Chương 17: A Delicacy of Corn Juice

"It's going to be another slow day. You don't have to stick around if you don't want. I'm just gonna organize the kitchen and make food in case somebody shows up." Wynnie leaned against the front desk in the entry room. She looked completely defeated, and it was barely past breakfast. Her broom sat propped up against the wall nearby, and a few random areas had been cleaned. Well, not cleaned, exactly.

It was more like she was dusting the floor in one place, then letting the dust settle elsewhere, rearranging itself.

"No, I wouldn't want to explore too much of the town without a good guide."

"I'm sure you can find someone to show you around." I rolled my eyes.

"I'm sure I could too. Unfortunately, the person I want to show me around isn't picking up the hints."

"Me?" I laughed.

"I mean, yeah. It's not like I want to tap a random stranger on the shoulder in the street and hope they'll be half as interesting as you." Her cheeks reddened slightly, and she looked away for an instant. She muttered something about being a charmer under her breath and shook her head. Her gaze went back over to the broom and then the kitchen.

"Look, I know you have cleaning to do. But I'm still getting to know the town." I shrugged lamely, glancing at the door.

"And the people. I'd love it if you could show me around. If I'm going to be here long term, I might as well get familiar, you know? I can help you clean when we get back."

"You promise you'll help me?"

"I swear. Together we'll turn this place around."

"And you think our top priority is… sightseeing?" I shrugged. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. There was only one way to find out.

"At the very least, maybe we could pick up a few supplies. We've been doing a lot more sampling than selling, and we're running low on some must-haves." Despite a quick trip earlier in the week, our goods were dwindling. We'd almost run through our stores of citrus. Our volume of moonshine was plummeting. And last I'd checked, we had barely enough sugar to coat the bottom of the bag that held it.

Business had fallen off sharply since the sailors left, and we'd gotten so excited about perfecting our recipes that we forgot to continue making improvements to the inn. It didn't take much more convincing for Wynnie to turn her back on sweeping and organization. I wasn't surprised. Judging by the state of the Breakwater Inn when I arrived, chores and maintenance had never been regular parts of her day. In a way, she reminded me of myself when I was in my twenties.

She had all the responsibility and potential in the world. She just didn't have the discipline to turn it into anything. Depression can have that effect sometimes. The two of us walked side-by-side through the streets of Seaport. She pointed down at the docks, showing me a few of the local fishing vessels. The wharf was nearby, where different vendors sold their catches, and bait shops sold fishing and boating supplies. We skipped past it all, though.

The docks were known territory now, and I wanted to see something new. We passed a confectionery and a small toy shop on our way to the merchant district. In it were a couple of smithies, a tannery, and a few farm stalls. We stopped at one of the stalls. The smell of foreign spices and caramelized vegetables filled the air, and a small wisp of smoke came from a charcoal grill by a cart.

"Is that grilled corn?" Wynnie smiled.

"You have corn back on Earth?"

"Oh, we definitely do. Every culture has done something incredible with it."

"What has yours done?" I considered the question for a minute. Without a smartphone on hand, the answer lived just out of reach. I wasn't actually sure which recipes were actually American and which had been lovingly adopted from other cultures.

"I don't know which ones we started, but they're all represented in my country. Grilled corn with butter or spices. Creamy soups. Cornbread. Little fried patties filled with meat—we call them tacos. I think we've got corn covered from just about every angle." She nodded in respect.

"I hope what we have here lives up to your standards." She approached the stall, where a young Elven man, who looked to be in his late teens, manned a grill. He was dressed smartly in suspenders and a flowing white button-up shirt, and a long, stylish cap sat at a jaunty angle on his head. He tipped it in greeting.

"Two corn sticks, please. And two juices," Wynnie ordered, looking at me as if for approval.

"Two and two? That'll be two copper."

"Two!? A month ago it was one!" A mixture of regret and annoyance flashed across his face. He gritted his teeth.

"Everyone's tightening their pockets right now. You know that. We're all trying to cover protection money if we need it."

"Oh. Yeah. That." Their tones took a dark turn. Call it danger sense, or maybe a decent passive insight check, but alarms went off in my head. I made a mental note to ask more about all this. Wynnie chewed her lip and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She fished into the coin purse on her hip and pulled out two flat discs. For a few seconds, she rubbed them together, nearly fusing them with pressure before she relented and handed them over.

"Those were just about my last coins before you showed up," she whispered to me.

"And now you're paying for my fare?" She smiled sheepishly.

"I just want to show you a good time." She was so cute and so generous. Truly, the people with the least were often the freest with what they had. Wynnie's heart was much larger than her wallet, it seemed. The dapper teenager handed us each a cob with a dowel stuck in to hold it. There was visible char on the multicolored kernels. Blackened spices jammed into the nooks and crannies. It reminded me of all the grilled elotes I'd drooled over on social media.

A moment later, he produced two small cups of opaque, whitish-yellow liquid. I took a sniff.

"Corn juice?"

"Local delicacy," Wynnie said. The teenager scoffed.

