The first tier of the three-tier lunch box was packed tight with rice balls. Celes took exactly one, and Luca and Miro split the rest down the middle.
They decided to take turns keeping watch. Luca had the first shift. Miro was snoring the moment he'd rolled himself up in his blanket. Grrnk. Grrrnk.
Through a gap in the shutters, Luca watched the lake. The glowmoss on the ceiling showed as a dim blur on the pitch-black water.
He wanted something to time the shifts by, so he felt around the shelves along the wall. Something was wedged in the gap behind one of them.
It was a small hourglass. Its wooden frame had gone black and glossy from the oil of many hands.
◆ ◆ ◆
—The sand falls.
He sits at the window, watching the lake. Behind him, the young ones breathe in their sleep.
The watch is always his job. It has been ever since he was young himself.
His eyelids grow heavy. That's all right. He'll sleep, just a little.
Only the body sleeps. Keep the ears awake.
The waves on the lake. The wind. His comrades snoring. Let the usual sounds wash past. Catch only the ones that aren't usual.
...Scritch.
His eyes open.
Low on the wall, something is scraping at the stone. Scritch, scritch. Soft, wet hands.
"Up. Frogs."
He kicks the young ones awake and grabs his sword. As he stands, his elbow sweeps the hourglass off the shelf.
A small sound as it tumbles down behind the shelf. He can pick it up later.
◆ ◆ ◆
Echo inherited: [Night Watch].
Luca set the hourglass on top of the shelf and turned it over. The sand began to trickle down with a soft hiss. His stomach gave a small growl.
"...Can't sleep?"
He turned around. Celes was standing there with a blanket over her shoulders. She sat down next to him without a word, and for a while the two of them just looked at the lake.
"...Holding the guest ledger wouldn't show me my brother, would it?"
"No. All I'd see is the last person who wrote in it."
"Right. I know that."
Celes gave a small smile.
"My brother was a Rank Three swordsman. Kind, and strong. He was the first person who ever praised my fire magic, too. ...Three years ago, he went on an expedition to the deep floors, and he never came back. Him or anyone in his party."
Luca nodded.
"Father hired search parties. Only a party of Rank Two or higher can search below the thirtieth floor, and hiring one even once costs a lot more than a hundred gold coins. He hired them three times. They found nothing. ...He borrowed the money from a moneylender. With the interest, it's over five hundred gold coins now."
Celes hugged her knees.
"If we can't pay it back by the deadline, our lands and the Ardia name go to the moneylender. That's why I became a delver. But the truth is..."
Her voice got a little quieter.
"Someday I want to go and look for him myself. To the place my brother never came back from. On my own two feet."
"When you do, I'll go too."
Luca said it with his eyes still on the lake.
"If we find something your brother lost, I'll be the one to hold it. I'll see everything that happened."
Celes looked at the side of his face. Then she buried her own face in her blanket.
"...That's not fair, you know. Saying something like that with a perfectly straight face."
Grrnk. Miro's snore rumbled through the room. Celes giggled.
* * *
When the hourglass had run out three times, Luca handed the watch over to Miro. He rolled himself up in his blanket and closed his eyes.
Only the body sleeps. The ears stay awake.
The waves on the lake. The wind. Celes breathing in her sleep.
Miro's snoring. Grrnk. ...The snoring of Miro, who was supposed to be on watch.
—Scritch.
Luca's eyes opened.
Low on the wall. Scritch, scritch. Something soft and wet was scraping at the stone. Not just one. Four of them. Five.
"Miro, Celes, wake up. Frogs."
"Nnh...?"
Miro jerked upright. He'd fallen asleep sitting up.
* * *
When Luca threw open the shutters, big shapes were crawling up the watchtower wall, one after another. Giant water frogs, bigger than dogs, their backs shining with slime. More of them were climbing onto the roof of the house next door.
"Flame, crack and burst!"
Bang!
Fire burst under the window, and two frogs dropped off the wall into the lake.
Luca jumped from the window to the neighboring roof. The tiles were wet and slimy. Normally, it would have taken everything he had just to stay on his feet.
Let the slipping foot slip. Down to the firmest ground beneath.
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Step.
His dagger went through the throat of a frog as it sprang at him. His feet didn't budge on the tiles. Another one. Step. A third. Step.
"I've got the window!"
Miro had jammed his great shield across the window. One frog tried to squeeze in around the edge and bit him on the right arm. Without so much as a change of expression, Miro slammed the frog against the wall, shield and all.
