The two men left the inn and headed for Izakaya Nobu.
Despite their worry that the shop might be closed, the lights were still on. Ignoring Conrad, who was about to peek in fearfully, Sebastian knocked loudly on the glass door.
“Welcome!”
“…’come.”
There were no customers inside. It seemed they were cleaning up in preparation for closing.
“You were here a little while ago, weren’t you?”
Prompted by the black-haired server, the two settled down at the counter. As he had thought earlier, the interior of the shop was filled with a pleasant warmth.
“Actually, we’re looking into the woman named Celes who came with us earlier.”
When Conrad asked this, the shop staff exchanged puzzled glances.
That made sense. It might happen that customers who came in a pair wouldn’t know the identity of the other person, but for them to come back later to ask was probably rare.
“It’s a matter of him wanting to meet her again, no matter what,” Sebastian continued.
Two people who happened to meet, parted without saying anything about themselves, but now want to meet again and talk.
It felt like a rather far-fetched story, but the server placed a finger on her chin and began to ponder.
He didn’t think she would remember much about the many customers who came every day, but Konrad was grasping at straws.
“I don’t remember much at all. How about you, Shinobu-chan?”
“Height around 160 centimeters, age between eighteen and twenty. Long hair, silver-rimmed glasses, a bit sensitive to hot food. She ate apple pie and kushikatsu. She’s not too fond of shishito peppers. From her way of speaking, probably a noble, but her intonation is different from people near the Old Capital, I suppose.”
Conrad and Sebastian looked at each other, amazed at the server named Shinobu who answered so fluently. What remarkable observation skills and memory.
“That’s quite something. However…”
“It doesn’t lead to any clues, does it?”
If they didn’t have information about her identity, there was nothing they could do.
Besides, it was already late at night. Meeting her again before tomorrow’s arranged marriage meeting seemed hopeless.
“…Sebastian, playtime is over.”
“I understand how you feel, sir.”
The shopkeeper bowed his head to Conrad.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be of much help.”
“No, no, your sentiment alone is appreciated.”
Even as he replied, Konrad’s heart was filled with lingering regret.
It had been impossible from the start. He had spent his time fruitlessly, but he had managed to sort out his feelings.
If she were his destined partner, perhaps they would have met again. Since they didn’t, he forced himself to believe that she wasn’t.
Once the tension left him, he strangely felt hungry. He was sure he had eaten his fill of kushikatsu just a while ago.
“This is an izakaya, Sebastian. Shall we eat something?”
“That’s a good idea. Provided we’re not a bother, of course.”
The server called Shinobu cheerfully brought them oshibori.
“Well then, I’ll take your order.”
He ordered a lager called Toriaezu Nama.
Apparently, it wasn’t strictly a lager, but there was no other word to compare it with ale.
Its clear crispness and bitterness were certainly different from both ale and the lagers circulating in the Imperial Capital.
“This is quite a good drink, isn’t it?”
“I never thought of the idea of drinking chilled ale or lager. Could we do this in the Imperial Capital?”
“An emperor several generations ago had an icehouse built in the mountains of Basenburg. If ice is stored during winter, it’s possible to supply ice to the Imperial Capital even in midsummer.”
“That sounds like it would cost a lot of money and effort.”
Burdening the national treasury was not what Conrad wanted. It seemed safer to keep chilled lager as a winter-only pleasure.
After a short wait, an assortment of tsukemono pickles arrived. The colors were pleasing to the eye, and the saltiness was a welcome accompaniment to the Toriaezu Nama. Having overeaten kushikatsu, he wanted something other than oily food, so this simple appetizer was appreciated.
Translator’s note
Tsukemono (漬物) are Japanese preserved vegetables, or pickles.
It’s a strange shop, he thought, looking around the interior. Come to think of it, the shop the late Emperor found in the Old Capital was also said to have an exotic atmosphere. Perhaps this shop was like that.
Before he knew it, Sebastian had started sipping a different kind of alcohol from a small ceramic cup, just for himself.
He drained his mug.
Feeling the bitter sensation go down his throat, he ordered another drink.
While berating himself for being so unmanly, he still couldn’t give up on Celes.
He really wanted some strong alcohol. He wanted it, but tomorrow was the arranged marriage. He had to be sober.
Still, just for tonight, he wanted to drink himself into oblivion.