Chapter 2 — A Steam Workshop in Van Dyke Brown

1

“This is awful.”

Those were the first words out of my mouth when I laid eyes on the chaotic mess.

“How did you let it get this bad?”

The man lifted an eyebrow. Then, apparently deciding that wasn’t enough, he gave a snort before answering.

“I’m a mechanic. I ain’t no chef, maid, or housewife. Kitchen’s got nowt to do with me.”

“You should at least put away the plates you’ve used.”

“Right, I’ve been usin’ scraps of wood instead. I just chuck ’em when I’m done.”

“What do you usually eat?” I asked hesitantly.

“Whatever, so long as it’s edible.”

With that, he left the room, leaving me behind.

Hands on my hips, I looked over what I had to work with. It was a kitchen—or, more accurately, it had been a kitchen once upon a time. I could make out hints of a sink, stove, and general work area, but with the dirty crockery and empty cans piled all over them, along with sheets of some kind of metal, they were practically unusable. I’d offered to make lunch, but I suddenly found myself regretting it.

Heaving a sigh, I surveyed the room again and caught sight of a sturdy door. Tugging it open released a chill breeze into the room, and I’d cheered up before I even knew it. The place must have had its own generator; it had been quite a long time since I’d seen a fridge actually running.

The cold air rushing over my face made my skin tingle. The fridge’s interior was about the size of a small room, and shelves lined both the walls and the walkways. Neatly arranged ingredients sat on top of every shelf. It did feel somewhat bland, but the phrase “a lifetime’s supply” struck me as perfectly valid given how much there was.

I noticed a small lever on the right as I entered. Lifting it lit several lights in the ceiling, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow. Time to look over the shelves. There were huge jars of pickled vegetables—they’d take both arms to carry—piles of cans, bags of corn, and dried olives, along with wooden crates the contents of which were impossible to tell just by looking.

When I got farther in, I found another door. It took lifting a leather-wrapped lever to open it, and what I saw on the other side took my breath away.

“No way...” I managed, bringing my hand up over my mouth.

Is this... Is this even possible?

I couldn’t believe it.

“It’s meat! So much meat...!”

This area was the freezer. Cut-up joints of meat were crammed inside. For someone who hadn’t had anything but canned food for months, it was a gloriously vivid sight. I swallowed. Now that I’d seen it, a temptation that had thus far been hidden welled up inside of me: a craving for meat.

I let the freezer door swing closed. An urge to sprint out rushed over me, but I kept it under control and walked through a corridor out of the kitchen, going right out of the house.

A large warehouse greeted me as I stepped out. It was made up of a towering frame of light-brown metal, with a huge crane and chains hanging down here and there. Several steam-powered vehicles littered the ground floor, and the doors to the warehouse looked like they belonged in a hangar bay. Those doors had been left open, giving me a clear view of the scenery outside. When he’d brought us here, the mechanic had called this his workshop: a steam workshop.

That wasn’t important right at the moment though. I just ran up to the man, calling for him. He had been peering under the hood of the Kettle, but looked at me with a resigned expression.

“What? I’m busy.”

“You know the stuff in the freezer? The meat?”

“What about the meat?”

“C-Can I use it?”

The man frowned at me.

“Do what you like. Keep out of my hair with that crap,” he said, shooing me off as he got back to work.

Harsh as he may have been, it didn’t bother me at all. After all, I had permission now. Meat’s back on the menu! I thought with a fist pump as I turned on my heel to leave.

The first item on the agenda once I’d skipped back to the kitchen was—of course—cleaning up. I stuffed all the trash into sacks and washed the piles of dishes. When the drainer filled up, I’d dry whatever was there and put it all away, then get back to washing the rest. Fortunately, there was no detritus from cooking either in the sink or on the stove, and there wasn’t food or oil all over the floors and walls, so a basic cleaning had me ready to start cooking.

I put a thick wooden chopping board onto the work surface and picked up a knife. While its blade was worn from long use, someone had kept the knife fastidiously sharpened. It probably wasn’t the mechanic; the kitchen was nothing to do with him, after all.

Still holding the knife, I looked around again. Now that it was back to rights, without the dirty things in the way, the kitchen had faintly recovered some of its usual atmosphere. There was a tall, narrow window to one side, and a blue lace curtain hung across it. Since I’d opened it, the window let in a breeze which made the curtain flutter and cast dappled shadows across the floor. Through the window, I could see the distant figure of the mechanic as he worked on the Kettle.

I turned back to look at the kitchen. A rack on the wall held little bottles of spices, each with a handwritten label on it. A vibrant tapestry hung to the side of the rack, and faded clippings were stuck to the wall.

A moment ago it had all been meaningless—just random objects you’d never give a second glance—but now I could see vestiges of something more.

There had obviously been someone that used the room: the man’s wife, his mother, or maybe even a daughter. It could have even been his father or son. Standing there as I was, I could understand whoever it had been, just a little. They had treated their knife well, labeled their spices to tell them apart, and made sure everything in the fridge had its place. They’d liked the color blue, and they had cooked each day while watching the mechanic work.

I put the knife down on the chopping board and left the kitchen. As I got closer to the Kettle, the man frowned at me again.

“What now?” he demanded.

“Sorry, I just need to get some tools to cook with.”

“Huh? There’s stuff in the kitchen.”

“Familiar ones work best,” I told him.

The man looked at the tool in his own hand and nodded.

“You ain’t wrong there.”

It wasn’t intentional, but I suppose I’d managed to build a little understanding between us.

The cooking utensils were in a box on the back seat, and once I’d retrieved it I shouldered my backpack. I made sure not to forget the groundsheet either. I moved back to the front of the house and deposited my load, spreading the sheet out and sitting down cross-legged as I started to riffle through my things.

I was more at ease doing it like this. I’d just rely on him for the ingredients, and deal with the rest myself.

2

Location might well be important for drawing, but there must have been somewhere else she could have chosen.

Nito had vanished at some point after we’d first arrived. I finally found her by looking up. A staircase ran along the wall of the workshop, and she was pretty much at the top of it, her easel resting on a small landing as she painted.

It’s way too scary to climb up there. Don’t make me.

