Chương 9: The Best Laid Plans of Elves and Men

The punch we'd made still sloshed at the top of my mind. If we could turn a decent profit on it, that would open a lot of possibilities for Wynnie and the Breakwater Inn. And for me, too, since technically, I'd committed to paying for my stay. Maybe in this world, Reborn achieved more. In mine, isekai heroes certainly did. But here, at least I could help out an overwhelmed innkeeper.

"Next, I think we should get into a little trouble." Then, because I remembered I was trying to be better here, I added, "Let's do some planning first, shall we?"

"Were you going to say scheming instead of planning?" I wasn't going to dignify that with a response. Because of course I was. I finished my last bite of toast and washed it down with the dregs of coffee. The final sip was sludge, even after my heavy dose of cream. The roast was excessively dark to the point where it had to be a mistake. Probably, they just cooked them on cast iron right over the fire. There was none of the controlled, experienced roasting they did back on Earth.

And knowing Wynnie, these beans probably caught on fire at some point. A few others likely didn't get roasted at all. Maybe we'd get lucky. Maybe more coffee was just on its way, and all we needed to secure some were a few good cocktails in trade.

"Any idea if a ship is coming in today?" I asked.

"There should be one coming in soon. At least, last I checked. It's a small one, though."

"Good enough. So is our vessel. Our punch bowl, I mean. It's a small one, too. Because we drank so much last night. Oh my God," I said, resting my head in my hand. My words always came out a little stupid while I was recovering from a "fun" night. One more reason why I'd tried to cut down before. Yet I'd drank more since dying than I had in the several weeks prior, game night notwithstanding.

Something about being thrust into a new world with no tangible grip on my life made me reach out for the one thing I truly understood. Wine. Cocktails. The finer things in life. Also, being encouraged to indulge by a beautiful, kindly stranger didn't help. I vowed to do better by myself. And to not be a bad or enabling influence on Wynnie, too. I wanted my presence in her world to be a good one, not to drag her into the life of a bartender with me.

The only problem was that my vows always slipped my mind after my first drink.

"I'll go get the punch bowl and the glasses. You might want to wash yourself up," she said, eyeing me up and down. I looked at myself. Somehow, the fresh linen clothing she'd procured for me was covered in citrus oils, alcohol stains, and sweat. My hair probably looked about as orderly as I felt.

"Good call. Meet you back here in an hour?"

"Absolutely."

The washroom at the Breakwater Inn was an outdoor tub. Moss lined the outside of it, and a strange, green-orange growth dotted the inside. Wynnie assured me it was safe, but it didn't make me feel any better. The water that went into the tub was a step above frigid. It had to be closer to a cold plunge than a hot tub. Score one more for the fire mages, I thought. I kept my bath as quick and efficient as I could. Then, I dressed in a new set of fresh linens that she'd left on my bed.

Which probably weren't all that fresh, when I thought about it. They smelled like someone else. My guess was that a guest had left them at the inn, and she'd kept them around as spares for just such an occasion as this. Finally, when I was fresh and ready, I met her back at the kitchen. My knuckles rapped against the solid wooden door, and I opened it before she had a chance to call out, "Enter!"

"How do I look?" She gave me an evaluative glance, then quickly looked away.

"Am I supposed to be honest, or am I supposed to keep it at a just-friends level?" Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Damn. This was going to be trouble, wasn't it?

"Can you keep it at a just-friends level?"

"That depends. Can you button your tunic a little higher? Sometimes, a bit of chest hair does something for me, okay?" She fanned herself and avoided eye contact while I buttoned up higher. The fabric gently tugged against me, fitting my form snugly. A small tuft of curls still escaped from the top, but I didn't mind an appreciative look or two while we worked. I cleared my throat.

"So, I figure we'll just grab all this stuff, head down to the docks, and sell what we can to sailors as they get off the boat."

"You know, you need a license to sell on the docks."

"Really? That sucks. What happens if we sell anyway without a license?"

"Fines. Jail. A bad reputation from the other vendors around town."

"How's your reputation now?"

"Couldn't get much worse, I suppose. And Lady Talia already knows I can't pay any fine."

"So, jail?" She shrugged.

"Maybe for you. I think she'd be willing to let me go with a slap on the wrist." That was a risk I was willing to take.

"There's a saying that goes, forgiveness is easier to ask for than permission."

"Which means…?"

