Chương 22: When They Veer, We Voor

Gulls screeched overhead as they circled lazily, looking for their next meal. I dodged some well-placed droppings, barely escaping in the nick of time. The salt air cut into my nostrils, letting the heavy scent of fish into the cracks. We were navigating the winding and occasionally steep roads of Seaport with handcart in tow. Unlike the wide streets of Earth, the paths here were just wide enough for two mules to walk abreast. Ask me how I know. One mule brayed and then plopped waste behind it as we passed.

Wynnie glanced back and grimaced a silent apology.

"Do you have coasts back on Earth?"

"All kinds, yeah."

"Any like this?"

"Ever been to Oregon?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew how stupid they sounded. She did, too. Fortunately, she didn't press me on them. Heavy breeze gusted by, causing our clothing to flap heavily. This wasn't a tropical coast, nor the kind where people surfed. It was bracing and wet, with rocky cliffs, small beaches you had to risk life and limb to hike to, and big waves outside of the bay. Wynnie pulled her coat tighter around her.

"You really don't have to come with me, you know. I can run these errands on my own."

"Sure, but then who would pull your handcart for you?"

"Me?"

"Spoken like a true peasant. Come on. You own your own business. You should get used to telling other people to do the heavy lifting for you."

"In that case, can you put me in the handcart? I don't wanna walk." Finally, acting her station in life. I was honor-bound to comply. After a few minutes, I came to a realization. Either I hadn't been working out as hard as I thought before I died, or she actually was a little heavy. Most signs pointed to my fitness though. Pulling any fully grown adult up hills as steep as San Francisco's is a tough ask, you know? I had to stop every so often to catch my breath. Wynnie hardly noticed.

She raised her hands like she was riding a rollercoaster during every minor decline.

"I love this! It makes me feel so tiny!"

"I mean, you are fitting in a little cart," I wheezed. Wynnie couldn't stop laughing as she barked out directions like giving royal decrees. As we wended through the streets, I started to see parts of the town that I hadn't before. There was a candlemaker, a place that sold parchments and quills, and several buildings dedicated to various food provisions. I finally learned what a farrier was.

"A lot of blacksmiths here," I commented.

"Well, yeah. It's a port. Lots of shipwrights, too." I knew next to nothing about boats and fishing and all that stuff. Even after a couple of high seas game campaigns, I still couldn't tell you the difference between port and starboard, or what the prow of a ship was. If you held a gun to my head and asked me what a mizzenmast was, I'd just ask you to make it quick and painless. Finally, we arrived at our destination. A large, inviting-looking building stood ahead of us.

It was all unpainted cinderblock with white trim. An awning above the door read: Seaport Bakery. A line of more than a dozen people formed out front, disappearing into the white wooden door that was propped open with a stone. Everyone waited patiently, glancing up occasionally at the sky or chatting with their neighbors. Almost none of the small town gossip interested me. I didn't care who was pregnant again. Before too long, it was our turn to enter. The change was immediate.

Instead of the harsh climate outside, the bakery was warm and inviting. The smell of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove wafted lightly through the air. A thin layer of flour coated the butcher block counter. There, a young girl in her early teens smiled sweetly at a couple as they left. The man balanced a tray full of glistening, frosted pastries on his hip. The spiral puffs looked almost like cinnamon rolls with whitish icing pooling down from the top and sides.

"How can I help you?" The girl beamed at me brightly. Apparently, she'd had her coffee this morning.

"Oh, hello, Wynnie. Are you two together?"

"Yes. I mean, no, not in that way. But yes," stammered my companion.

"Oh, too bad. You two would be really cute together. Anyway, the usual?"

"Yes, please!" Wynnie thrust a tray out to the girl, who whisked it away and disappeared behind shelves of baked goods. She reappeared a minute later, the tray now piled precariously with bread loaves. Stashed to the side were a dozen scones covered in straw-yellow icing and lemon zest. Two of the cinnamon-roll-looking things were set on top of the scones, dripping glaze. Wynnie eyed them longingly.

"I didn't budget for any premium pastries." She looked both reverent and scared to touch them.

"I mean, those aren't in the usual order."

"It's on the house! New recipe that we're trying to perfect. If you come back for your next order and give us your feedback, we can call it a work trade for recipe development." We dove into the experimental recipe as soon as we left the shop. It was indeed a cinnamon roll. Or at least close to one. There was a bit of sourdough tang to the soft dough, though it was very mild. I also detected a hint of orange zest, clove, and allspice.

