The Artisans’ Tête-à-Tête

In a corner of the city’s artisan quarter, Dahlia stepped down from a carriage into the blazing sun. Even in her dark-blue summer dress and airy linen jacket, she was on the verge of sweating. Before her stood a green-roofed building with an engraved silver plaque beside the entrance. “Gandolfi Workshop,” it read. Satisfied that she’d come to the right place, Dahlia rang the doorbell.

“Good day, Mr. Gandolfi.”

“Ah, Chairwoman Rossetti. Welcome.”

With an alacrity that suggested he had been awaiting her arrival, Fermo—the head of the workshop and a specialist craftsman of small goods—appeared to greet her. Though age had added a sprinkling of white to his head of brown hair, his posture was still ramrod straight. He was wearing a dark-gray smock—probably his usual work attire.

Dahlia had first met Fermo at the Merchants’ Guild a few days ago. They’d arranged for him to create some samples of her foaming soap dispensers that would be suitable for mass production. Both of them had been rather busy since that day with one thing or another, but today, at last, their schedules had aligned.

“It’s a little cramped, I’m afraid, but come on in.”

The workshop was a single-story wooden building with a high ceiling. Fermo had called it cramped, but it was no less spacious than Dahlia’s workshop in the tower. One wall was lined with shelving, where a multitude of bolts, springs, tubes, spray bottle parts, and much more were neatly stored. Fermo invited Dahlia to sit at the table in the middle of the workshop before fetching three soap dispensers that he placed in front of her. He pointed one of them out.

“This is the one for mass production. If you see anything you’re not happy with, let me know right away.”

Dahlia picked it up and inspected it, turning it over in her hands. Then she disassembled it. All the sections of the lid, the pump, and the vessel were more cleanly and uniformly crafted than in her initial prototypes. One of the bottles had been filled with soap, ready for use. She tried it and was delighted by the thick, fluffy mound of white foam that squirted onto the prepared plate.

“These are beautifully made. So much lighter than my prototypes. The lid pushes down far more easily and smoothly too.”

“Yeah, I hollowed out the inside of part of the pump a little. It ought to be just as durable, and now the downward pressure on it’ll be spread out more evenly. Each pump’s been pressed a thousand times, and we didn’t find any problems in each of these three bottles. If you’re satisfied with them, then I’ll go ahead and have them pressed five thousand times.”

“Who does your testing for you?”

“Some students at a local elementary school took the job on. It’s a good bit of pocket money for them.”

Every child in this kingdom, regardless of whether they were of noble or common birth, was permitted to go to school as long as they passed the requisite exams. The kingdom bore the cost of tuition, but students had to pay for their school supplies and any extracurricular activities on their own. These expenses soon added up, so many children from commoner families worked part-time jobs.

“Well, I’m more than happy with the quality of these, Mr. Gandolfi. We can proceed to the next stage whenever you’re ready.”

“Sure thing. I’ll get those tests done soon as I can and then turn in the specifications to the guild. Call me Fermo, by the way. Everyone in this workshop’s called Gandolfi, so it’ll get confusing real fast if you come calling for me.”

“Understood. In that case, you must call me Dahlia. I simply can’t get used to being called Chairwoman...”

“Miss Dahlia it is, then. I know how you feel—I still think of my old man every time someone calls me the workshop head.” Fermo chuckled as he lifted a large basket onto the table. “Now, these are some different models. I just made them as the ideas came to me. I’d appreciate an honest opinion of them.”

Taking them one by one from the basket, Fermo lined up a total of ten soap dispensers, each one a different shape from the last.

“There are so many!”

“Yeah, well, y’know how it is sometimes. You get started and then don’t know where to stop...”

The expression in the man’s eyes as he sheepishly glanced away was all too familiar. Both Dahlia and her father had been just the same when crafting prototypes—they’d get a little momentum behind them, and before they knew it, they’d have half a dozen new versions with all sorts of extra features and functions. Most of them were useless, but searching out new possibilities was where the joy of experimentation lay. There was nothing a craftsperson delighted in more.