I yelled to get her attention. Then I did so a second time, and then a third before she finally seemed to notice me. It was hard to be sure; she was so high up I couldn’t make out her expression, after all. I called up that the food was done, and she nodded. At least...she probably did.

When I went to tell the mechanic, the Kettle was in an awful state. Chains and pipes protruded from it, and he had the engine hoisted out from under the hood with the crane. Parts were lined up around the area. I started to worry whether it would ever run again.

No way. I shook my head. It’ll be fine. He’s a pro. It’ll be as good as new before long.

“Huh? Food? Leave it there. I’ll eat sooner or later,” he said indifferently when I told him.

Apparently he either wasn’t fussy about eating, or prioritized his work. Or both, maybe. I couldn’t force it, so I headed back to the house and sat down waiting on the sheet I’d laid out. Eventually, Nito arrived.

“Did you finish your picture?” I asked her.

“Not yet. It’s drying.”

“Drying?”

“It’s a watercolor.”

Watercolors must need a drying step, then. I was pretty sure I’d used them in elementary school, but I didn’t really remember too well.

Despite me tapping the sheet—or in other words, suggesting she sit next to me—Nito shook her head. She crouched in front and slightly to the side of me instead.

“Whoa,” Nito marveled, her eyes going wide as she saw the mound of baguette sandwiches on the plate.

“He said I could do what I liked with the ingredients,” I told her.

“I’ll...thank him later,” she replied before taking one of the sandwiches.

An expression like a spy contemplating an impossible assignment settled on her face as she studied it. Suddenly, her eyes went wide and she frantically looked toward me. She must have noticed what was in the sandwiches.

“That’s right: meat,” I said, a grin on my face.

“I-It’s red.”

“This isn’t canned meat, it’s proper, real meat.”

“I-It’s so thick.”

“I cut it into steaks and fried it.”

“And the bread...?!”

“This is the king of sandwiches... It’s a bit wasteful though, and it’s the first time I’ve made one. People call them steak sandwiches.”

The steaks were thick enough to poke out from the bread, and it was extravagant enough that you almost wondered if the bread was even necessary.

She gulped as she looked at the sandwich. Juices, still tinged slightly red, dripped from the bread. She took a bite with a slight murmur of thanks.

“Mm... Mmh? Mmm?!”

It was the first time I’d heard simple “mmm” noises used three times in a row like that; she was honestly pretty expressive with them. As her cheeks bulged, her expression twisted gradually into a smile bigger than any I’d ever seen before.

“Mmmmh!” She struggled to swallow before finally letting out a faint sigh of satisfaction. “I never knew meat that wasn’t in a can tasted like this... It’s a shock.”

“Meat, you see, is a serious matter,” I told her with a nod.

“A serious matter,” she said, nodding back.

Neither of us knew what was serious about it as we sat and nodded to each other. We were just putting our feelings into words.

“What’s this bittersweet sauce?” she asked.

“I added pickled onions to the juices along with some red wine and butter.”

“Are you a genius?”

“It’s nothing special.”

Each time Nito took a bite, a smile lit up her face, and she really savored the meal. I ate too, of course, and it tasted good to be sure, but looking at Nito’s expression made me think that hers might be even tastier. That seemed impossible though.

“You might be a genius...” I told her.

“At what?”

If ever enjoying food had an art to it, she was a genius at that art. Once she’d filled her small frame with the sandwich, she rubbed her stomach in satisfaction. Her soft expression from a few moments ago had vanished, and she looked completely composed. I’d just need to give her more tasty food if I wanted to see that look again.

Suddenly I remembered the mechanic. Looking toward him, it seemed like he wasn’t going to be over here any time soon. He was still working and wiping the sweat from his brow. I picked up the plate and took it over to him.

“It’s lunchtime,” I told him.

“Sure, leave it there, Ladi. I’ll eat once I’ve cleaned up.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the man scowled and clicked his tongue in irritation.

“My bad,” he said after a moment. “Forget about it.”

I put the plate down on a nearby bit of free space.

“That reminds me. I haven’t introduced myself yet, have I? I’m Keisuke, and the girl over there is Nito. It might be a bit late to say so, but thank you for saving us.”

“I ain’t saved nothing. This is my job.”

“Um, can I ask your name?”

The mechanic cast a dubious look at me.

“It’s written up over there,” he told me with a vague gesture in that direction.

“I can’t read it. I’m not from this world.”

“Oh, so you’re a lost one, are ya?”

“That’s another term for it?” I asked.

“Well, you’re lost, ain’t you?”

At length, I agreed. “You can say that again.”

I was reluctant to accept the implication that I was a lost child, but realistically it was pretty on the mark, so I could only grimace. I didn’t even know the route home, let alone how to travel it.

“Tough break. Can’t imagine this empty place is much fun. Used to be packed like a scrap heap before.”

The screech of something metallic breaking pierced the air.

“Um... Can you fix it?”

“‘Can you fix it,’ he asks,” the man grumbled, turning to me. “’Course I can, it’s my job. But it’s gonna be a mess if I ain’t got the parts, so that’s what I’m checking. Get your money ready though. It’s gonna be dear.”

“Money?”

“Ya didn’t think I was doing this for my health, did you?”

It was just the way of the world that you paid for things you got from people, and I was honestly surprised at myself for forgetting that.

“No, I know the deal,” I assured him.

“Fine then.”

This world had dulled my mind quite a bit. I hadn’t used money in a long while, after all. The mechanic returned to his work, and I put my mind to thinking about payment as I turned around.

“Vandyke.”

“Eh?” I asked, turning back again. He wasn’t even looking at me.

“That’s my name.”

He’d apparently remembered my question from earlier, and despite the brusqueness of his response, it had a hint of softness to it that brought a smile to my face.

“I’ll look forward to your repairs, Vandyke.”

“Sure.”

That exchange made me sure things would be all right if I left them to him.

3

I wonder what people did with themselves before there was real electricity. There was way too much free time and nothing to fill it with.

Personally, I was lounging in front of the house looking at my phone. I’d started a game, but it wouldn’t go past the title screen, obviously. Having a smartphone was all well and good, but it wasn’t particularly “smart” without an internet connection. I tossed it on top of my backpack and took my watch off as well before lying down on the sheet.