"Delicacy. Right." Wynnie led me further down the street.

"Don't listen to him. It's delicious. Youths have such bad attitudes." Mark that down as one more truism shared across cultures. I doubted the kids of this world could be worse than our brain rot generation, but what did I know? Maybe these kids huffed magic dusts and bullied gnomes. Once we were out of earshot of the kid, I remembered that brief moment of tension they'd shared. Something ominous about protection money. That didn't sound like regular taxation to me.

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"So, locals are tightening their pockets? What's that about?" Wynnie's step hitched, and her shoulders stiffened. Her next words came out casually, but I could tell they were measured.

"Black Ship Raiders. Sometimes they come through town to collect money from shops and vendors. Nobody knows when they'll come."

"Protection money?"

"Yeah, like, wouldn't it be a shame if a storm rolled through and wrecked your stall? They claim they'd help rebuild the livelihood of anyone under their protection. Except when a flock of seagulls destroyed Steel-Eyed Dan's wig shop and messed up their hairstyles, the raiders were nowhere to be found. He had to start from scratch." That all sounded suspiciously familiar. And not just the part about protection money going nowhere.

It was almost like she was trying to make a convoluted and obscure Earth reference joke. Probably just a coincidence.

"So, they just show up, take a bunch of money, and leave?"

"More or less." Wynnie sipped her corn juice and closed her eyes in bliss. When they snapped open again, she was serious.

"They've been draining this place dry for years. Hard to attract new people or businesses to a town where pirates take all the profits."

"And that's why your inn hasn't been doing so well?" Her voice grew quiet.

"Um. Not exactly. They don't collect on businesses that don't turn a profit." Yikes. What do you say to something like that? Nothing. You just bite your corn and hope the delicious crunch fills the awkward silence. I chomped down on the cob. It was sweet and salty, but with a good amount of heat. Sort of like kettle corn with a dusting of black pepper and cayenne. It was street food at its finest. Delicacy might've been a stretch, but not a big one. The cool, pressed juice was something else.

Somehow, it was both chalky and velvety at the same time. The flavor wasn't particularly complex, but the sugar levels reminded me a little of falernum—a liqueur commonly used in rum drinks. Could I make a corn 'n oil using actual corn instead of falernum? And given that the moonshine was practically fuel, it could definitely serve as the "oil" part of the equation. All I'd need to do was add some of the burnt sugar and molasses bitters to the mix, and the colors would look just right.

One more thing to try out, I guess. Award-winning cocktail bars weren't made in a day. We drained our corn juices, and Wynnie took my hand. Despite the warm sun on our skin, her hand was cool.

"Are you cold?" I asked.

"What? No. Why?"

"Your hand is frigid."

"Ice mage, remember?"

"Oh. Duh."

"I guess it's easy to forget since I don't use my power as much, huh?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I make the mistake of thinking you're a boring old regular person like me. But you're actually a powerful magic user, right?"

"More like a boring old magic user." She giggled, scrunching up her cheeks until her nose crinkled. Gods alive.

"I don't think anyone would accuse me of being powerful. But don't act so humble. You're exciting, too! Not only are you a human, which is pretty darn rare around these parts, but you're Reborn! That's way more interesting than being a useless ice mage." I cocked my head. This wasn't the first time that she had suggested that her cold powers were nothing special. Where I was from, they were considered solid B-tier. Maybe even low A-tier.

Usually, ice wasn't enough to lead a comic franchise, but it almost always earned a supporting role in one. Unless you were a princess who could sing. Then, all bets were off.

"Why don't you ever use your cold powers, anyway?" She made a face as if she'd just tasted the bottom of a shoe.

"Ice powers are mostly used in times of war. Powerful mages can erect strong walls of ice that keep out projectiles and fireballs. They can conjure shards of ice that pierce through the hearts of their enemies. And… they can freeze a man's blood in his heart if they're strong enough." I winced. No wonder she didn't want to go to the academy to train as a Crown's Mage or whatever. The idea of freezing the blood in someone's veins sounded borderline evil.

"Yeesh. Yeah, that sounds pretty bad."

"I would never want to use my powers for anything like that. The mere thought sickens me. The worst part is, once you learn to use the tools of violence and power, you see a way to solve all problems with them."

"Learn to use a hammer and you look for nails," I said.

"Exactly. I don't want to be that kind of person."

"I'm sure you could use your powers for other things, too." She threw her free hand up in despair.

"Like what? They're the most useless powers available. If I'm not good for killing and war, then I'm good for nothing." I hated hearing her talk like that.

"Maybe you just haven't thought about all the cool things that you can do. Just because there isn't demand for your abilities doesn't mean they're useless."

"Oh yeah? Do tell."

"Think about it. You could keep people cool during a heatwave. You can store food without it going bad while everybody else has to hope that theirs doesn't spoil quickly. If someone accidentally burns themselves on a hot pan or while tending a fire, your touch could soothe their wound." I was on a roll, but I had to end it somewhere. Might as well go with the thing that had recently turned her from a pauper to a mere peasant.