“This one’s for shaving,” Fermo explained, pointing to the first bottle in the row. “I’ve made the vessel bigger; firstly, so it’ll fit better in men’s hands, and secondly, so it’ll hold a lot more soap. A lot of men find it a real hassle refilling these things.”

“Oh, I see.”

She hadn’t considered that. Refilling soap bottles was indeed rather time-consuming.

“These next two have larger vessels as well. I’ve made them wider and square-shaped and weighted the bottom so that they’re much harder to tip over. I figured this type would be handy in a busy kitchen or the like, where you’ll have a lot of people using it.”

“I agree. I think big families would appreciate having these in their bathrooms too.”

“Now, this one’s got a catch on the bottom so it can be fixed in place. Just needs a corresponding part set into the surface it’s going to sit on. Once it’s locked, no one’ll be able to remove it without knowing the exact mechanism. Might be good for people who’re sick or elderly and have shaky hands, or for kids, since there’s no chance of them knocking it over. The other thing it’d solve, though I know it’s not so pleasant to think about, is people harassing business owners by stealing them. Drunks in bars and eateries sometimes think it’s funny to take them home too.”

“Right. That would definitely make them safer.”

Dahlia herself had thought of designing a version that was easier and safer for children and elderly people to use, but the idea of people stealing the dispensers from businesses hadn’t occurred to her. While the crime rates in the royal capital were very low, it saw its fair share of troublesome drunks, and there were certain places where employing anti-theft measures would be wise. It made sense for a small goods specialist to be aware of these sorts of issues, Dahlia reasoned.

“The next four are all luxury versions for the noble market,” Fermo continued. “The vessels are decorated with colored glass and some simple glasswork techniques. We could probably add some metalwork decoration too, though I’d guess most higher-ranked nobles would want them custom-made.”

The transparent bottles featured delicate floral patterns with accents of translucent blue, scarlet, and opaque milk-white. Each one was eye-catching and beautiful in its own way.

“The glasswork and colors are absolutely lovely,” Dahlia said with admiration. “They’re pretty enough to be given as gifts. Perhaps we could use the same vessel and offer a range of glass and metalwork covers to go over the outside.”

“Ah, I see what you mean. That’d save us from making each one individually. Customers could choose whichever combinations of colored glass and covers they liked. Semi-custom, I guess they call that.”

“And they’d be replaceable if they got broken or if the customer just felt like a change.”

The craftsman nodded and began to jot down notes on a piece of paper he had near at hand. Dahlia took out her notebook and followed suit. She wrote down the various colors of glass they might use and potential designs for the outer covers. The covers could depict all sorts of subjects, not necessarily just flowers. There was plenty of scope for exploration, and Dahlia couldn’t help but be excited.

“The last two I’ve got here are meant to be portable. They could be useful anytime you’re out and about and want to wash your hands, but...to be honest with you, I just made them to see how small they could go.”

“I understand completely! I’m always curious about how big or small I can make my products.”

“You too, huh? It’s something I always think about when I’m crafting something new. Can’t help wanting to know what’s possible!”

Oh, he’s a craftsman all right. A true craftsman! Dahlia rejoiced. Fermo’s zeal reminded her of talking about magical tools with her father, and it was infectious. Dahlia could hardly keep a lid on her bubbling enthusiasm.

“Tell me, Mr. Fermo, are you the type to test the limits of a product until it breaks?”

“But of course! You want to know exactly what experience the customer’s going to have, and it gives you points to improve on too. I’m going to have these pumps pressed ten thousand times and then keep upping it until they break, to test their durability. You do the same kind of thing with magical tools?”

“Well, I certainly like to be that thorough in my testing. Not all toolmakers go so far, though.”

