According to Louise, a familiar that treated its master's face like a piece of canvas was akin to the demons of old that opposed the Founder Brimir and his many allied gods, and such demons were not worthy of the bread and soup granted by the Lady Queen.
After breakfast, Saito cleaned Louise's room. This involved sweeping the floor with a broom and wiping the table and windows with a cloth.
And then there was the oh-so-enjoyable laundry. He took the laundry down to the fountain and scrubbed it clean against a washboard. There was no warm water, only icy cold water that bit fiercely at his fingers. Louise's underwear were all expensive looking pieces with lots of lace and frills attached. He would get a meal cut if he happened to damage one, so he had to wash them gently. It was painful work. Tired of it all, he left one particular pair with a slightly torn elastic band in the pile one day. Merely a few days later, Louise walked out obliviously wearing that particular pair, when the elastic snapped entirely. Her panties slid down to her ankles, entangling both of Louise's legs like a trapper's snare.
It just so happened that she was at the top of a staircase, so she tumbled spectacularly down them.
Most fortunately, there wasn't anyone else around to see her roll down the stairs with her lower half shamefully exposed, so at least her reputation was spared. Realizing that it had been overkill, Saito was careful not to peek inside her skirt as he apologized profusely to Louise, who lay unconscious at the staircase landing. He hadn't meant for the joke to derail like this. Ideally, he had envisioned it happening in a hallway for optimum embarrassment.
Once Louise regained consciousness and realized what had happened, she thrust the torn pair of panties accusingly at Saito, who was sitting subserviently by the bedside.
“There was a torn pair.”
“Indeed there was, Mistress.”
Louise's voice quavered with fury.
“Explain yourself.”
“It must have been the fountain water, Mistress. Why, it's so cold it could freeze fingers right off. I believe the elastic couldn't endure that.”
Saito replied curtly.
“So you're saying it's the elastic's fault?”
“I'm saying it's the water's fault. It was bad water. I'm convinced that there must be some kind of curse on it to make it cold and also affect the elastic somehow.”
“In that case, I should not feed such a loyal familiar soup made from that kind of bad water.”
“Most gracious of you.”
“Three days should do, I think, for the water to return to normal.”
Saito had his meals cut for three days.
However, Saito remained completely fine for those three days. He'd just pretend to be withering and visit the kitchen behind the Hall of Alviss, where the energetic and lovely Siesta would serve him food like stew, and meat on the bone. He went there even when his meals weren't cut. The soup that Louise declared “The Widespread Blessing of Her Majesty, the Queen” was never enough of a blessing to fill him up.
Naturally, he kept his visits to the kitchen a secret from Louise. She was adamant about not giving him more until he had corrected his behavior, so there would be trouble if she found out about the meat and stew Siesta kindly provided him with. Louise would surely forbid him visiting for the sake of “educating” her familiar.
Currently though, she was totally unaware. In any case, Saito preferred Siesta and the kitchen a hundred times more than some Lady Queen and Founder Brimir he'd never met.
One morning, after hungrily drinking down his soup in front of Louise, he went to the kitchen. Saito, having beaten the noble Guiche at the Vestri Courts, was hugely popular there.
“'Our Sword' is here!”
The one who called out was Marteau, the head chef, a well-rounded man well into his forties. Naturally, he was also a commoner himself, but with his position of head chef at the Academy, he earned as much as a lower class noble, a fact he could be proud of.
Dressed in simple but fine clothes, he commanded the kitchen with a wave and a flourish of his hand.
Despite his highly respectable position as head chef of a magic academy for nobles, Marteau wasn't the least bit arrogant, and surprisingly enough, disliked both magic and nobles.
He called Saito, who had used a sword to defeat Guiche, by the nickname “Our Sword” and treated the boy like a king. Thanks to him, the kitchen was an oasis to Saito.
Saito sat down at his chair, and with a smile, Siesta promptly brought him a bowl of warm stew and soft white bread.
“Thanks.”
“Today's stew is extra special,”
Siesta declared, looking particularly happy. Saito curiously lifted a spoonful to his mouth and his face instantly lit up.
“Wow, this is delicious! It's worlds apart from that gruel I get!”
At this, Marteau approached the table holding a kitchen knife in one hand.
“Well of course. That stew's the same stuff we serve to the noble kids.”
“I can't believe this is the kind of stuff they get to eat everyday…”
Marteau snorted loudly at Saito's comment.
“Hmph! Sure, they can use magic. Making pots and pans and castles from dirt, conjuring up unbelievable gems, even controlling dragons – so what! But see, creating such exquisite dishes like this is a kind of magic itself. Wouldn't you agree, Saito?”
Saito nodded.
“Absolutely.”
“A fine fellow! You're a good man!”
He put an arm around Saito's shoulders.
“Here, „Our Sword“! Let me place a kiss upon your forehead! Come on! I insist!”
“I'd rather you not. And stop calling me that,” Saito said.
“Why not?”
“It's just… weird.”
The man let go of Saito and spread his arms out in protest.
“But you cut a mage's golem to pieces! Don't you get it?”
“I suppose.”
“Say, just where did you learn to use a sword? Tell me where I can go to learn how to swing a sword like that.”
Marteau stared earnestly at Saito. He asked the same thing every time Saito came to eat, and Saito's answer was the same every time.
“I don't know. I've never held a sword before. My body just moved by itself.”
“You guys! Did you hear that?!”
He yelled, his voice echoing around the kitchen.
The younger cooks and the apprentices shouted back.
“We hear you, boss!”
“This is what they call a true master! They never boast about their skill! Look and learn! A true master never boasts!”
The cooks chanted happily.
“A true master never boasts!”
Then Marteau turned back around to face Saito.
“You know, „Our Sword,“ I'm starting to like you more and more. So how about it?”
“Um, how about what…?”
He was simply telling the truth, but Marteau always thought he was just being modest. It was somewhat frustrating. He felt like he was deceiving the good-natured man. Saito's gaze dropped down to the runes on his left hand.
Since that day, it hasn't glowed anymore. Just what was that, I wonder… Even when Saito tried to make a point of staring at his own runes, Marteau interpreted that as him being reserved.
The chef turned to Siesta.
“Siesta!”
“Yes?”
Siesta, who had been cheerfully watching the two of them get along, responded brightly.
“Bring our hero here some of Albion's finest.”
Her smile widened, and retrieving a wine bottle of the requested vintage from the rack, she poured some into Saito's glass. Siesta looked on absorbedly as Saito's face grew redder and redder from the wine. These events repeated almost routinely: