Ascendance of a Bookworm

“Gaaah! I solved my paper problem, but now I have to get ink, too! Why meee!”

No store in this area sells anything like the ballpoint pens and mechanical pencils I’m used to. There are no regular pencils, no fountain pens, and, of course, there’s neither liquid nor block ink. If ink were freely available, then I wouldn’t need anything more than a sharp stick to write with, but ink is so expensive that I can’t obtain it at all. I know how much the slate pencils I get paid in cost, but I don’t know what my special wages will be during bonus season, so I can’t use Otto’s three-year estimate to calculate how much it actually costs.

It’s three years’ worth of work, you know?

My options here are: buy it, find it, be given it, steal it, and make it. Thinking about it, the only real option I have is to make it.

After all, there’s no way I can actually steal any from the night duty room…

It seems like it’s not just books that I have to hand-make, but ink as well. Even so, is making ink even something that I’m capable of doing? I know that it involves a pigment and a drying oil, but will I be able to acquire whatever pigments and oils exist in this world?

“Wouldn’t it be great if I could just find an ‘octopus’ or a 'squid’? Where the heck is the ocean?!” I shout, tightly clutching the mokkan I’ve been carving. Lutz, sitting next to me, flinches. “What now?!” he says, turning to look at me.

“Lutz, can you think of anything here I can use as ink?! Or even a way I can make it?!”

Of course, going on a journey to the ocean and fishing up a octopi and squid is unrealistic. However, I can’t think of a single thing amongst my possessions that I could use to make either a liquid or solid ink.

“What’s 'ink’?”

“Ummm, it’s a black liquid, that you use for writing on things like these boards…” 𝑓𝘳ℯ𝒆w𝘦𝘣𝙣𝘰ѵ𝘦𝚕.c𝗼𝓶

Explaining the concept of ink to someone who’d ordinarily never see anything like it is rather difficult. Lutz tilts his head in confusion as I try to lay it out for him.

“A black thing? If you don’t mind unclean sorts of things, then do you think maybe ash or soot might work?”

“Yeah, that! I’ll try that!”

If I’m going to use ash or soot, then that’s something that my home always has around in the cinders of our fireplace. This is something that I can undoubtedly get immediately.

As soon as I return home, I immediately try asking my mother.

“Mommy, can I use some of this ash?” 𝘧r𝑒𝘦𝒘𝘦𝙗ｎovel.𝐜o𝒎

“No, you can’t,” she replies immediately, rejecting me without any hesitation.

“Huh? Why not?”

“We use ash to make soap, melt snow, dye things, sell to farmers… it has a lot of uses, you know? Please don’t arbitrarily waste any of it.”

Come to think of it, when spring came around, I helped scatter ashes around for some incomprehensible reason, like I was in Hanasaka Jiisan.1 I guess that was for melting snow, huh? I only just figured that out now. If we need to use a lot of it for making soap, then I guess it really is an important material.

Since we can sell whatever’s left over, it seems like it would be difficult for me to acquire any ash, but I wonder if my other option, using soot, would be feasible?

“Then, Mommy, could I use the soot?”

My mother scowls a little bit after I asked for another thing, but after a moment she suddenly breaks out into a smile.

“Well, I don’t know what you want to use it for, but, sure, you can have some soot.”

“Oh, yay!”

“You can have whatever you can sweep out of the stove. You can get even more if you clean out the chimney too, you know!”

“Wha?! …Ah… right. …I guess, you’re right.”

My grinning mother has taken advantage of my plight, and now I get to sweep out the chimney. This wasn’t what I’d expected to have to do, but if it’s for the sake of gathering soot, then I’ve got no choice. With fire in my eyes, I grab the narrow broom we use for sweeping the chimney, only to be stopped by my mother, her grin slipping from her face.

“Wait just one second, Maine! Are you planning on doing that in those clothes?!”

“…Huh? I shouldn’t?”

These clothes are already kind of dirty and worn-out, so I have no idea how it could possibly be a problem for me to sweep out the stove in clothes like this. I look skeptically at my mother as she goes to get her sewing kit and the box of old cleaning rags.

“I’ll make you something better, wait for a moment.”

With high spirits, my mother stitches together some clothing made out of cleaning rags with lightning speed. I change into my new cleaning-rag clothes, then decide that it wouldn’t do at all for my hair to get stained with soot, so I pin it up and use another rag as a bandana to cover my head.

Wow, I never thought I’d be doing Cinderella cosplay, but here I am.

First of all, I scrape the ashes out of the bottom of the fireplace and set them aside. After that, I stick my head in the oven and start knocking down and collecting all of the soot that I can. This is probably the first time I’ve actually been glad to have such a small body. I can’t deny my mother’s smile, so while I was at it I started sweeping out the chimney to collect the soot from there as well. As black particles crumble from the walls, the chimney starts looking cleaner and cleaner, and the pile of my much sought-after soot grows taller and taller.

This is way more fun than I thought it was going to be when I started out, and I got so engrossed in it that I wound up pushing myself too hard. The next day, my fever came back and I was laid out all day.

I may be covered in soot, I may have collapsed, but I somehow managed to collect my pile of soot. Now I need to get my health back as well… I really want to get better enough today to start working on writing with this soot.

***

“Maine,” asks Lutz, “what do we do with this?”

“I think we try water first?”

The first step that I came up with is dissolving the soot in water. I feel like it might turn into something ink-like. Somehow. I scoop a little bit of water from the river into a wooden bowl add some soot, and then stir it round and round with a piece of wood. The soot doesn’t seem to dissolve very well, and most of it just floats on top of the water.

“It turned out like this, huh…” I mumble.

“Well, I wonder how well you can write with it?”

I nod at him, then dip the sharpened stick we’re using in place of a pen into the bowl. Tentatively, I try marking the top of one of my mokkan with its page number, “1”. However, way more of the soot stuck to my stick than to the wood of the board, and the number that I wrote is so faint as to be illegible.

“Ah, man… That’s a failure.”

“What’s next?”

“Hmmm, well, my original theory was that I should try mixing the soot with oil, but…”

Oil is one thing I can’t request from my mother. Vegetable oil is used not only in a lot of our cooking, but I also use a lot of it to make my simple shampoo, so we never have enough of it. Also, animal-based oils are used for making candles and soaps, so I think that’s not something I can easily get either. Probably, my mother would shoot down my request as quickly as she did when I asked about the ashes.

“Using oil, huh. I guess you couldn’t get any?”

“Yeah, it’s impossible. Is there nothing else we could try…?”

Searching for hints, I flip through in my mind all of the Japanese writing implements I can think of.

“Ah, the 'paints’ that were used in 'Japanese painting’ used 'gelatin glue’… but, I’m not allowed to use any fire, so that’s not going to work.”

In the future, I might be able to try making a gelatin-based ink, but right now I don’t have that kind of setup. If I were to be able to use gelatin, then I could make paints out of natural materials, so my options would dramatically increase. However, I can’t actually wait until I grow up.

“Heeey, Maine, you still with me?” says Lutz, waving his hand back and forth in front of my face to bring my thoughts back down to earth. “Snap out of it.”

“Hmmm, well, it’s probably okay if it’s not a liquid. We could make something like 'crayons’ or 'chalk’ or… 'pencils’… Ah, right! We can use clay! Let’s mix it with clay!”

“Huhh?” he says, an extremely skeptical look on this face.

“If I’m not mistaken, mixing 'graphite’ with clay will give me something like 'pencil lead’. Like, um… 'conté’, maybe…?2 Well, whatever. We’re using soot, not 'graphite’, but I think it’ll work out!”

Mix soot and clay, make it into round, slender sticks, then let them dry out. Once they harden up, I may actually be able to write with them.

“Lutz, back when we were making 'clay tablets’, we dug up the clay somewhere around here, right?”

“We don’t have to dig any up, actually. Last time, we dug up more than we used, and I think we put the leftovers somewhere around that rock.”

Just like he says, there’s a small pile of clay over there. I take a bit of it, then knead soot into it until it’s thoroughly mixed. My mental image here is something like a Coupy Pencil3 or the core of a pencil. If touching it doesn’t blacken your fingertips, it won’t produce a usable color.

Both my hands and the rock that I’m using as a work surface get stained pitch black as I work. I roll my soot pencils into long, slender tubes, then cut them down to about the length of a pencil. If these harden up when they dry, then this will be a great success.

I try to wash my hands off in the river, but they don’t get much cleaner. I’m going to have to scrub down with soap when I get home. These persistent stains, however, make me feel like I’ll definitely be able to write with these.

“How long should we let these dry for, I wonder?” I say.

“Who knows?”

“Should we maybe try baking them?”

“Let’s not do anything unnecessary. They might explode again.”

“Urgh…”

***

Over the next few days, my soot pencils gradually start to dry out and solidify. I wrap one in an old dust rag so that I’ll be able to use it without staining my hands. After that, I use my knife to sharpen the tip, then try writing a letter.

It writes! It may crumble very easily in my grip, but for now, I can write with these. These will be less like books and more like antique media, but this works.