Nito was still on top of the stairs painting, and Vandyke was busy fixing the vehicles. I was the only one lazing around like a panda in a zoo. Though visitors always adore pandas, so even they were probably worth more than me...

My wandering consciousness suddenly jerked back to full alertness to see that the evening light had started to tinge the sky outside of the workshop a faint red. I must have dozed off.

Right, I should get started on dinner, I thought.

There was a veritable mountain of ingredients waiting for me, along with wondrous chunks of meat. I even had permission to use it all however I liked. I could cook anything—anything at all. That was a real rarity in this world.

I didn’t have any confidence I could put any of it to good use though. Making sense of this world’s ingredients and seasonings was all a matter of taste testing. This was similar to that, and that was similar to this, and anything that just made me go “what the hell,” I left aside entirely.

I wasn’t a chef or anything, after all. My parents were hardly home, so I’d had to make my own meals, and now I could manage to do the bare minimum with what I’d learned back then. All I’d been doing was looking up recipes on my phone and then following the instructions, though, so I didn’t know what proper cooking was like. Mixing cans and adding a bit of seasoning was hardly cooking, and frying meat before putting it onto bread wasn’t much different.

“What to do for dinner...”

Actually, how did I even end up as the cook? I considered it briefly: Nito...didn’t seem like she could cook, and Vandyke...didn’t care much about food. Argh, if I don’t do it, we’re not getting a proper meal.

With no alternative, I pushed myself upright and then gradually got to my feet. There was nothing else for me to do, so I’d cook.

The first step was entering the fridge and surveying my ingredients. This was a good chance for me, so I took the opportunity to taste test some things like the pickled olives and some dried red fruit. The shelves were pretty packed, so checking each item took a fair while in the end.

Once I’d gathered my ingredients, I stepped outside again and found Nito crouched in front of my backpack with her pencil moving across her sketchbook. I guessed she was doing a still-life of my phone and watch. When she noticed my return, she frantically flipped the book shut.

“I don’t mind,” I told her.

“No, I’m fine. Sorry.”

Once I’d laid out my spoils on the sheet, her eyes went round in shock.

“Wow, there’s so much,” she said in wonder.

“There’s plenty more where that came from. It’s a treasure trove.”

“Are you really allowed to use it? You’re not just stealing it?”

“Do I look that untrustworthy?”

I sat down on the edge of the sheet and took out a small camping chopping board and a knife. Nito looked fixedly at my hands as I chopped the ingredients.

“Why not use the kitchen?” she asked.

“Ahh, you see, I couldn’t use it.”

“Did he say not to?”

“Nope, he actually said to do whatever I liked.”

She tilted her head quizzically, her silver hair falling over her shoulder and catching the light from the setting sun. I watched it shift through a kaleidoscope of colors for a moment, then scratched at my cheek before finishing my thought.

“I can tell that whoever it belonged to, they used it lovingly. I couldn’t step in there and just take over.”

She looked blankly back at me.

“But...”

She didn’t need to say any more for me to understand what she was thinking: But they aren’t here anymore.

“The memories are still there though, right? If I used it, then it’d weaken them, and I don’t want that. I can’t really word it well, but I’d feel guilty.”

I trailed off, looking down at my work. It was hard to put into words. Vandyke had said I could use it, so there should have been no problem. It might just have been my own sentimentality making me see the traces of a family there. Either way, I had a clear sense that I shouldn’t be standing in that kitchen.

Then again, I was pretty sure she thought I was just rambling. Hell, I pretty much thought that myself.

“That’s a wonderful way of thinking,” she told me.

When I looked up, Nito was watching me with a mature expression on her face. Her deep-blue eyes shone with a soft light and I couldn’t hold her gaze, so I dropped my eyes back to the food in embarrassment.

“What are you making?” she asked after a while, steadily watching my hands.

“Meat-stuffed peppers.”

“Pep...purs...? What are those?” she asked. “Hang on, don’t just grin, tell me. Helloooo, anyone there?”

4

After I’d chopped the vegetables, I pounded the meat and minced it, before stuffing half of the mixture into something that looked like green peppers. I’d found a sweet and salty sauce, so I added some sugar and wine to bring out the flavor and cooked the meat-stuffed peppers in it. That was pretty much all I did. The only extra preparations were mixing onions with the rest of the minced meat, which I then shaped into dumplings to have in a soup, along with thawing some vegetables for a salad. The staple of the meal ended up being grilled bread.

The full spread was a banquet unlike anything else we’d had in our canned-food lifestyle thus far. Nito was silent, a shocked expression on her face, as she took a bite of the meat-stuffed peppers. She didn’t even blink, her entire being dedicated to chewing. Once she’d swallowed the mouthful she looked at me.

“I want to paint a picture.”

“Uh, what on Earth?” I asked.

After all, what was the connection she was seeing between eating and painting a picture? I didn’t have a clue, at least.

“I want to put this tastiness into a picture, so I never forget it.”

“That’s a bit over the top, isn’t it? I appreciate it though.”

Nito dithered, her body swaying. You could see the conflict in her. She wanted to paint, but she wanted to eat, but she still wanted to paint.

“It’ll go cold,” I warned her.

Her face crumpled into a frown as she gasped. The severe expression made it obvious that was something she couldn’t allow to happen, and she promptly set about eating again. It was the first time I’d ever seen someone eating with such a fierce look on their face. She drank the soup and took a tiny bite from the meat dumpling. Her eyes drifted closed as she swayed from side to side. Guess she liked it.

The sun had already set, but lights hanging from the workshop’s ceiling lit its interior. They didn’t reach all the way to the edges, and the shadows around the various steam vehicles made for a mysterious ambiance. The various wrecks sitting in shadow and the stairs climbing into the darkness made it feel like we were eating in some secret base.

I was sitting on the sheet and Nito was crouching as usual. Vandyke had let himself drop to sit on the floor and was wordlessly eating. I’d put out a bigger portion for him, but it was gone in no time.

“Um, did you not like it?” I asked hesitantly, seeing that his expression hadn’t changed in the slightest.

“Huh?”