"And you can make ice for my cocktails." She nodded slowly, thinking through each option as I presented it.

"I guess there are some uses," she agreed finally.

"That's just what I came up with in five seconds on the spot. I bet there are a ton of things you could do that kick ass and don't stop anyone's beating heart." She smiled in relief.

"So, what about you? Don't you have any powers?" A bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it.

"I can make a good drink that gets people to overindulge without realizing it, and I can drink a whole bunch before I get drunk. I'm not sure I'd call those powers."

"Maybe if you saw them as powers, you'd use them that way," she said, turning my logic back on me.

"Hammer, nail." She was sharp; I had to give her that. Insightful, too. I'd always looked at my skills with alcohol as a double-edged sword. A blessing and a curse. Yeah, I could make a mean drink and have more than a few without much worry, but it also meant that I had to be extra careful about my habits. For a long time, I was afraid that I was a problem drinker. More recently, I'd worried that I was veering into alcoholism.

The line between the two was razor-thin, and I was pretty sure that I'd cut myself on it more than a few times.

"Well, maybe I'll see if I could save the day with it sometime," I joked.

"Use your powers for good, right?" I chuckled.

"Something like that. Ultimately, I keep questioning if that's even possible with alcohol. It's had a questionable effect on my life overall. I know it's ruined many others." Wynnie was silent for a few seconds. She bit her lip while glancing at me out of the side of her eye.

"And that's why you still want to do this just friends thing?" I wasn't sure that's what I still wanted at all. That wasn't exactly what she was asking, though.

"I mean, yeah. It's not that I don't think you're gorgeous. Or clever. Or really sweet. You're all of those things and more. It's just that I can get so impulsive when I drink that it can be difficult to know what I want long term versus what I want in the moment."

"Letting go of impulsive desires to understand what it means to make true connections." She squeezed my hand, emphasizing her point. I'd almost forgotten we were still touching.

"Exactly. I want to make sure whatever we have goes beyond mere attraction. It's not fair to either of us to get physical while I'm still figuring that out."

"But you are attracted to me?" My eyes roamed up and down her form. Damn, was she cute, all innocent face and sinful curves.

"Oh, I am. And that won't change. I just want to trust my heart as well as I can trust my eyes," I confessed.

"I trust your heart," she said, quiet but powerful.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" I wasn't sure how to answer that. In theory, I did. Some of my friends and family had experienced something like it, and I'd certainly gotten close before.

"I think so." This was perilous territory, but I had to know.

"Do you?"

"Of course! If you think about it, I… I… um." Wynnie's pace slowed, and I thought she was about to hit me with even more wisdom and perspective. Or failing that, with a heartfelt confession I wouldn't know how to handle. Instead, she was regarding a small shop as we approached. Wire mannequins with dresses and casual suits sat out front, like a fancy garden party where only light metal statues were invited.

As we neared, her breath hitched in her throat, and her free hand reached out slightly as though she could grab the fabric.

"See something you like?"

"By the gods, yes. This tailor does the most amazing work. I've always wanted a dress made by her."

"But you haven't had the money?" She shook her head.

"It's not just that. I haven't had a cause for one, either. What reason do I have to get all dressed up?"

"I bet we could come up with a few," I offered. Her laugh was pitiful and wistful at once.

"We'd better not. I don't need to pine after these dresses more than I already do. Even with an occasion, I could never afford something like this." I balked. This whole time, I'd assumed a dress might be a few copper. On Earth, I could get a same-day delivery on a dress made in China for the same price as a fancy cocktail plus tip. And if she wanted a new dress before visiting The Good Inn… My mouth went dry, redoing the calculus in my head.

"How much does one of these run? Like, five gold?" This time, her laugh was less sad. It made my heart flutter.

"Goodness, no. Just a few silver. Some of her simpler patterns run cheaper than that. Occasionally, she'll even have a sale." Whew. That didn't sound all that expensive to me. Say what you will for fiscal responsibility, but sometimes you need to buy yourself nice things. I've always believed that life is for living. You can't just survive—you must also thrive. Wynnie was just so used to her extreme poverty mindset that she forgot we could scrape together a decent income now.

"Is there anything here you like?" Her gaze roamed over something slim and green. A yearning sigh escaped her lips, and her brows softened just from looking at it.

"Something like that, maybe. It's not fancy, but it would make me feel pretty, I think." The fabric looked velvety smooth, and the bust appeared supportive enough to handle Wynnie's generous assets. It was different enough from her usual garb that I just couldn't quite picture it on her. I was so used to seeing her in her basic, drab frocks. I looked over the dress for a price tag. A small paper tied to a string around a tie in the back listed it at two silver, two copper.

"This one looks kind of affordable, actually," I said. She just looked down.

"I can continue repairing what I have. But a girl can dream, right?" She could dream, sure. But I wanted to make her dreams come true. More importantly, I was pretty sure I could make that happen. We weren't that far away, all things considered. It was time to give her an occasion worth dressing up for. I was pretty sure she was ready for it. But was I?