“We did it! Lutz, it writes!”

“Oh! Good job.”

I, having made my own writing implements from scratch, cheerfully work on making more mokkan. Since I have a guaranteed source of materials as long as I go out to gather firewood, I can accumulate these things very cheaply. The best part about this is that I’m able to do everything, from start to finish, with my own power. The only major problem with these is that they’ll be very bulky when they start to pile up, but that was going to be a problem with clay tablets, anyway. I’ll just have to deal with it until I’m an independent adult.

My pile of completed mokkan grows to satisfaction, but one day I return from the forest to unexpectedly find that they’ve disappeared. The place I’ve been stockpiling them is suddenly empty.

“G… gone?! They’re gone? What?!”

“What’s wrong, Maine?”

As I frantically search through the storeroom for my missing mokkan, my mother pokes her head in to see what’s the matter.

“Mommy, do you know what happened to the 'mokkan’ I left here?”

“'Moe-kahn’? Well, what are those?”

“Ummm, they’re pieces of wood, and they’re a bunch of different sizes, but they’ve all been flattened on both sides so that I can write on them…”

“Ah, the firewood you brought back? I used it, you know?”

“Uh? Huh? You used it? Why?”

My head suddenly goes completely blank.

“It was the firewood that you worked so diligently to bring back after you worked so hard to get strong enough to help out, you know? It wouldn’t be nice for me to not use it.”

“But, the pile of firewood is over there, right? Why did you use the pile that I specifically kept separated from that? Those were a compilation of the fairy tales you told me to get me to sleep at night!”

“Aw,” she says, stroking my head, “if you want me to tell you stories, all you need to do is ask.” She smiles, thinking that her daughter will still be spoiled rotten no matter how much time may pass.

“That’s not what I meant…”

Not a single one is left. I stare blankly at the spot where my mokkan used to be, and all of the strength leaves my body. All of the effort I put into them, all of the struggle, was for naught. They’re cinders. When I think about that, I don’t think I can get motivated for anything again.

The moment my strength fails me, a heat that was buried deep inside my body explodes out. A fever, stronger than the ones I get after getting too excited or working too hard, blasts through me in an instant. In its grip, my limbs go numb and I lose all ability to move.

“What’s…”

Without any understanding of what could possibly be happening within my body, I suddenly collapse, whimpering like I was trapped in a nightmare.

My consciousness trembles as I slowly sink deeper into the churning, swirling fever. I feel like I’m slowly dying, bit by bit, under the fever’s relentless assault. It’s only now that I’m experiencing it firsthand that I can clearly comprehend how the real Maine could have been swallowed whole by a fever like this.

As I slip further and further away, without even the willpower to struggle against it, flashes of worried faces pass through my consciousness, my family members looking in, concerned, to check on me. Lutz’s face is among them.

…Why… is Lutz…?

I push my way up towards him, and my submerged consciousness starts to float back to the surface. I strain my temples, pushing even harder, and everything comes into focus. This isn’t just an image that floated itself across my mind. I’ve consciously managed to get Lutz focused in my field of view.

“Maine?” he says, his eyes wide.

“…Lutz?”

“Mrs. Eva!” he yells, turning towards the kitchen. “Maine w…woke up!”

My mother rushes into the room.

“Maine. You collapsed so suddenly, and I thought you’d never wake up again!”

“Yeah… sometimes, I saw your face. I’m sorry to make you worry. …Mommy, my throat is really scratchy. I feel really sticky too, so I want to wash myself off. Could you bring me some water?”

“Alright, I’ll be right back,” she says, turning to leave.

As soon as I see her step out, I grab Lutz’s hand tightly. I still can’t even raise my head, lying down like this.

“…Lutz,” I whisper, “I failed again. My mother burned all of my 'mokkan’.”

“Oh maaan… Well, they do really just look like weirdly-shaped cuts of wood.”

“But I put so much effort into them, and I put them aside on purpose…”

I can’t take anymore. Fate itself has decreed that I’m never going to finish my book.

I sigh in defeat, and I can feel the fever start to come back to life. I shake my head to clear it before I’m pulled under again.

“Don’t get so down,” says Lutz. “Doesn’t that just mean that we should try something that doesn’t burn well?”

My mokkan were made out of wood, so they were used for firewood. If that’s the case, then we should make them out of something that won’t get burned. Lutz’s suggestion is like a spark of light in the darkness.

Now is not the time to be drowning in fever. I need to think of a good replacement material. I focus all of my willpower inward, feeling like I’m grabbing hold of the fever and squeezing it down into the tiniest ball I can.