It was only then that he seemed to realize he was eating and looked down at the stuffed pepper on his fork.

“’S fine. It ain’t bad at least.”

“It’s delicious,” Nito interjected sharply.

I looked at her in surprise; she had her lips pursed as she glared at Vandyke. As we both turned our eyes on her, Nito’s pale cheeks flushed red, and she swung her own gaze away to look at the floor. Vandyke let out a belly laugh.

“Right, glad you like it, little miss. I don’t care much about food. Never have. Couldn’t tell ya if it was good or bad, so I got yelled at a fair bit. Always ‘what was the point?!’”

Vandyke gave a “my bad” or two as he brought another bite up to his mouth. Nito just mumbled an “it’s fine.”

She didn’t deal well with him. I’d have bet that it was because she’d never dealt with anyone like him before and didn’t know how to. I had to admit that I was touched she’d actively spoken up against someone she was so uneasy around to defend my cooking. When her eyes met mine, she glared at me, her cheeks still red. This time, at least, I knew for sure it was her hiding her embarrassment.

Vandyke was the first to finish and had completely cleared his plate, making me smile in satisfaction. I was the next to finish, and then Nito hurriedly stuffed one huge last bite into her mouth and chewed like mad.

I poured water boiled on the Svea into a pot I’d placed tea leaves inside. The pot—porcelain, with leaf patterns painted onto it—along with the tea leaves and all of the crockery, was something I’d borrowed from Vandyke’s kitchen. The tea brewed for several minutes with the lid on, and then I poured it out into three cups. It was a dark brown in the cups; without drinking it I had no idea if it was black tea or oolong or what.

I offered a cup to Vandyke and he looked softly at it before taking it with one hand. I doubted that Nito had such thick skin, so I put hers on the floor in front of her. Once she’d finally finished her last bite, she reached out with both hands before pulling them back like a shocked hamster. It must have still been too hot for her, and she just glared warily at the cup.

I blew over my cup, enjoying the view, before taking a careful sip. The tea was hot enough to make me screw my face up, but the flavor was fresh and invigorating as it spread over my tongue. There was a sweetness to it that reached all the way to my nose. It must have been some kind of herbal tea—perfect for after a meal.

After a while, Vandyke spoke.

“’Bout your cars.”

“Ah, right?”

Both of us put our cups down and sat up straight.

“Your auto-trike first, little miss. It’s done for, nothing I can do.”

“Wha?!” she managed, her eyes welling up.

“The fuel tank’s completely caked in mana stone ash. It hadn’t shifted for a while, had it? Also, you filled it with normal-grade mana stones, didn’t you, not fuel-grade?”

Nito’s eyes widened as she grasped what he was saying, then her gaze dropped and she bit her lip.

“Um, is there a difference?” I asked.

“They’re the same basic thing, just different qualities. The normal stuff’s got a bunch of crap added to it; fuel-grade’s pretty pure. Even the crud will heat the water in the boiler, but you can’t mix ’em. They’ve got different mana expansion rates and heat absorption coefficients. The pressure and temperature in the fuel tank’ll change all over the shop and you can get fluctuations of mana pressure in the fire pipes too.”

Right, so that was the problem.

At least, that’s what I wished I could have said. Nope, didn’t get a thing.

Vandyke’s lips twisted as he read my expression.

“Anyway, the fuel tank and the fire pipes in the boiler are both shot.”

“Can you change them?”

“I’d love to, but I ain’t got the parts,” he answered, folding his arms. “That auto-trike’s the newest model of compact steam vehicle. Production had only just started in the capital, even. Then the world ended up in this sorry state before they got this far. First time I’ve even seen one. Almost everything’s made to new standards, so I can’t even yank the stuff out of anything else.”

This time, I got the problem: because of how new the thing was, there were no replacement parts on the market. That’s pretty amazing. Nito hid her face behind her knees from where she was crouching with her arms around them, staring fixedly at the floor. I had no idea what to say to her.

“Lad, your car’s salvageable,” Vandyke said, regaining my attention. “It’s new too, but not new-spec. I can make do with the stuff from the wrecks ’round the place. But...”

He stroked his chin before continuing.

“I don’t have a replacement boiler or cylinders.”

“That’s all you don’t have?”

“The cylinders in it went up the swanny before, and whoever had it replaced the whole lot. They’re made to different standards than the boiler. They managed to marry ’em though. Pretty impressive.”

The proud expression on that person’s face when they’d given me the Kettle came to mind. They’d constantly messed with it, and I’d figured they were just playing mechanic, but apparently they were good enough to earn even Vandyke’s praise.

“I’d normally switch either the boiler or the cylinders, but they’re linked together all over the place. Switching either’ll need a bunch of parts and fine-tuning. It’d take effort, time, and money.”

“Urk.”

The word “money” weighed heavily on my chest; I really didn’t want to deal with that topic. There was a touch of hope in my eyes as I looked at him though.

“There’s another option, right? If that was the only choice, you’d have said so from the start.”

“It’s doable if we strip the little lady’s auto-trike for parts,” he said, prompting a short exclamation from Nito. “Fortunately the new-spec stuff’d fit perfect. The linkages we’d need are fine, and it’d get it on the road right off.”

Nito looked at me. Neither of us said anything, just silently stared at each other with worry in our eyes.

“You pair decide what you’re doing. Stay the night, whatever room you like’s fine,” Vandyke told us, before getting up and entering the house.

5

The workshop’s lights had gone out earlier, leaving only the slight illumination of the moonlight coming in through the window. Further inside the room it grew darker, and only mana-stone lanterns flickered on the walls. Vandyke probably wouldn’t mind us having the lights on, but I still felt slightly hesitant about it and had only lit those nearest to me.

As I dried the crockery lined up in the draining basket, my thoughts turned to the car. It was completely logical that repairing it would cost money. Considering the almost complete lack of people in this world, it was a miracle that I could even get it repaired at all. The issue was that I had essentially no money.

I wondered what Nito would do. He’d told her that the auto-trike was beyond repair, so I guessed she’d have to buy a new vehicle. There were plenty of wrecks around, and a whole mountain of parts, so Vandyke could probably pull something together.

As I stacked the dry crockery back onto the shelves my body blocked the light, forming a silhouette of me inside the cupboard, and by standing at that angle I noticed there was a notebook on the lowest shelf. Unable to resist my curiosity, I picked it up. It was slightly bigger than my hand and rather thick, with a rigid cover that felt like leather. As I flipped through it, I found letters, numbers, and splashes of color all arranged neatly on its pages.

“A recipe book?” I asked myself.

While the words were beyond my understanding, I could tell from the pictures that it was about food. Many of the dishes were meat-based, and a very few were fish-based. The odd page was dog-eared or had a line drawn through the name of the dish with scribbled notes in the margin. When I’d taken the steak sandwich to him at lunch, he’d called me Ladi. This notebook must have been theirs—somewhere they’d recorded recipes for Vandyke.

I spun on my heel, peering into the deep shadows the lanterns cast over the kitchen. Somehow I got the feeling that someone else I’d never seen before was standing in there with me. I closed the notebook and put it back on its shelf.

“Um...”

I turned in the direction of the voice to see Nito’s face peeking in from the shadowed hallway, her ashen hair drooping toward the floor.

“Yeah, what’s up?” I asked her.

I’d thought she was borrowing one of the rooms and sleeping. A glance at my watch showed that it was already past 9 p.m.

“I wondered what you were doing.”

“Just tidying up. Finished a minute ago.”

She came into the room with a murmur of understanding, stopping about as far away as she had the first time we’d met. Eventually, she resumed the conversation.

“What will you do? About the car.”

“That’s a good question. I was just thinking about that, actually.”

“And your conclusion...?”

I raised my shoulders in a shrug.

“I’ve got no money, so I guess I’ll ask if I can trade something for the repair.”

Although, with that said, the only things of real value I had were my watch, my phone, and the camping equipment stuffed in my backpack. All of them were important to me and things I was loath to part with, but needs must.

“What about you?” I asked in return.

She shook her head.

“He said he couldn’t fix it.”

“Not going to buy another car? There’s loads sitting around, so I bet he could get at least one of them running.”

A sharp gasp made its way past her lips at the suggestion. Apparently she hadn’t thought of that.

“Right, another car...”

“Looks like you’ll manage something then, Nito. That’s great.”

From her wording, I assumed she had some money, so she would probably be fine. She looked up at me and hesitantly began to speak.

“Where are you headed?” she asked.

“That’s a tough one,” I mused. Frankly, I’d love to know that myself.

It was less that there was somewhere I wanted to be, and more that I didn’t want to be there, that had always prompted me to shoulder my backpack and keep moving. Either way, that had nothing to do with her, and I knew she was asking about my future plans. That was why I forced myself to give her the reason I was traveling.

“I’m searching for someone. Hair and clothes all pitch black, and pretty big. Have you seen anyone like that?”

“No...”

The shake of her head was exactly what I’d expected, and nothing to get disheartened about.

“It’s all at random,” I continued. “I just head wherever, stop over if I find a town, and ask anyone I see if they know anything. That’s pretty much it.”

“A journey, then...” she said eventually.

“I guess so,” I agreed, though I thought it was probably more accurate to call me a stray that was just wandering around. “What about you?”

“I’m...” she began, “searching for a place. I want to go there, no matter what.”

“Is it far?”

“I don’t know. It probably isn’t close though.”

“That’s vague.”

“It is. I can’t even find it on maps.”

That sounds awful, but it must be something really important then. A girl of her age would never have ventured out into this broken world alone without some pretty strong conviction driving her.

It was here that the silence crept in from the night and settled between us. Nothing was going on that would naturally start the conversation up again, and we both just stood there. I could tell Nito was looking for words from how her gaze roved around the room. The lantern light flickered, changing the expression Nito’s shadow wore as it stretched across the floor.

“Would you...make a deal with me?”

“A deal?”

Her nerves were clear on her face. Her lips repeatedly tried to form words before she finally decided on what to say.

“The parts from my auto-trike will get your car fixed, won’t they? I would pay for the repair as well.”

“I’d love that, but I haven’t got anything to give you in return.”

“Help me with my search.”

“How? I don’t know anything about this world. Surely an atlas would be of more help.”

Nito shook her head and, after making a small noise of disagreement, carried on.

“It hasn’t been long since I set out. Still, I’ve had enough time to learn how difficult it is to live outside my home. I have the knowledge from my books, but that isn’t enough.”

I could remember the first night we’d known each other, and how she’d called that single can her meal. Such a diet definitely couldn’t last for long.

“The auto-trike is broken because I was wrong about the mana stones as well. For a normal steam vehicle, you need to keep lots of water on hand, and they’re harder to control... Honestly, I’m not sure I could drive one properly on my own.”

She paused, looked straight up at me, and then finished her suggestion.

“So it only needs to be until you find what you’re looking for, or until you pay back the money. Until then, teach me how to make a journey.”

Her voice cracked on the last few words, hitting a shrill note. She pursed her lips. Her shoulders were shaking slightly, and I couldn’t imagine just how much courage it had taken for her to ask that of me so soon after we’d met. That just showed how much she wanted to find that place, how hot her emotions ran. They were blindingly fierce.

I thought back to the past, although it really hadn’t been too long ago. When I’d come to this world, the man in black had saved me. He’d then left me with the Kettle’s owner, and after a while, I had asked them to teach me how to travel so I could search for the man, just as Nito had asked me to do now. Maybe I’d had the same look in my eyes back then: frantic, a goal in mind, and willing to face untold difficulties to achieve it.

How did they answer when I asked the same?

Right, I know.

“There is one condition.”

“R-Right!”

“I’m not just ‘you.’ It’s ‘Keisuke.’ If we’re going to be traveling together, you can at least call me by name, right?”

Nito’s strained expression eased and she let out a breath.

“I can. I’m counting on you, Keisuke.”

I didn’t think she’d go straight to that so easily. I thought she’d be more reserved, maybe even call me “mister”... Eh, guess it doesn’t matter. I’m borrowing money from her, after all.

“Yeah, same to you.”

I held my hand out, which Nito looked at and then hesitantly reached toward with her own. There was a slight chill to her skin as our hands gripped each other in an awkward handshake.