Fermo nodded, accepting this without question. However, the state of affairs Dahlia described didn’t quite give an accurate picture. Generally speaking, magical tools were considerably more durable than the kinds of small goods Fermo handled in his workshop. Thus, toolmakers who insisted on testing their creations to the point of breakage were considered rather eccentric by their fellow craftspeople. Dahlia was one such eccentric; she conducted thorough durability tests on almost all of her inventions. Even her waterproof cloth had been put through its paces. She had washed the finished articles around a hundred times and even employed the services of an ice mage to freeze them. Her father had been supportive of her efforts—“It’s necessary work, so keep at it until you’re satisfied.” However, as she’d repeated the tests incessantly, he’d had a slight change of heart. “I’m starting to feel sorry for that blue slime stuck on there,” he’d sometimes joked.

Nonetheless, Dahlia had grown up watching her father thoroughly test the durability of all his inventions. It was he who’d taught her the importance of it.

“So, I thought we could submit whichever of these prototypes you approve of to the guild,” Fermo said.

“I approve of them all. If you could draw up the specification documents for each of them, I’d be much obliged. I have a man called Ivano on my staff—I’m sure he’ll be able to sort it all out for us.”

“There’re a lot of them. You’re sure we can leave it all to him? Wouldn’t want to overwork the fella.”

“Well, he did give me free rein to create everything I wanted...but if it’s too much, I’m sure he’ll tell me.”

For the moment, the red-haired woman’s carefree smile assuaged Fermo’s concerns. This man she called Ivano was obviously a master of his profession.

If only Ivano had had a seat at that table, he’d have just about turned to stone by now.

“One thing I would say for all of them is that they’re prone to leakage where the upper parts join the vessel. All it needs is some kraken tape. Want me to send them over to a magical toolmaker’s for that?”

“Yes, please. I actually brought some kraken tape with me, so I’ll try applying it right now.”

Kraken tape had the appearance of a thick white bandage. However, once magic was applied to it, it quickly turned translucent, took on a pliant, rubbery texture, and became sticky. It was frequently used as a sealant and for preventing slippage.

“I’d do it myself if I could, but my magic’s only grade two, you see,” Fermo told her.

“You can use kraken tape at grade two.”

In this world, people’s magical power was generally measured on a fifteen-grade scale, with grade one being the weakest and fifteen the highest. Most commoners possessed a grade of one to five. Power was measured by a special magical crystal that detected a person’s magical potency when touched. These assessments were conducted at school entrance exams and other such events. However, this method didn’t work for people like Volf, who couldn’t express any magic externally at all. Their power could only be measured by dropping a small amount of their blood onto a different type of crystal. There were also some, such as those of royal lineage or the most high-ranking nobles, whose power was too great and would actually damage the measuring crystal.

The last time Dahlia had had her power measured, it had been grade eight. Her father’s had been grade twelve. Dahlia’s power was ample for a magical toolmaker, but not quite sufficient for a mage. She was simultaneously in awe of and completely unsurprised by her father’s result.

“Hm? I thought you had to be grade five to handle magical toolmaking materials,” Fermo replied dubiously.

“That’s just what they tell you when you want to study it in school. You can definitely handle kraken tape at grade two. In fact, I’ve heard that people at grade fifteen or close to it find it trickier to work with than people at lower grades. It tends to cling all over their hands once they apply their magic to it. I remember seeing the more powerful students struggling to use it in my magical toolmaking classes.”

“Huh. You don’t say.”

Taking the high school magical toolmaking exam required power of grade five or above. That must have been why Fermo had always believed he couldn’t use magical materials. The reason the bar was set at five was because that was the level of power needed to use the equipment in the magical toolmaking classes. However, for a simple material like kraken tape, grade two was perfectly adequate. It would be a little time-consuming, but their pace wouldn’t be far behind that of someone more powerful working carefully.

“Would you like to try it, Mr. Fermo?” Dahlia inquired, though the fire in the man’s eyes had already answered her question.

“You betcha!”

Fermo sat down beside her at the table and picked up the lid parts of the soap dispenser’s pump.

“Um, are you familiar with the enchanting technique?”

“Yeah, more or less. You use your index finger on your dominant hand, right? Like when you use a magical tool for the first time?”

