“I suppose it’s alright to be a little extravagant tonight.”
As Marco wove his way through the crowds mingling in the spring twilight, he felt for the wallet tucked inside his tunic.
The reason for its heavy weight was that today’s business had gone unexpectedly well.
The wagon-load of woolen cloth he had brought to the Old Capital, Aitheria, had sold like wildfire.
His cheeks naturally relaxed at the magnitude of the profit.
Though the petite Marco was sometimes mistaken for being younger than he was, he was an itinerant merchant with ample experience.
Even for him, luck as good as this was a rare occurrence.
A grand spring fair was currently being held in the Old Capital.
It was said that this fair, unusual for this time of year, was held as a special exception to celebrate the marriage of the Imperial Emperor Conrad V to Princess Celestine.
Marco, who had been traveling to the Eastern Kingdom of Oiria to purchase woolen goods, happened to hear rumors of the grand fair and was able to stop by the Old Capital. Whether it was by God’s grace or mere coincidence, he felt he could use this as seed money for even larger business next time.
Being a celebratory fair, the origins of the traveling merchants he passed in the streets were diverse.
They came not only from the Empire but from the Eastern Kingdom of Oiria, the Holy Kingdom of Lupicia, and, quite rarely, even from the United Kingdom of Celtia.
The person Marco had sold his wool to had told him in halting Imperial tongue that he had come all the way across the sea from the United Kingdom.
“Now then, which establishment shall I challenge today…?”
As an itinerant merchant perpetually on the road, Marco had one great pleasure:
Alcohol and appetizers.
Merchants who were stingy with their coins often settled for meals provided by their lodgings.
However, in those cases, the food served was the same no matter the city, unvarying bread and soup, and if it came with cheese, one was lucky.
Translator’s Note
Appetizers here refers to sakana, food specifically meant to accompany alcohol. “Brot,” “suppe,” and “käse” are originally written in German for bread, soup, and cheese, reflecting the Holy Roman Empire-like setting of the world.
That was why Marco searched for taverns.
In a city as large as the Old Capital, there was bound to be at least one peculiar shop.
If the shop he chose for himself was good, then all the better. If it was terrible, it would serve as fodder for a funny story.
For Marco, choosing a shop was a kind of game that combined his eye for quality with a test of luck.
He strolled through the Old Capital at dusk, eyeing tavern signs and atmospheres. The light spilling from windows and the merry voices within heightened his sense of anticipation.
“…This is a strange place.”
What appeared before Marco’s eyes was a tavern overflowing with an exotic atmosphere.
It had a presence as if a single shop had been plucked from a fairy-tale land and fitted into a street in the Old Capital.
He couldn’t read the name of the shop. It was written in characters he had never seen before.
Marco gave a wry smile, thinking that if they were going to hang a sign, they might as well make it readable.
Perhaps they lacked business sense, or perhaps customers came even without the name being boasted. Built of plaster and wood, the shop was such that it would never be mistaken for any other.
Would he really find something delicious here?
The sun had not yet set, but Marco’s stomach was reaching its limit.
He could look for another place on this Coachman’s Lodge Street, but at a glance, no shop seemed more interesting than this one.
“Alright, I’ve decided on this one.”
Muttering to himself, Marco softly pulled the glass door open.
“Welcome!”
“…Welcome.”
As if invited by the bright voice, he stepped inside to find the shop packed to capacity.
Finding an empty corner at the counter in the relatively small shop, Marco squeezed his body in and claimed his seat.
This is a good shop. His first impression passed the test.
A lively shop was almost never a total disaster. There was no logic in a place that served foul food becoming prosperous.
Scanning the interior, Marco couldn’t help but break into a smile.
There were menus posted on the walls, but all of them were dishes he had never heard of. This was good.
Naturally, he wanted to enjoy good drinks and snacks. But if they were rare, it was even better.
At this shop, he could have high hopes. Surely, they would serve him something he had never tasted before.
“What would you like to order?”
A black-haired waitress, carrying a dish called otōshi on a small plate, smiled at Marco.
Translator’s Note
Otōshi (or tsukidashi) is a small mandatory appetizer served in Japanese izakayas, similar to a cover charge that includes food.
“Let’s see. I’d love to start with a cup of ale… but if you have it, I’d like something I can only drink here. Also, if there are any unusual snacks, I’ll take those too.”
“Yes, certainly.”
Responding with a sparkling smile, the waitress conveyed something to the chef. Based on the way she addressed them, the chef was called “Taisho” and the waitress was “Shinobu.” These were sounds he had never heard in these parts.
The shop was small, yet it had many staff members. Two men and three women. One of the women could still be called a young girl.
Even so, since everyone seemed busy, it was clearly a thriving business.
While waiting for his drink and food, he tried the otōshi.
It was a dish of white fish lightly fried to a crisp, topped with a thick, glossy sauce.
With one bite, a sigh of admiration escaped him.
The texture was superb.
There was the crispy part, the part coated in the thick sauce, and the white fish meat that fell away delicately. Because the sauce was well-seasoned, it brought out the mildness of the fish.
It was a flavor that made his mouth soften into a smile.
For a starter dish, it was quite elaborate. That it was sized to be eaten in a bite or two was also a clever touch. He found himself almost wanting to order more of the same.
The customers around him seemed to mostly be of the ale faction.
“Toriaezu-nama” seemed to be the brand name served in this shop. It was an unfamiliar name, but there was likely a brewery like that near the Old Capital.
Ales from small breweries that cannot be properly barreled are not suited for transport and are basically all consumed locally. It wasn’t strange for there to be a phantom ale that even a merchant didn’t know the name of.
As for Marco, he also wanted to try the famously rumored “Lager” at least once.
The mugs being clanked together with a boisterous “Prost!” were made of glass.
The transparent mugs filled to the brim with golden ale were beautiful. As far as he could tell from the corner of his eye, the shapes were uniform, so they must have cost a considerable amount.
Darn it, perhaps he should have ordered an ale too. Why did what others were eating and drinking always look so appealing?
A drink after work was truly wonderful. The sensation of that bitter, golden liquid washing away the body’s fatigue down into the stomach was irreplaceable.
Watching a craftsman, who seemed to be a regular, drain his mug with such relish made Marco’s throat click in anticipation.
However, since he had come this far, sticking to his guns was important.
Today, he would eat something rare. Hadn’t he decided that when he stepped foot into this shop?
As far as he could see from what the other customers were eating, every dish looked delicious.
Now then, wondering what would come out, Marco rubbed his hands together. Then, the waitress from before brought something unusual on a small woven basket.
It was a chestnut.
However, the chestnut, still wrapped in its prickly burr, was blacker than the ones Marco knew.
Besides, the season was wrong. The time for eating chestnuts was autumn, but it was currently spring.
“Thank you for waiting. This is Uni (Sea Urchin).”