6

When we’d finished breakfast and relayed our discussion from the previous night to Vandyke, he just gave a nod as a brief acknowledgment.

“That’ll be less work. Should be able to get things sorted today then,” he told us.

“Also, we’ve got a request.”

“What? You want a high-pressure turbo add-on?”

What’s that? One of those sounds awesome!

Wait, no.

“We want to attach Nito’s auto-trike to the back of my car. Sort of connecting it, or just towing it.”

“Takin’ it with you then?”

“We are. We need the space for Nito’s things. Can you do it?”

“Who do you think I am? It’ll be harder to drive though.”

“I’ll do my best...” I said after a moment.

Vandyke gave me a nod before heading to the Kettle.

Sunlight streamed into the workshop, lighting up the whole area. Now that I had some sort of path to follow, my shoulders felt lighter than they had in a while. After a moment, I turned to head inside. If we were going to be leaving within the day, we’d need to get our things together.

When I got back into the house, I could hear water. I poked my head into the kitchen to see Nito washing what we’d used for breakfast. The sink was a little high for her and it looked like she was having trouble. I walked up to her and stopped next to the cupboard.

“Want me to dry the plates?”

“I’m fine.”

After such a definitive statement, I couldn’t just ignore her wishes and help anyway. I was stuck standing there like a lemon. Since I didn’t particularly want to just stand and watch her, I looked for something to keep myself busy. Reaching for the bottom shelf, I pulled out the recipe book again and flipped through it, thinking about all the things I could make if only I could read.

“What are you looking at?” Nito asked.

When I looked back up, she was giving me a curious look as she dried the plates with a cloth. I turned the book around to show her, still open to the page I’d been looking at, but before I could get out the word “recipes,” she cut me off with a curious question.

“For special days?”

“Huh?”

“What?”

Nito and I stared at each other, having fumbled the hand off. Both of us were sure we’d communicated properly, but neither of us had understood the other.

“What do you mean, ‘for special days?’”

Nito let out a gasp of realization at my question.

“Oh, you can’t read. Sorry, that’s what’s written there, circled in the right corner.”

I took another look after her prompting, and sure enough there was a note in the corner of the page. It was practically scrawled in, contrasting with the neat, legible writing in the rest of the book.

“For special days?”

I wonder what they meant. The illustration alongside the recipe didn’t look like anything special—it was nothing flashy or lavish. Nito approached, still holding the plate.

“Mertaille... I’m sure that’s a famous dish from Marit. It comes up in novels a lot.”

“Is it something they eat on special days, then?”

“No, I think it’s a staple dish...” As she spoke, she leaned in closer to peer at the book. “I’ve read that every family’s mertaille is seasoned differently, and that it’s an amalgamation of that family’s history and memories. Maybe that’s why it’s special.”

Right. I nodded. So, for special days, huh?

Understanding what it said didn’t give me the ability to read it; all it did was give the mess of lines on the page some meaning. Even so, I could practically feel the emotions that had filled the heart of whoever wrote it as they’d scrawled the letters onto the page. What I said next was just an idea, not a carefully considered arrangement of words, that popped out of my mouth all on its own.

“Hey, can you tell me the recipe?”

“Are you going to make it?”

“I thought it’d make a good lunch.”

“Well, I don’t mind,” she said, her eyes darting away, “but this uses an oven.”

She was probably taking my reluctance to use the kitchen into account.

Right, that is a problem, I thought, crossing my arms.

As I did so, a gust of wind blew in, making the blue curtains billow away from the window. I could see Vandyke in the workshop, working away on the car. He was lit up clearly, as if the sun were only shining on him. The wind stopped, and the curtain fell back over the window, the moment passing as if nothing had happened.

“What’s wrong?” Nito asked quizzically after another moment had passed.

“That just then...” I began, before changing my mind. “No, never mind. It’s fine. This is the last meal, so I’ll borrow the kitchen.”

She gave a sigh, directing a not entirely satisfied expression at me before saying, “If you say so, Keisuke.”

I couldn’t explain it to her though, and I didn’t think that she’d understand even if I’d tried. It just felt almost spiritual, like I’d been given permission from the beyond.

“Anyway, could you tell me the ingredients and seasonings we need?” I asked as I led the way into the fridge.

She looked at the notebook and pointed out ingredients—this one was lesso, and that one was carin, and so on—but I doubted I’d remember any of them. Also, each and every thing she pointed out was canned.

“They canned ingredients?” I asked.

“These are canned for cooking,” she replied. “They’re sealed to preserve them.”

“I guess it’s for convenience?”

Though personally I thought that the best thing about canned foods was that you could eat them right after opening.

“They were created once we knew that mana saturation would destroy the world. Some people gathered supplies and secluded themselves underground or on mountains, and they bought this kind of thing. It was because canned cooked food tastes bad.”

I nodded in agreement. Saying that the cooked canned meals were inedible until you put some effort in was putting it mildly, so it was a logical development to can the ingredients and let the buyer cook whatever they wanted themselves.

Once I’d gathered the cans she indicated, we stepped back into the kitchen and I laid them out on the work surface. We went back to gather the seasonings, and then we were ready.

“Right then, where do we start?” I wondered aloud.

“It sounds like you need to preheat the oven.”

“On it.”

Of course, while I could open the oven that stood under the stove, I had no idea how to use any of this equipment. I glared at it for a while, until Nito’s hand snaked in from the side and pumped a lever next to the oven door several times. A sound like pressurized air escaping hissed through the oven. When she swung the lever down for the last time, the oven let out a small bursting noise as heat started to issue forth from it.

“Looks like there’s still fuel,” she commented.

“Thanks,” I managed eventually.

“You’re welcome. Next, let’s cut up the ingredients.”

We closed the oven door and I picked up a can. Once the lid was off, I found three plump, round cucumbers inside. They were a little limp as I removed them, but they were still fresh vegetables.

“Whoa, these are canned?”

“They mix in some powdered mana stone and the mana reacts to seal it completely.”

“Wow, what are you, Supercan...?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

I opened all the cans and sliced everything up as Nito directed.

“It says you need to sauté them once they’re cut.”

“Yes, chef!”

