Chương 122: Did I Stutter?

I opened the door and was greeted by a mostly empty room. The floor was made of dark wood and the walls were white. Tables and chairs made of the same dark wood sat on each side of the room. Like the rest of Viswa, this place looked nice and clean. Perfectly clean. There were no customers inside, save for a single man at the bar. He wore an expensive-looking outfit that appeared to be tailored to fit him perfectly. He was clean shaven and his blonde hair was combed immaculately.

When we stepped further inside, they stopped their conversation and the barman inclined his head respectfully, then gave me a faint smile. He, too, was clean shaven and had slicked back blonde hair. The people here seemed to care about their appearance more than most of the Silesians I had encountered so far. When I walked up to the bar the man in the nice clothes didn't even spare me a glance. He seemed more focused on spinning the small, empty cup in front of him. Their mana swirled around lazily.

Neither of them appeared to feel threatened by our arrival. I took that as a good sign, though I wasn't that comfortable as to let my guard down. Past experiences had taught me that not everything is always as it seems and even if these two guys were cool, a giant monster could burst through the wall out of nowhere. You never know.

"What can I get you ladies?" the barman asked.

"What do you recommend?" I asked, leaning against the bar. The wood was so polished I almost felt bad for even putting my elbows on it. I didn't want to be the one to make it dirty. The barman didn't seem to mind, in fact his smile widened just a fraction.

"Our house specialty is a spiced honey mead. We use water from the Vistula river that flows through Viswa and it is exceptionally fresh." He paused.

"I guess technically the river starts here. But it also runs through the town. So it's both."

"As for food…" he continued.

"I can offer you venison with a sauce made of wild cherries. Sturgeon freshly caught, of course, also from the Vistula. This is served in what we call 'gray sauce,' a sauce made from beer, gingerbread and onions, or 'yellow sauce,' which is made from saffron. Finally I can recommend the beaver tail, should you be in the mood for a true delicacy. This is served in either 'black sauce,' which is made of red wine, vinegar, cinnamon, cloves, ginger and breadcrumbs, or yellow sauce.

It is good for those who only eat fish." Uhh…. They ate beaver over here? I thought they were used for medicine and perfumes? At least that's how we used them back home. They always said those poor things would bite off their own testicles and throw them at the hunters to save their lives. Horrifying, but by the Goddess did they make some good perfume. The beavers. Not the testicles…. as far as I know. Also fish? Last time I checked beaver was not a fish.

Maybe what they called beaver here was something different from back home.

"Beaver is… a fish?"

"The tail is," the barman said, still smiling.

"Because what else would be in the water but a fish?" I stared at him. Was this guy serious?

"A mammal? They are kind of furry, you know. Very much not like a fish."

"Oh yes, the body is a mammal, but the tail is a fish. The tail is scaly like a fish." It felt like my brain was going to explode. Was this guy messing with me? It kind of sounded like the type of nonsense I would say to confuse my enemies. Was this guy about to attack me or was he just extremely dumb? This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"So…" I said.

"The whole beaver is a mammal, except for the tail, which is a fish."

"Exactly," he said with a nod.

"Why?"

"The Church of Stvora has declared it so." I stared at him some more, and I had to force myself to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor. The Church did a lot of weird things, and there were often gaps in their logic, but this one took the cake.

"Why?" I asked, rubbing my temples.

"If it lives in the water it is considered a fish."

"Except for the furry part."

"Yes."

"What about geese? They aren't furry, but they do live in the water."

"Yes, all birds that live in the water are considered fish."

"Why do you still call them birds then?"

"For your convenience. They are, by definition, fish. They just look like birds." Alright. Confusing. Why were they so intent on calling everything fish? He looked completely serious about it too. The man beside me also didn't react, so this wasn't news to him. Was this really what they believed here? What else lived in the water that wasn't a fish or a bird, I wondered. There had to be something that proved to this man how flawed his logic was.

"What about otters? You have otters here, right?"

"Yes. They are fish as well."

"Aha!" I said, raising my finger.

"But they are furry, not scaly or feathery! They are mammals!" The barman shook his head.

"They may have fur, but they behave like fish. They swim and they are cold and moist to the touch." I tapped my chin.

"Hmmm. I don't know about that one. That's the least convincing of them all. I think they are fully mammal." The barman shrugged.

"The Church has declared it so. We do not argue the laws of Stvora. We merely accept them, for they are his divine will." I was about to ask him if he would consider me a fish if I jumped in the water, but I stopped myself. He probably wouldn't, and I didn't want to look like an idiot.

"What about the testicles?" I asked.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"The testes," I said, miming a throwing motion.

"Do the beavers here also throw their testicles at hunters to escape them? If they do, then I definitely don't want beaver tail." The barman's smile vanished.

"They what?" He looked at me with such confusion that it made me question the validity of what I had thought to be fact. It always felt like a weird thing for an animal to do. Maybe those stories were made up. People did mention it often, but maybe they did that because it sounded so outlandish. Graecians did love a good story. Beavers throwing their gonads at hunters in a desperate bid to escape was a good story.

"I… I have never heard of such a thing," he stammered.

"I know they're fish. I've never heard… I—I…" He frowned and looked at a loss for words.

"Their testicles are also classified as fish?"

"I… uhh... The tail…" He started sweating, his eyes flicking to the man sitting next to me.

"I don't… I think not."

"They don't throw them or they aren't fish?" He grabbed a cloth and wiped his forehead.

"Both. They, uhhh… don't throw them." So calling everything from birds to mammals fish was fine, but a self-castrating beaver was a bridge too far. That was somehow perplexing to these people. I guess you have to draw the line somewhere.

"Lucky for them," I said. The well-dressed man let out a little snort, then turned to me, his pale blue eyes fixed on mine.

"You have a very colorful mind, stranger. It is interesting that you speak our local tongue without accent, yet are not aware of our customs."

"We're from Lipova," Kasia cut in. The man glanced at her.

"Hm. Never heard of it. Twins?" I shot him a look.

"The identical everything gave it away?"

"Fair." He spun his glass once more.

"If you've never had beaver tail you should give it a try. There's really nothing quite like it, and you won't find a better beaver tail than what they serve at The Golden Wheel." He gave us a once over.

"You look like you can afford it." Was beaver tail some kind of rich people food? Was it like sow's matrix in garon from back home? The thought of rubbery pig uterus marinated in rotten fish sauce made me shudder, but I also didn't want this guy to think I was some kind of poor person who wasn't Silesian. If I said yes, he might just think me a rich eccentric. Besides, the bartender had described the sauces and none of them included anything rotten.

I turned to Kasia, hoping she'd give me a hint of what the proper way to go about this was. Unfortunately Kasia looked as out of her depth as I was. She gave me a helpless shrug. I glanced at the barman. If this was a test of my Silesian-ness, I wasn't about to fail it by being a poor person. Even if it meant eating the tail of a fish-mammal. I slammed my fist on the bar, taking back control of the situation.

"Give us the biggest, most expensive beaver tails you got… and some of that honey mead, please."

"Sauce?" the barman asked. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Did I stutter?" He inclined his head.

"Yellow sauce it is."