“That’s it. You want to focus on letting the warmth in your fingertip flow into the tape. Hover your finger just over the surface. You’ll see the color gradually change from white to translucent. Then you can start slowly wrapping it round.”

“Whoa, it’s turning into putty!”

The softened kraken tape beneath the man’s fingertip was twisting and curling like dried squid on the grill. He was obviously expressing his magical power too erratically. It took practice to make it flow in a steady, constant stream.

“Don’t try to force it. Take steady breaths as you go. If it starts curling like that, just pull back slightly, like this, and move to a different spot.”

“Oh, now it’s going straight... Hm? Hold on. It’s not setting.”

“Your magic’s weakening. Bring your finger closer and concentrate.”

“Right, concentrating...concentrating...” Fermo mumbled to himself as he focused intently, slowly drawing the kraken tape around in a circle. “All right! It stuck!”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he picked up a second piece of tape. He was getting the hang of it far faster than Dahlia had anticipated. Pleasantly surprised, she watched over his subsequent attempts, offering advice where necessary.

“I did it. I actually used kraken tape. Shame about all those lumps and bumps, though.”

“This is fantastic work after only handling four pieces. You should be proud.”

On his fourth attempt, Fermo had managed to wrap the kraken tape completely around the soap bottle’s lid without letting his magic falter or letting the tape ball up. The result was well beyond what one would expect from someone performing their first enchantment. No doubt his long years of experience crafting small, delicate objects had played a part.

“How long do you reckon before I can stick it without any lumps or wrinkles?”

“At this rate, I’d say you’ll be producing salable results after another hundred or so tries.”

“I’m a tad short of breath... Is this magic exhaustion? I’ve only used four pieces.”

“If you do four pieces every day, then it’ll only take you twenty-five days to be able to use it properly. You can also gradually boost your magical power by draining it on a daily basis. You’ll be able to handle enchanting the prototypes in no time,” Dahlia said cheerfully.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Fermo let out a shallow sigh.

“It’s exciting having this range of prototypes to play with, but this is going to be tough. Wish I’d started this when I was a little younger, y’know?”

His gaze was somewhat wistful as he sat still clutching a piece of kraken tape in his hand.

“But you will do it, won’t you, Mr. Fermo?” Dahlia asked earnestly.

The man’s green eyes narrowed slightly, and he nodded with a smile.

“Course I will. I’m a craftsman, aren’t I?”

“Oh, that reminds me. I apologize for not getting this to you earlier. Here—please consider this a greeting from the Rossetti Trading Company.”

Dahlia placed a bundle on the table, opening it to reveal one of her compact magical stoves. When trading companies first struck a deal with a new supplier, it was traditional to present the supplier with a gift of one of the company’s products—so Dahlia had heard from Ivano. Thus, she’d brought along a stove. She’d gotten so engrossed in talking to Fermo and teaching him how to use the kraken tape that she’d almost forgotten all about the gift.

“This is magical, I take it?”

“Indeed. It’s a compact version of the magical stove. Simply place a pot on top, and you can enjoy cooking at the dining table or outdoors. I’ve included several recipes for dishes like grilled meat and a kind of cheese stew. I’d be delighted if you’d give it a try.”

“I’ll be glad to. Thank you. Is this one of your creations too?”

“Yes, but I can’t claim too much credit. I didn’t invent the magical stove per se; I only made it smaller.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, now. Getting a stove this small can’t have been a walk in the park.”

“As a matter of fact, I’d like to make a version even smaller and lighter than this one, but it’s proving rather tricky.”

Fermo inspected the stove from every angle, even turning it upside-down. He gave the body a light tap with the back of his finger before removing the compartment housing the magic crystal.

“It seems plenty small to me. What kind of reduction are we talking about?”

“Ideally, I’d like to make it about a third smaller and no heavier than a wineskin.”

“I don’t know whether they’ll apply to magical tools, but I’ve got books on weight-reduction techniques for small goods. Reckon they’d help?”

“I’d imagine so. Do you think I might be able to borrow them?”

“You can have them. I’ve got extra copies.”