The last frog fled back into the lake.
* * *
"Miro. Your arm."
"Huh? Oh, yeah. It bit me. Doesn't hurt."
Miro dropped down heavily onto his blanket. Blood was dripping from his right arm, drop after drop.
"I'm Sturdy, remember. Hit me, bite me, it barely hurts. I'll sleep it off."
"I'll go find a cloth."
Luca opened the cupboard under the shelf. Shoved all the way in the back was an old wooden box. The infirmary's mark was branded into the lid.
◆ ◆ ◆
—A young delver sits clutching his arm. A frog bite.
"I'm fine, it's nothing. Doesn't hurt at all."
The ones who say they're fine are the ones to watch closest. Pain is the body's lookout. When the lookout is asleep, a kid loses too much blood without ever noticing.
First, wash it. With water that's been boiled and cooled, right down to the dirt deep in the wound.
Next, press it with a clean cloth. Hard, and for a long time.
Keep the arm higher than the heart. Tying it off comes last. The very last thing.
The bandage done, the medicine chest goes back into the cupboard under the shelf.
For whoever bleeds here next.
◆ ◆ ◆
Echo inherited: [First Aid].
Luca boiled water in the pot on the old stove and let it cool. Then he took Miro's arm and washed the wound.
"Hey, you're making a big deal out of nothing."
"Keep your arm up, please. Higher than your heart."
"I keep telling you, it doesn't hurt."
"Even if it doesn't hurt, it still bleeds."
Miro shut his mouth.
Luca pressed a clean cloth over the wound and held it there for a while. Once the bleeding stopped, he spread ointment from the medicine chest on it and wrapped it up.
"...Don't talk like my ma," Miro muttered, looking down at the bandage.
Celes had her face buried in her blanket, her shoulders shaking.
Luca's stomach let out a long, rolling roar. Without a word, Miro lifted the lid off the second tier of the lunch box.
* * *
The next morning, the three of them left the Sunken Village.
The Drowned Corridor on the fifteenth floor was exactly what its name promised.
Partway along, the passage leading down disappeared underwater, ceiling and all. It was about forty paces to the other side. A guide rope ran along the wall for anyone diving through.
About ten paces in from the water's edge, that guide rope had snapped clean through.
Before leaving the Sunken Village, they had rewrapped all their gear in oilpaper. Old Trude had sent it along with the jerky: You'll need this if you're going through the Drowned Corridor. Martha's lunch box and Luca's notebook were both wrapped twice over.
"I'll go and restring the rope."
Luca tied one end of his own rope to the stake on this side and the other end around his waist, and waded in.
He breathed in. Eight-tenths full. [Hold Breath: Refined].
He moved through the dark water with [Swimming]. His breath was tucked away deep inside his body. He swam the full forty paces, tied the rope to the stake on the far side, and swam all the way back again.
"...You went there and back, and you still look perfectly fine."
"Yes. More importantly, let me teach you the trick of it."
Luca crouched down in front of the two of them.
"Don't breathe all the way in. Eight-tenths full. When it starts to hurt, let it out a little at a time. And don't tense up. Keep your heart slow. Only your arms and legs move."
"Eight-tenths, out a little at a time, don't tense up..."
Celes repeated it with a very serious face. Then she took hold of the rope and slipped smoothly under the water. After a while, the rope twitched twice. The signal that she'd made it across.
"Miro, you're next."
"...I can't swim, you know."
"Same as me."
"You learned, didn't you?!"
Miro walked into the water with his great shield still on his back.
And sank like a stone.
"Miro?!"
The rope was jerking. Tug. Tug. Down on the bottom, Luca could see Miro's shadow plodding along, hauling himself forward hand over hand. The great shield was so heavy he couldn't float.
On the far side, a dripping Miro crawled up out of the water.
"...That breathing trick worked fine."
"You were walking."
"Shut up. ...Ah-choo."
* * *
The sixteenth floor was black.
At the bottom of the stairs, mist hung thick in the air. Not ordinary mist. Pitch-black mist, like ink stirred into water.
Celes lit a light at the tip of her wand. An arm's length out, the mist swallowed its glow, and it was gone.
"Mist that eats light..."
"The Darkmist Valley. There's a narrow path along the valley, and you follow it all the way down. Step off the path and you're at the bottom."
Miro's voice was a little stiff.