“I’m not a chef,” she insisted as I placed a frying pan on the stove and poured in some oil.

I didn’t know how to actually light it though; when I shifted out of the way, Nito did so wordlessly. After a while of this, the vegetables softened, the water seeping out of them.

“Next you need to add these,” Nito said, passing me what, after tasting them, I guessed to be vinegar and white wine.

“When that’s mixed through, spread the mixture across the bottom of a heat-resistant container.”

I looked through the shelves and found a thick, blackened, metal pan—something along the lines of a skillet. I also picked up a lid which fit snugly onto it. I poured some oil into the skillet to stop anything from sticking and then spread the softened vegetables out within it.

“Apparently you put more sliced-up vegetables on top of that.”

“Huh, putting vegetables on top of sautéed vegetables.”

“The first portion of vegetables is a piperade. It acts like a sauce.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of that before,” I mused.

There were four types of vegetables, all of them similar to things from Earth: cucumbers, eggplants, tomatoes, and daikon radishes. I laid the slices over the top of the sauce, alternating types in a random order, so that they overlapped each other in a circle around the edge of the skillet and then spiraled inward to the center.

“What next?”

“Add herbs, salt, and oil, then cover it with a lid and bake it.”

So the seasoning here was pretty simple: just some herbs and salt. The dish probably relied on drawing out the flavors of the vegetables. I opened the oven door and an immediate wave of heat greeted me. The skillet, with the lid on, went into the oven, and then I shut the door.

“Phew... How long do we leave it?”

“Apparently it becomes confit after an hour.”

“Confit?”

“Yes, confit.”

“Uh... What does that mean?”

She was silent for a moment.

“I don’t know.”

So that’s what you don’t know?

We stared at each other for a moment before breaking into wide smiles. Working together to cook something had let us grow a little closer, it seemed. I didn’t know exactly how long it would be for, but we would be traveling together for a while at least. It was far better for us to get along than not.

“I hope it tastes good,” Nito opined.

“It definitely will. We worked hard on it, after all.”

Well, sort of.

7

As always, we ate outside. I briefly thought that we may as well use the dining table if we’d already borrowed the kitchen, but I wasn’t bold enough that I could make myself at home at someone else’s dining table to eat.

Vandyke wordlessly dropped down to join us on the ground before simply saying, “It’s done.”

“You fixed it?” I asked.

“Yeah, plus linked them together. Don’t open it up too far though. And stay on the road, away from the rock scree.”

Relief filled my chest. I’d known he would manage it, but actually hearing that the car was fixed still took a huge weight off my shoulders.

“So, how’re you paying?”

“Is this enough?” Nito asked.

Vandyke looked at her offering before raising his eyebrows and sending me a sidelong look. His gaze weighed heavily on my shoulders. I could almost hear him asking, “You’re making the little miss pay?”

I’m sorry I’m so useless.

Nito’s hands held a ring with a small red gem set into it. He took it and held it up to the light. As he looked at it, he seemed to make up his mind.

“Sure, it’ll do.”

Nito let out a breath. Was it precious to her maybe? I almost asked but clenched my fist and held in my question at the last moment. If she’d decided to pay with that then I couldn’t gainsay her, and I had nothing to offer in its place. I truly felt pathetic.

“Umm, why do you ask for payment?” Nito asked hesitantly.

“You mean when there’s no way to even use the money?” he asked in return.

Nito gave a timid nod in reply. It was something I’d wondered too. The whole reason that money and jewels could be used for payments was that many people collectively agreed on their value. However, there were no people anymore, and no shops; there was a fundamental breakdown in value. That’s why I’d thought such things would just be a burden and hadn’t kept anything of value with me.

“’Cause this is my job. There’s value in getting paid to work.”

“Your job?” Nito asked.

“I fix cars, the customer pays for it, I give them the car. It’s only my job ’cause I get paid. It’s worth doing then, and it satisfies me. After I’ve got the payment, it don’t matter. That’s my life; that’s what keeps me going. However the world changes, my life won’t.”

He seemed to shine as he gave his frank speech, and I couldn’t help but look up to his stubborn, unyielding attitude. You could say that refusing to change your life even as the world fell apart was obstinate, but his refusal to change meant you could always rely on him, no matter what happened.

“That’s right,” I said in realization. “You work, so you get paid. It’s only natural.”

I’d completely and utterly forgotten even that.

“Well,” he muttered after a pause, “’s been a while since I’ve done any work that was actually a ‘job,’ so I guess I should thank you too.”

His gaze drifted away from us, showing his embarrassment, before he clapped his hands onto his knees and said, “Well, let’s eat.”

Nito and I exchanged smiles and removed the lid from the skillet. Steam billowed up from it, fading away to reveal that the vegetables had grown even more vividly colored after cooking. The heat had spread perfectly through the whole dish, and though it had scorched a few sections, seeing that only whet our appetites more. I used a round-tipped palette knife to dish out a portion for each of us and offered Vandyke his. He looked back at me in shock.

“Wait, this...”

“I found a notebook in the cupboard with a bunch of recipes in it, so I tried following one to make this.”

He took the plate and stared at the food—the mertaille—for a long moment.

Eventually, he used his fork to scoop up a mouthful. He chewed it carefully, the movements of his jaw gradually slowing until they finally stopped, his eyes drifting closed in remembrance. It felt like the kind of moment that you could never dare to interrupt.

“That taste takes me back. It’s a bit different though.”

He smiled, opening his eyes. It was a warm smile, the kind that came to your lips as you recalled a treasured memory.

“I thought you didn’t care much about food?” I asked.

“This meal’s different,” he told me, picking up another forkful.

“The recipe had ‘for special days’ written next to it. What did that mean?”

Even now that we’d made it, it just felt like a family meal, and I couldn’t see why it had been singled out.

“It did?” He laughed, then told me, with his gaze resting on the skillet, “The first time I had it, I called it tasty. She was proper happy, and every day after that, out this came. Five days later, I’d gotten pretty bored of it. I couldn’t just say that straight up though, so I said what made it so tasty was that we ate it on special days.”

Then he muttered that he shouldn’t have said anything, and ought to have just eaten it more.