Fermo got up and went over to the shelves, retrieving two books from the lowest one. They were guides to reducing the weight of objects made of metal and glass. Once he’d handed them to Dahlia, he once again picked up the stove and peered at the underside.

“Even with magic, I guess you can’t just shrink things as you please.”

“Indeed. It makes crafting parts easier, but no, there’s no magic that can make things shrink or expand, and every piece has to be created individually.”

Although magic abounded in this world she’d been reborn into, the lack of spells that could make objects greater or smaller in size, or replicate them, left Dahlia feeling ever so slightly cheated. She imagined every artisan had dreamed of such magic at least once in their life.

“Where did you learn to design housings, Miss Dahlia?”

“I learned in high school and from my father.”

“Your father... He was the man who invented the hot water dispensers, er...”

“Carlo Rossetti, yes. He passed away a year ago, sadly.”

“Oh, I see.” Fermo carefully set the stove down on the table before turning his deep-green eyes on Dahlia. “His daughter founded her own company and supports herself through her own hard work. I’m sure he’s resting easy.”

“I’ve still got a long way to go. If Father were to watch me at work, he’d still be fussing over my every move.”

“That’s just how it goes. The more you expect from an apprentice, the more you end up nagging them.”

Fermo’s smile was tinged with bitterness, as though he were reflecting on personal experience. Just as that smile faded, there was a knock from the door at the back of the room.

“Pardon me,” called the voice behind the door. “Forgive my husband’s manners, not even offering you a cup of tea...”

“Barbara, you should be in bed. I’ll take care of that, so you go take it easy.”

Bearing a tray laden with cups of tea, a woman with mauve hair entered the room. She was dressed in dark-gray work clothes like Fermo, but her movements were noticeably stiff and awkward. Her eyebrows drew together with every change in her posture, but she was trying her best to conceal her discomfort with a smile. It was difficult to watch. It seemed almost as though she was bearing a wound.

“Oh, sorry, Miss Dahlia. This is my wife. We run this workshop together.”

“I am Barbara Gandolfi. We are honored by your visit today, Chairwoman Rossetti.”

“I am Dahlia Rossetti. I’m very grateful for your cooperation. I believe we’ll be working together closely from now on, so please, call me Dahlia.”

“Very well. In that case, you must call me Barbara.”

Dahlia was already on a first-name basis with Fermo, after all, and both he and his wife would be involved in their future work, so it was best that they all be on an equal footing. To Dahlia, it only seemed like common sense, but she couldn’t help noticing how pleased Barbara looked.

“Here you are.”

The woman held the cup of tea carefully in both hands as she took it from the tray, but the moment she set it down on the table in front of Dahlia, her face contorted in pain.

“M-Mrs. Barbara, are you all right?”

“Yes, it’s nothing. I had a case of redneedle last year, you see. I was treated at the temple, but a little pain still lingers.”

Redneedle was a disease characterized by red spots and small blisters that formed in bands around the body. As far as Dahlia could tell, it was this world’s equivalent of shingles, which her mother in her previous life had suffered with. It wasn’t uncommon in this world; one of her father’s friends had had it too.

Dahlia had an inkling as to the cause of Barbara’s lingering pain. It was almost certainly what her mother had also suffered with—postherpetic neuralgia. This condition occurred as a result of nerve damage caused by a shingles infection. There were limits to the powers of the curative magic in this world. As a general rule, illnesses had to be treated at the temple within seven days of their appearance, otherwise they would become too firmly rooted and magic would be ineffective. Barbara, Dahlia could only assume, had not made it to the temple for treatment within that seven-day window.

“Don’t overdo it, now,” Fermo said. “Go and rest.”

“I’m all right. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Barbara’s forced smile did nothing to mask her suffering. It was clear that she’d become used to simply enduring it.