It was more complex and less sugary than what I was used to, but all in all, I thought it was darn near perfect. A cinnamon roll for adults. In fact, I appreciated that it didn't taste like such an overwhelming sugar bomb. Sometimes, the sweetness of a traditional cinnamon roll was too much for me. Now that the bread filled up the handcart, Wynnie walked alongside me. She pointed out a few different areas of the town that I still hadn't checked out yet. A residential area sprawled up the hillside.

Most of the houses featured small gardens in front. A short street had a couple of shops. Closer to the shipyards stood several light manufacturing buildings. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"That's the potter over there. When we get a few more copper, I wouldn't mind updating our cups and dinnerware."

"Do they do custom work?" I inquired.

"Sure. Got anything in mind?"

"There are a couple of glass types that cocktails get served in traditionally. It might be cool to have coupes and rocks glasses to work with."

"Sure. No idea what those are, but we can always ask."

"And we'll want to see a metalworker about some shaker tins."

"It's like you're making up terms on the spot to see how gullible I am. But if they're real, they sound fun." I looked around, not recognizing our location. Bits of farmland dotted the road, and the area was starting to look rural. At least, it was as much of a farmland as it could be on the coast. Not many things grew well in salty coastal climes, which probably explained the limited selection of vegetables around these parts.

"Where are we going now?"

"Got to get fruit for the drinks."

"Oh, yeah. Is this where the fruit vendor stays when he's not down by the docks?" She laughed softly.

"No, that guy mostly does tree fruits, stone fruits, and melons. We're after citrus, right?"

"Yep. Is that a specialty order?"

"Yeah, but don't worry. I got a guy." In a world where scurvy was still a genuine concern, it was probably good to have a citrus guy. We picked up a couple of bags of lemons, limes, a few grapefruits, and a handful of oranges. They piled high in the handcart. Just like that, I was once again lugging something heavy through hilly streets. I'd only been in town for a couple of weeks now, but I could already feel my cardio improving. My ability to focus was getting better without a screen on hand at all times.

I no longer felt like I was surviving the week, just looking forward to a game night on the weekend. There was so much to look forward to. I couldn't help but think there was more to it than just living a healthier, electronics-free life. Wynnie was a big part of my renewed outlook, too. Our drunken kiss was weeks ago, and in the days since, I only found myself liking her more. It wasn't just physical attraction and good flirting anymore. We really had become friends. Friends with tension. Even while sober.

Yet restraint made the heart grow fondle, or whatever. However improbable, my life away from Earth felt good. Like I could be proud of what I was doing. If things kept going as they did, I could see myself settling down here and being downright responsible. Respectable, even. Also, I couldn't help but feel that here in Seaport, I was making a difference. That's an important feeling to have as a man. Simply knowing that in some way, I mattered made me feel driven to try harder.

"How much does a room cost at the inn?"

"Per night?"

"Yeah. I assume that includes a meal, right?" She nodded.

"Room and board for one night covers dinner and breakfast. Alcohol is extra. Right now, I charge four copper per night." I blinked back surprise. That sounded incredibly low. I double-checked, just to make sure that I'd heard her correctly.

"Four copper for dinner, breakfast, and a place to sleep?"

"It's a bit below average." She grimaced sheepishly.

"Okay, it's a lot below average." She stopped and turned to me, flouncing slightly. It was cute.

"Most inns run around a silver per night for the same service. The Good Inn charges one silver, five copper."

"And you're empty most nights, even at your rates?"

"For what it's worth, since breakfast is usually just a scone, and dinner is heavy on the potatoes, it doesn't actually cost much for me to feed somebody. Scones make good lunches and snacks. Food… never goes to waste here."

"Still, that doesn't leave much left for profit." A cloud briefly obscured the sun, sending us into shadow. The temperature dropped noticeably. Back on Earth, people were nearly socially required to say something like, "Looks like rain." I wondered if the same held true here. A small animal—something resembling a cross between a possum and a squirrel—scurried into a nearby bush. Wynnie gave it a wide berth. I did too, just in case it was venomous or toothy.

I remember she'd said she got a few guests per month on average. Since painting the inn, that amount had gone up. That also meant more food for guests and less leftovers for us.

"And what's your overhead?" I asked.

