
"Sister?"
Serena stepped slowly toward the owner.
"I'll take both."
"What?"
The owner dug at his ear, then his eyes went wide.
"Both, wrapped up, please."
Serena drew her chequebook from her pocket. The fingertips holding the quill trembled faintly.
"Delivery by the end of the day—if there's a single scratch on them, they're going back?"
"Now, now, young lady. Are you serious? You know what these come to together—"
Serena scrawled her signature across the cheque.
Scratch—
The owner took the cheque and stood there dumbly for a moment, before breaking into an ear-to-ear grin.
"My goodness! I didn't recognise a person of such distinction! I'll have them sent to you by express delivery at once!"
"S-Sister……!"
Brigitte clapped a hand over her mouth. Tears welled up, glistening at the corners of her eyes.
"You're really, really going to buy it? Something that expensive?"
"I told you, didn't I? That I'd teach you how to spend money."
Serena put strength into her trembling legs and grinned.
"Sister Serena, you're the best!"
Brigitte came rushing in and threw her arms around Serena. Serena stroked Brigitte's crown and smiled wryly.
Her purse was a little lighter, but a corner of her heart was heavy with solid, satisfying pride.
"There's a condition, though."
"What is it? I'll do anything! I'll be your slave for life!"
"The first dish you make with those. You absolutely have to bring it to me, understand?"
One thing, at least, was certain. Tonight, on Y&P Trading Company's dinner table, the most expensive and scientific steak in the history of humanity would be served.
***
Late at night. Having thoroughly enjoyed her holiday dragging Brigitte around from place to place, Serena headed to the newly acquired residence to see her home.
It was a residence in name, but in practice also served as the headquarters of Y&P Trading Company. The ground floor was used as offices and reception rooms; the second floor as lodgings for Penelope, Jurgen, and Brigitte.
"Ahh, I'm exhausted."
As she pushed open the front door and stepped inside, a pleasant warmth greeted the two of them. The lobby fireplace was blazing.
And before it was a familiar back. Jurgen.
He was crouched down, tossing something busily into the flames.
"We're back~ By the way, Jurgen? What are you doing there?"
Jurgen flinched and straightened his shoulders as Serena approached.
"Ah, you're home. It's nothing. Just tidying up."
"Tidying up? At this hour?"
Serena narrowed her eyes and stole a glance at the bundle of papers in Jurgen's hands. Fine vellum. A faint scent of rose perfume.
And a glimpse of the words written on them.
'I have harboured deep feelings for you, the jewel of Rosemore……'
'I have three sons, and I humbly request a meeting……'
'If you would accept my proposal of marriage……'
"Pfft!"
Even Serena, who was always careful and guarded in front of Jurgen, failed to suppress it and burst out laughing. They were the proposals and love letters sent to Penelope by Northern nobles.
"Jurgen, are you jealous right now?"
"Wh-what nonsense! There wasn't enough firewood, so I'm burning them."
"Oh come on, there's a whole pile of logs right there."
"They'd caught damp and wouldn't burn. Paper catches well."
Jurgen put on an air of solemn dignity and shoved the remaining bundle of letters wholesale into the flames. The fire blazed up brilliantly.
Even Serena didn't have the nerve to tease Jurgen any further than this.
"Hmm~ Well, I'll let that slide."
Serena snickered and glanced around. By now, Penelope ought to have come out and joined in teasing him. Quiet.
"Hmm? Speaking of which—where's Penelope? Is she asleep?"
"No. She said she'd just step out for a bit and come back."
"Stepped out?"
Serena checked the wall clock. It was past midnight.
"At this hour? Where to?"
"She said she wanted to get a bit of fresh air…… though she's later than I expected."
Serena furrowed her brow.
'Later than expected?'
That could happen. Penelope was no child; she could walk around a little. She was a capable Alchemist herself, so there was nothing much to worry about.
And yet. An ominous premonition she couldn't quite explain tickled at the back of Serena's spine.
"Shall we go look for her?"
"Look for whom?"
"Penelope."
It was an unmistakably clear alarm bell from her instincts.