"...Miro, are you by any chance—"
"I don't like the dark, okay? Got a problem with that?"
The three of them roped themselves together. Luca in front, Celes in the middle, Miro at the back. Counting his steps with [Mapmaking], Luca felt his way forward one step at a time. Stones clattered off the path and down into the valley. They never heard them hit the bottom.
They had gone a fair way when the toe of Luca's boot kicked something.
He picked it up. It was a long, slender wooden walking stick with an iron tip at the end and a little bell tied to the grip. The middle of the stick was covered in small tooth marks.
"I think this is Jan's walking stick."
◆ ◆ ◆
—Dark.
No. He forgot the word "dark" a long time ago. His eyes haven't seen anything since he was a boy.
Tok. He taps the path with the iron tip.
Tch. He clicks his tongue.
The sound comes back. If the echo comes back fast, the wall is close. If it's slow, it's far. If it never comes back, that's the valley.
Don't look with your eyes. Look with your ears.
Mist and darkness can't hide a thing from sound.
Tok. Tch.
Rock wall to the right. To the left, the valley, starting three steps ahead. In front, four people. ...The footsteps of the clients he's guiding.
Just then, right beside him, small claws scrabble on stone.
The stick is snatched out of his hand. The bell goes jingling away into the distance.
"Hey! Get back here!"
◆ ◆ ◆
Echo inherited: [Sound Reading].
Opening his eyes didn't change the view. There was only the pitch-black mist.
But Luca tapped the path with the stick's iron tip.
Tok.
He clicked his tongue. Tch.
The sound bounced back. From the right, right away. From the left, it didn't come back at all. From straight ahead, slowly, from far away.
"There's a rock wall on the right. On the left, the valley starts three steps ahead. It's straight on for a while."
"...Can you see, or what?"
"I can hear."
It was a little like the bell scout's skill. The brass bell from the leftovers shelf in Boss's shop. But the bell scout had used sound to find monsters. Jan used sound to see the road.
Tok. Tch.
Luca started walking, much faster than before.
* * *
A piece of cloth was snagged on a rock beside the path.
It was a long gray scarf. One end had been torn by some animal's claws.
◆ ◆ ◆
—In mist, presences spread out thin.
Don't hunt for one point. Feel the stirring of the mist with every inch of your skin. Where the stirring is thickest, that's where they are.
...Here they come. Ten, from ahead. No. More.
"Dark weasels. Kill the light. Not a sound."
Hold your breath. A breeze blows through, and the end of the scarf flaps.
At the sound of the flapping, every dark weasel out there turns his way at once.
He pulls off the scarf and flings it toward the valley. The presences flow away after it.
◆ ◆ ◆
Echo stacked: [Sense Presence].
Luca closed his eyes. He felt the stirring of the mist with every inch of his skin.
He could sense much farther than before. From far down in the valley, small presences were crawling up toward them. A lot of them.
"Something's coming from ahead. A lot of them. ...Twelve. Thirteen. They're still far off."
"Dark weasels. They hunt by sound."
Celes put out her light.
"Miro. Please bang on your shield."
"Huh? Why would we call them over?"
"They hunt by sound, so they'll go for whatever's loudest. I want to gather every one of them at you."
For a moment, Miro said nothing.
Then Luca sensed him grin.
"That's my move."
* * *
Gonnng. Gonnng. Gonnng.
The great shield rang out in the dark. The dark weasels' presences all swung toward Miro at once, gliding through the mist without a sound.
"Three steps ahead. Five from the left. Four from the right. Four from the rock above."
As Luca called them out, Celes aimed her wand. The dark weasels flung themselves at the great shield. Claws screeched across iron. Miro didn't give a single step.
"Flame, crack and burst!"
Bang!
Fire burst right in front of the shield. For an instant, the mist flashed red. The dark weasels let out shrill shrieks and went tumbling in every direction.
Monsters that hunt by sound have good ears. And the loudest sound of all had just gone off right in front of them.
"Burst."
Snap!
Luca's tiny flame went off under the nose of one weasel that had been slow to run. It jumped straight up in the air and bolted for the valley as fast as its legs would carry it.
The presences drew away into the depths of the mist.
"...Just sound, huh."
"Yes. Sound was all we needed."
Miro lowered his great shield and let out a long breath.
"...I still hate the dark."
"But you didn't take a single step back."
"The shield's different."
Luca's stomach let out a long, rolling roar. In that pitch-black mist, it was the one sound that carried perfectly.