“…What do you think we could use that wouldn’t burn?” I say, after a long pause. I’ve put some thought into it, but I really can’t come up with anything, either because my mind is still hazy from the fever or because I just don’t know what I could find around here that would work.

“Ummm, maybe, bamboo, or something like that?”

“Ah!! …Lutz, you’re a genius!”

Bamboo pops when it burns, so it’s probably not the kind of thing that you’d simply burn. Hope floods through me once more. When that happens, for some reason my fever starts going down as well, and I can breathe a little more comfortably.

“Oh, what are you talking about?” asks my mother, entering the room carrying a bucket of water. Lutz and I glance at each other.

“It’s a secret,” I say, with a little grin.

“Maine,” says Lutz, “I’ll go out and get that, so you absolutely need to make sure you get better, okay?”

“Thanks, Lutz! You’re so sweet.”

His eyes go wide. “Th-this is just so you’ll introduce me to Otto!” he yells, fleeing from the room. “I’m paying you in advance, so you’d better get healthy! Got it?!”

As his footsteps fade away, I start to scrub myself down with the water that my mother brought in for me.

This fever was strange. I can’t think of a single disease that would cause a fever to suddenly explode out like that, especially not one that would slowly devour at my consciousness. Plus, I’ve definitely never heard of any sort of fever that could be forced aside through sheer willpower alone. What the heck kind of sickness is this, wriggling around in my body?

When I first came here, I was getting feverish fairly regularly, but I didn’t think that was particularly strange. However, once I managed to train my body into being a little bit more robust, then the strangeness of my fevers became much more apparent. What the heck could be wrong with this body? My family, however, is not at all affluent enough to afford a doctor in this world, and there’s no encyclopedia of common diseases around, so this isn’t something that I can immediately research.

…Well, if I concentrate on bringing down my fever, it seems to go down slowly, so maybe we’ll just wait and see?

***

After two more days of thinking about dealing with my fever, Lutz comes to my home in the evening, with a bundle of bamboo that he cut down to the perfect size for use as bamboo slips.4 He even shaved off all of the skin, so I can start writing on them right away.

“Don’t even think about touching these until you’re healthy again,” he says, sternly. “Got it? If you break this promise, I’ll never help you again.”

“Okay. Thanks, Lutz.”

I hold on to just one slip, and ask my mother to put the rest of them in the storage room. I’m still too sick to get out of bed, but as soon as my fever’s gone down all the way, I’ll be able to write on these and then finally finish my work. My first priority, then, is to get better.

Holding tightly to the bamboo slip that Lutz brought me in one hand, I gradually drift off to sleep. Just when I was almost completely out, though, loud cracks start piercing through the air.

“Gyaah?!” screams my mother from the kitchen.

“W… what?! What happened?”

Crack after crack rings out from within the oven, like there’s something inside that’s bursting open. My mother storms into the room, livid.

“Maine! What did Lutz bring into this house?!”

“…Bamboo?”

“Ugh! That was misleading! I thought he was bringing us firewood, since you can’t go and get any!”

I suddenly realize the source of those cracking sounds. She burnt the bamboo, thinking that it was firewood. It sounds like it’s exploding with far more force than the bamboo that I’m used to; is bamboo different in this world?

“Oh, did you mistake it for firewood, since the skin was already shaved off? …Wait, don’t bamboo and wood look different, though?”

“Bamboo and vanihitz wood look very similar, you know?”

“I’ve never seen that kind of tree before, so I guess I didn’t know…”

I don’t recognize the name of that tree. At least, when I was at the forest, I didn’t see any sort of tree that resembled bamboo.

“What are you talking about? That’s the wood you were using to weave baskets with Tory during the winter. It’s what your own basket’s made out of!”

“Oh, I remember now. I guess they really do look similar once you peel off the bark.”

I remember, now that I think back to the preparations that Tory had been doing for her basket-weaving winter work. Vanihitz wood looks like any other wood while the bark is on, but it looks very much like bamboo once it’s peeled off.

“Anyway, don’t bring any more bamboo into the house. It’s dangerous! Are we clear?”

“…Yes…”

Bamboo is forbidden as well. Yeah, I was afraid of this, ever since I heard those first pops. I’m sorry, Lutz, since you tried so hard…

Notes for this chapter:

1. Hanasaka Jiisan is a Japanese folktale.

2. Conté are a kind of crayon, which are made of compressed graphite or charcoal and use either clay or wax as a base.

3. Coupy Pencils are a brand of plastic pencil.

4. Bamboo Slips were one of the main recording media of early China.