Dahlia found herself painfully reminded of her mother. Shortly before Dahlia had died in her past life, she’d received a letter from her mother saying, “Don’t forget to come visit us sometimes.” “I’ll come home for Obon,” she’d replied in an email. She’d been so swamped with overtime that she never even called. It had never occurred to her that she might leave that world before her parents. She was never able to properly thank them for raising her. After she’d found a job, the best she’d managed were some paltry gifts—something to drink on Father’s Day and some sweets on Mother’s Day. Then she’d passed away. Few could boast at having failed in their duty to their parents quite so spectacularly.

What Dahlia was about to do didn’t come from a place of pure kindness. It was nothing more than an effort to soothe her aching conscience, she told herself, as she unclasped the unicorn pendant around her neck.

“Um, Mrs. Barbara, would you hold this for a moment? If you don’t mind that I’ve been wearing it, that is.”

Dahlia held out the pendant to the other woman. She had crafted this pendant of pure-white unicorn horn, its surface delicately carved into the form of a rose, only a few days ago. The properties of unicorn horn included pain relief.

“It won’t stop it completely, but it may help a little to relieve your pain.”

“But this looks so valuable...”

Seeing Barbara’s hesitance, Dahlia took a step closer to her and pressed the pendant into her hand. She felt the gentle, wavering warmth of flowing magic, though whether it was Barbara’s or her own, she couldn’t be sure. The pendant glittered brightly as it responded.

“My goodness... It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Relieved, Dahlia released the astounded woman’s hand.

“Hang it around your neck so it’s in direct contact with your skin. I believe the pain will return quickly otherwise. You might want to tie it around your hand instead. It won’t be affected by water or sweat. If it gets dirty, you need only wipe it with a soft cloth.”

“But—”

“If it’s all right with you, Miss Dahlia, we’d be real grateful if we could borrow it for a little while,” Fermo cut in. “But wait, are you sure you don’t need it yourself? Are you in pain anywhere?”

“No, not in the slightest. This pendant is only a prototype; I’m not sure how long its effects will last. I’m more than happy to give it to you; all I ask is that you test it for me.”

“What did you make this from?” he asked.

“It’s...unicorn horn.”

“Gods above... You’re too kind, Miss Dahlia—much too kind. I can’t pay you back right away, but I will, in installments. You have my word.”

Fermo bowed deeply. He was obviously aware of how rare and precious a material unicorn horn was.

“No, honestly, I don’t need any payment. Um, what I’m really interested in is how long its effects last. Please let me know if it stops working.”

Her magical toolmaking books had made no mention of how long unicorn horn would remain effective for pain relief. If that property did dwindle after a certain amount of time, she would need to craft replacements.

“That’s hardly a fair trade. Unicorn horn doesn’t come cheap.”

“Erm, well then... Perhaps I could ask you to teach me about product design. I’d be very grateful for your guidance when I’m developing new inventions. Lots of elements in magical tools require detailed designs, after all.”

“Sure thing. I’ll teach you everything I know. And what I don’t know, I’ll find out for you. Let me know if you need to subcontract out any jobs that someone with weak magic like me can handle. Physical work and odd jobs are fine too.”

“That’s very kind of you. I promise to get in touch if anything comes up.”

She knew that Fermo wouldn’t be satisfied if she tried to refuse his offer. That was why she’d made it a promise. Barbara had been silent all the while—perhaps in awe of the pendant’s effect—but at last, she spoke.

“Miss Dahlia, I cannot thank you enough for your thoughtfulness. But you know, women get a lot of aches and pains as they grow older. Your mother might need this one day. I really think you ought to keep it.”

“There’s no need to worry. I don’t have a mother.”

“Oh, please forgive me. How sad for her to have passed so young. You must miss her.”

“No, I can’t say I... I never knew my mother, so, um...”

Her memories of her mother from her past life, and her feelings toward the mother she’d never known in this one, clashed within Dahlia’s head, leaving her at a loss. Her only recollection of her mother from her past life was a hazy, indistinct face and the sound of her voice. The memories were so dim and distant now that Dahlia couldn’t truly say she missed her. But, of course, she couldn’t explain this to the couple in front of her. She couldn’t even think of a way to evade the topic. Noticing her distress, Barbara’s expression became apologetic.