"Let's do it. If I go to jail, I go to jail. It'll just give me a bit more time with Lady Talia. Maybe she'll come to see that I'm a real charmer."

"If you want any luck with that, you might need to supply her with a few cups of punch." My brows rose.

"Does she drink?"

"It's a small town with no crime. She's gotta do something to unwind. My bet is she's not into crochet."

"Interesting," I said, mocking seriousness.

"My money's on white wine and smutty romance novels." It wasn't hard to imagine. It was always the uptight, no-nonsense women who had the wildest tastes. She probably liked dark billionaire werewolf CEO stories with knotting and dubcon. But maybe I shouldn't think too hard about the dragonkin's romance tastes right after promising Wynnie I'd be a better man. We readied the punch bowl and glasses and put them in a small handcart that Wynnie used to run errands around town.

The warped wood was rickety, and several nuts needed tightening. Yet so long as we could ignore the squeaking and wobbly wheel, it got the job done. The cart clattered ahead of us as we headed down to the docks, earning a few confused stares from the other vendors who were setting up shop. Not everyone looked confused, though—some folks looked perturbed. Wynnie spoke with a few of them, apparently smoothing things over slightly. I just sat by awkwardly, trying not to draw too much attention to myself.

Our setup was small and utilitarian. We shoehorned ourselves between a hat vendor and a fruit vendor. The two of us stood awkwardly, waiting for the ship to arrive. That's when I remembered I still didn't know the first thing about economics here.

"What's a fair price to ask for a cup of punch?" I asked Wynnie.

"One copper per drink is pretty standard. Two copper if it's really good. Things get more expensive than that, but that's usually for rich folks' wines or rare liquors in crystal decanters."

"Ten coppers to one silver?"

"Yep. And ten silver to one gold. Two silver per day can buy you a relatively modest lifestyle. Many people live comfortably on one silver daily."

"Speaking from experience, I take it?" She reared up almost proudly.

"Not everyone can stretch a gold as far as I can. Helps that I don't have gold to stretch, I suppose."

"How far are we talking, stretch-wise?"

"A single silver kept me going for more than a week more than a few times. It's not comfortable. It means no wine." She stiffened her upper lip and set her jaw.

"I'd rather spend a few extra copper to make the nights more bearable." That was an admission of lonely poverty if I'd ever heard one. I could empathize. Probably more than she knew—and more than I was comfortable admitting right then. But she'd revealed something else. Something more important to the task at hand. Something I could use to our advantage. That all sounded like typical RPG math. It was just my luck that I was reborn into a world that was so much like one I'd spent years imagining already.

I still hadn't identified my leg up, but this might be the start of it. My learning curve might not be as sharp as I'd feared. Even if the cost of goods were different between this world and my game world, at least I wouldn't make any weird math errors. I'd just have to remember that here, copper coins actually mattered. Silver coins really meant something.

"Let's charge three copper per drink," I said.

"What!? Nobody will pay that."

"Do you think they'll laugh us out of town, or will they try to haggle us down?"

"They'll try to have us committed."

"Everyone here seems to think that getting free room and board is a huge punishment." She winked.

"Well, you've seen the digs at the Breakwater Inn, right?"

"Oh, self-burn. Nice."

"Yeah, but it can get even worse than that." I shrugged.

"Great. Let's see if you're right about that, then." I pointed at the horizon. A little ruffle of white was barely cresting on the edge of the sea. If I squinted, I could just make out the billowing sails of a large vessel. A murmur rose from the other vendors around us. Many began tidying up the area around their stalls. A few put finishing touches on their displays.

"Remember, we're going to add ice to everyone's cup. As much as we can get away with."

"This is such a stupid idea." Yet despite her apparent lack of belief, she pulled out our makeshift Lewis bag, which was filled with two large, frozen bucket-bowls of ice. She'd already done a bit of finger-twiddling and hand-waving back up at the inn so she wouldn't draw attention to herself by the other vendors. She handed the bags to me. The ice inside was already smashed into usable chunks, and a continuous ethereal blue flow of Wynnie's ice magic was keeping them from melting.

Setting one bag down in a shadow, I gripped the other burlap sack with one hand. Belatedly, I realized my fist was shaking. My body still felt weak from our excessive celebration the night before. I turned to Wynnie.

"Are you ready?" She looked back with a soulful, hapless expression.

"Oh, I don't know. I still think this is a terrible idea, and I'm super nervous." I was, too.

"Should we have a quick drink to calm our nerves?"