8

Once we’d gotten the tent, backpack, and other stuff back into the Kettle, I took a look at our overall setup. The metal fittings at the back of the Kettle attached to a thick pole about a meter long that connected it to Nito’s auto-trike.

“It’s a three-wheeler, so it ain’t great for towing,” Vandyke explained. “You don’t want to have to be steering it all the time, right?”

There was a metal framework on the front of the auto-trike with two wheels attached, likely to stop it from tipping when we turned. The bare metal, roughly welded together, made me feel rather manly. I glanced at Nito to see her eyebrows furrowed, a conflicted expression on her face. Perhaps, from a woman’s perspective, she’d have preferred something a bit more refined.

Once we’d loaded up, Vandyke supplied us with refills of water and fuel. That was how the Vandyke Steam Factory did things—a fact I was considerably grateful for. After he’d told me the basics of towing, along with how to avoid stressing steam-powered vehicles and some basic maintenance tips, we were finally ready to set off.

“Are you sure we can take this much food though?” I asked what we were both wondering.

We had filled the spare space in Nito’s auto-trike with cans of food and seasonings from the fridge, along with a mass of meat. Vandyke had brought it out and told us to take it.

“It’d just go to waste otherwise. I can’t eat it all, or cook it even. Call it thanks for your cooking taking me back.”

“Thank you, for everything. You’ve really saved us.”

Vandyke clapped me on the shoulder.

“I just did what I could. Drive safe,” he told me.

I nodded. I’d always intended to drive safely. Then, Nito—who had been half hiding behind me until now—stepped out and looked up at him.

“Thank you for the food,” she said after a moment. “Also, thank you for lending me a bed and letting us use the bath. Um, fixing the cars is a real help too.”

Her words were halting, but spoken firmly. Vandyke’s eyebrows rose in slight surprise. Even so, he gave her a manly smile and ruffled her hair, prompting her to let out a slight cry.

“Take care,” he told her.

“Ugh... My hair’s a mess,” she grumbled even as she haltingly brought out her hand, which she’d been hiding behind her, and held something out toward him.

“This, um, is to thank you. It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.”

She was holding a thick sheet of paper with vivid colors covering it: a watercolor painting. It was from a perspective looking down at the workshop. The Kettle and auto-trike were in frame with Vandyke working away at repairing them. That was probably me in front of the house. Objects littered the workshop as well, all done in deep shades of brown and black, and yet somehow the image didn’t appear dark in the slightest. Maybe that was because of the swathe of bright sunlight cutting in from outside.

Vandyke took the paper and looked closely at it. Then he gave Nito a polite bow, almost like a knight that had just been awarded a medal by their princess.

“I will treasure it,” he told her.

“Eh, ah, um, i-it’s not that impressive!” she stammered, panicked.

I laughed, and soon enough Vandyke joined in. Once she realized we were teasing her, she puffed up her cheeks and stomped off toward the Kettle’s passenger seat. The driver’s seat of the auto-trike was currently taken up by the meat, after all.

“She’s a good girl,” Vandyke said. “It’s the first time I’ve been given a painting.”

As he spoke, he kept his eyes on the painting with a smile on his face. He must have been somewhat embarrassed.

“We should head off,” I told him. “Thanks for all your help.”

Vandyke nodded and then looked at me again.

“I’ve got a request,” he said.

“You do?” I asked, thrown by his sudden seriousness.

He put one hand behind him and took out a leather notebook—the recipe book we’d used earlier.

“You’re off on a journey. Take her with you.”

“If you call it ‘her’ it must be precious to you.”

“It’s all good. I’ve got this workshop, so I could never take her on a journey. It must have been boring, stuck in the house all the time. I want her to see some new sights. She might be mad it’s so late though.”

“You won’t come too?” I asked.

“This is where I die. I can’t leave the workshop empty, and I need to look after her grave. I know it’s strange to leave this to you, but...”

My chest warmed as Vandyke faltered. Yup, he’s a clumsy, straightforward guy, I thought.

“I understand. I’ll look after her.”

I took the notebook and Vandyke smiled boyishly.

“Cheers.”

“You pay for work. We got lots of food, so now we have to work for it.”

“Suppose you’ve got it down,” he said, holding out a hand.

I grabbed hold of it. It was a big hand, solid and powerful, the kind you could feel his life and history through when you held it.

“See you.”

“Right.”

Once I got into the Kettle, I met Nito’s gaze. Her cheeks were still puffed up and she glared unhappily at me. I couldn’t help a rueful smile. The fuel was already lit and the engine was warmed up. The gauges all showed there were no problems. I opened the window. It might have been pointless, or something better not to mention, or maybe even just my own assumption, but I still wanted to say it.

“The kitchen and fridge were both kept in good order. The notebook was carefully put together too,” I told Vandyke.

“And what of it?”

“I’m sure she enjoyed each and every day, and I think she was happy cooking for you too.”

His mouth hung open for a moment. Then he spoke with a rueful smile of his own.

“Because the kitchen was in order? You’re a strange one. Thanks, though. You pair tidied it up, and even I can wash up. She’d be mad if I let it get into that state again.”

“I’m glad,” I told him, smiling back as I opened up the throttle.

The steam gushed from the boiler into the pistons, venting with a hiss that almost made me feel nostalgic. The Kettle showed no sign of its extra burden from the auto-trike as it smoothly shifted into motion. Nito waved toward Vandyke and, even as he frowned, he gave an awkward wave back. I could almost hear him scolding her for making him do things he wasn’t used to.

As we left the eaves of the workshop’s roof, sunlight fell on us from the blue sky. I had to squint slightly as the bright view of almost translucent grasslands and mounds of white sand spread out before us. The road made a lazy turn out of the yard. As we drove along it, I glanced at the mirror and saw that Vandyke had come out to see us off.

Nito leaned out of the window to look back at him. His figure grew smaller before eventually becoming a speck, and then even the workshop vanished from view. It was only then that Nito settled back into the passenger seat.

“He was a good man,” I said.

Nito nodded and gave a soft noise of agreement.

“We should come see him again,” I commented.

The same noise of agreement answered me, her voice quaking slightly.

I told her we’d definitely manage it.