"I don't know. Wooden beam construction?"

"Oh, I meant what are the costs of doing business? Wood for the fire, food ingredients, fresh linens when needed?" She scratched her head and winced apologetically.

"I don't know? Overall, I think I'm just about breaking even. I might be down a copper or two per week overall, but that's just because sometimes I need new shoes, or a window shutter breaks. I try to keep my incidentals low, though." The gears in my head started turning quickly. Even with only a few guests per week, she was close to being successful. At least for her current lifestyle. I had to be a little hit on her overhead, but not that much.

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm just thinking about our future with the inn."

"Our future?" She emphasized "our" pointedly.

"Sorry. I mean, your future."

"No. It can be our future. Becoming business partners might make us more than just friends." She punctuated that with a small, sweet smile. And was it just me, or had she made sure her dress showed a little extra cleavage today? Cheeky. Well, if she was open to being business partners, then I hoped she was open to my business ideas. I was about to pitch them hard and fast. A few of them were probably curveballs, too.

"Now that the rooms don't smell as musty and are better decorated, I think we could charge more than four copper."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. And with the flue working in the fireplace, heat is distributing better through the ducts. It's not freezing cold in there after dark." She kicked at a rock and sent it skittering down the road.

"Nothing compared to what a fire mage can do though." She grumbled something else about fire mages and their fancy advantages. Which led me right into my best idea yet.

"There's one more thing. The food and drink portion. We're not going to compete with The Good Inn there." She sighed as she resumed walking back to the Breakwater Inn. She laughed mirthlessly, already defeated.

"I know. They have the best food around."

"Ha! Honestly, I think we could do better than them even without a fire mage. But you have your own powers. Let's use those instead."

"What do you mean?" It was time to whip out some of my fancy Earth knowledge. Flex that isekai advantage. Being a Reborn in a world without modern technology or conveniences didn't mean I had to go without them—it just meant I could recreate them differently.

"You'll use your magic to make food."

"You can't be serious. Ice mages can't cook. Everybody knows that." I grinned.

"That's just the thing. You won't have to cook. And we're going to blow those suckers out of the water. Ever heard of sashimi? Poke? Ceviche?"

"Those all sound foreign."

"Yeah, they are. From three different languages." I hadn't even hit her with the crudo, lox, or gravlax.

"Well, you can imagine I've never heard of them then." A drop of rain landed right on the tip of her nose, and she looked up at the overcast sky.

"As long as you don't try to serve raw fish, I think we'll be fine." She laughed the idea off.

"Yeah. Okay. Sure. Definitely."

"You're not laughing." We could deal with her misgivings later. This was a foolproof plan. I snapped my fingers.

"I think this is going to be the key to our success. Only we can serve this food, because it takes an ice mage to prepare them safely for consumption."

"Just like it takes an ice mage to make punch?"

"Precisely. Not just punch, but any good cocktail. Refrigeration is potent magic. We might as well make use of it." She paused again. I was expecting her to ask me to explain everything. It would've been tough, given the amount of excited thoughts bouncing around in my brain. Still, I was ready to try. I knew that sushi-grade fish needed to be flash-frozen to kill parasites. Nobody else could serve cold classic cocktails like we could.

The only hard part would be getting patrons to accept raw fish as a delicacy—and a safe delicacy at that. But that's not why Wynnie had stopped. Her gaze cast out over the horizon. Her brow furrowed in concern.

"That's a big ship entering the bay," she commented after a minute. I looked at where she was looking. Just as she'd said, a big galleon was floating in at a considerable clip. Its blue hull and white trim looked fresh and clean. Even from our distance, the decks appeared nearly polished to a light wooden shine.

"That's a good thing, right? Maybe we'll fill up the inn. I bet we could sell through quite a bit of punch. Maybe these guys would be into some gimlets." Already, I was thinking about the other simple drinks I could introduce to the town.

"It might be good, but it might not." Wynnie sounded concerned.

"The next boat scheduled to come in isn't for a couple more days, and it's not as big as this one."

"So?"

"So this is a Silver Coast merchant ship. It's a protected vessel of the kingdom. They don't usually take pit stops unless they're in trouble." The cloud that had passed overhead was still blocking the sun. The whole town was cast in heavy, dark shadow. Something felt ominous in her tone and the skies alike.

"Think there's a storm coming?"

"I hope so. The alternative is much worse."