“I’m awfully sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. But this pendant must be worth a great deal of money. I’m just not sure the likes of me ought to have such a thing.”

“Mrs. Barbara, nothing makes me happier than seeing my magical tools go to people who truly need them. Please accept it. I insist.”

There wasn’t one iota of falsehood in those words. Right now, Barbara needed that pendant far more than she did. Besides, it made Dahlia happy to see the people she worked with smiling cheerfully. From here on out, she’d be relying on the Gandolfi Workshop to manufacture her products. One pendant was a small price to pay for a boost in morale and efficiency, the benefits of which would come back to her anyway.

“A-Anyway, this is all self-interest on my part! I want Mr. Fermo to do his very best work for me, so I thought I’d just fire him up a bit with this.”

“Yeah, I’m fired up all right. To say it plain, it feels like you’ve put a fire crystal in my chest.”

“M-Mr. Fermo?!” Dahlia exclaimed shrilly.

In this kingdom, the phrase “You’ve put a fire crystal in my chest” couldn’t always be taken at face value. In fact, it was frequently used as an expression of ardent desire. The words had barely left Fermo’s lips when a noise like a cracking whip split the air.

---

---

It was the sound of Barbara’s palm striking the side of her husband’s head with considerable force.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, Miss Dahlia. He just opens his mouth without engaging his brain...”

While Barbara smiled sweetly, Fermo groaned as he pressed a hand to his head. Dahlia’s carriage couldn’t arrive soon enough.

The conversation soon returned to the topic of work, carrying on as though nothing untoward had happened. Not long after, a carriage arrived outside the workshop to collect Dahlia. Watching it draw away, Fermo patted the ache beneath his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Still smarts... You haven’t smacked me like that in a while.”

“You shouldn’t say such foolish things to that poor girl.” While her words were harsh, Barbara’s lips were curved into a pleasant smile.

“Ah, y’know, it just slipped out. I wish I’d met her when I was younger.”

“You still haven’t learned? Am I to take this as a declaration of war?”

“Hey, hey! Put that hand down. I didn’t mean it like that. I just can’t help thinking that if I’d had a craftswoman like her working alongside me when I was young, I could’ve gone much further.”

“What are you talking about? You’re still young. And now that I can move again, we’re free to pursue whatever goals we choose,” Barbara said blithely, placing the empty teacups on the tray.

Looking at her brisk gestures, one would never even know she’d been sick. Fermo grinned as he watched her.

“Well, you’ve sure perked up.”

“Of course I have. I can move. Oh, how I wish we’d had a sweet little daughter like Dahlia. Those boys of ours are such rascals. Now, you must tell me—how much would this unicorn pendant cost? I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

“Well, I saw a piece of horn like that at another workshop once, attached to a bracelet. That was three gold. This one’s been magically carved with that flower design, so it’d probably be a little more than that.”

“We’ll have to buckle down and repay her as soon as we can.”

“Yeah, we’ve got to—with interest. Can’t tarnish the family’s good name.”

As Fermo thought back to the day his father had handed the workshop down to him, his finger traced a scratch in the old workbench’s surface. Just next to it was a fresh one made by one of his apprentices. The surface, bright and pale when it was new, had now turned caramel-colored with age, but it would still be good for years to come. Tonight, upon this very workbench, Fermo would draft the specification documents and blueprints for each model of the foaming soap dispenser. He was determined to finish them all, even if it took all night.

“My magic’s grade two. Do you suppose I could use the kraken tape as well?”

Barbara was staring at the kraken tape with just the same fire Fermo had earlier.

“Let’s give it a shot. I’ll show you how it’s done. Once the young’uns get back from their delivery, we’ll teach them too. Pretty sure they’re at grades three and four, so they should manage more than I can.”

Nothing gave a craftsperson more joy than discovering a new way to use their hands. Fermo couldn’t wait to tell the apprentices about the kraken tape—as well as about Barbara’s recovery and Dahlia’s visit. Smiling in anticipation of their return, he handed the kraken tape to his wife.