Chapter 4: Market Day in the Village
“I’M heading out.”
“Come back safe.”
I don’t use my horse when I go into the village. I go without taking my sword or shield either. They’re all things unsuitable for a simple hunter. Wearin’ a dagger on my belt is the most I can get away with and keep my cover. Besides, the village isn’t so far away that I’d hafta travel by horse. Things now are completely different from that first day when I fearfully and carefully fumbled my way through the accursed fog-enshrouded forest. I’m more than used to traveling this unbeaten path now. I know shortcuts too.
The barrier weakens the farther you travel from the Millennial Tree, and eventually the fog between the trees lets up. The border is poorly marked, but it’s definitely there. Fairy Godmother’s blessing protects Princess from the outside world like this.
✦ ✦ ✦
ATTEGRUNE is a village directly south of the Black Forest. A quick count of the villagers gives you ‘bout five hundred. The number increases on Market Day. Up for trade are mostly quality woolen goods, cheese, cattle, horses, and sheep; all bounties from the forest-blessed pastures that are cultivated far and wide so that the livestock grazing there grow nice and fat. Before the recent months, this land wasn’t significant to those aside from merchants, livestock handlers, herdsmen, and farmers, but…
Over the past year, the number of soldiers has increased drastically. So now men dressed in armor openly carry around swords, spears, and other deadly weapons.
The reason for their presence is obvious—they’re searching for Princess. Word has probably gone out that her last known whereabouts was near the Black Forest. But these days the number of regular soldiers has decreased. Hired ruffians and mercenaries have come in droves to replace them. They’re the kinda scum who quickly swap from soldier to thief when they ain’t gettin’ their pay.
Don’t glare at them. Don’t get involved with them. Don’t start a fight. I carefully proceed while reminding myself of these three rules. Villagers in this area live by the same mantra. Wearing the borrowed mantle of authority from their employer Lord Designs, these cutthroats steal everything they want without payin’ for it. Solider and outlaw: those who maintain public order, and those who destroy it. You gotta be cautious when dealin’ with brawny men who easily switch roles as it fits ‘em.
See, they’ve gone and shown up while I’ve been minding my own business. The scumbags fan out across the entire road’s width flaunting their armor and swords, makin’ clanking sounds as they go. I pull my hat low over my face and keep to one side of the road to let them pass by. Their equipment is excessively extravagant. Looks like Lord Designs dropped his cheapskate ways and is givin’ quite generous payouts now. How long will we remain safe within the forest?
I continue straight down the main road and head for the inn. This is the biggest inn in the village, and it’s got multiple services. The first floor’s a tavern, as you’d expect. The rooms are clean and the food is appetizing. And most important of all, they’re good on their payments.
I circle around back and call out, “Are you in, master?”
A genial red-faced man greets me, “Oh, I thought you’d show up soon.”
I’ve heard he’s not much older than me, but we’re polar opposites. He’s always got a big smile on whenever we meet. I’ve never actually seen him get mad before. Would I have become such a kindly old man if I’d walked another path in life?
“Here’s this week’s spoils.”
This inn took my first kill off my hands, and I’ve been sellin’ everything I catch to them ever since. To this day, they decorate the spot over their hearth with the mounted wild boar head.
I hand over the woodcocks, pheasants, and partridges. The innkeeper weighs them, calculates their value, and gives me the equivalent in gold. I take it and store it in the pouch at my waist. Our usual exchange goes by without a hitch.
“Looking forward to your next visit, Hunter.”
“Many thanks for your business.”
“You’ll have some lunch before you go, yeah? Soup’s just finished boiling.”
“Much obliged.”
I circle around to the tavern and sit at a corner table. Before long, the innkeeper’s wife carries over a tray with a steaming hot bowl and mug on it. The bowl has a hearty soup of beans, turnips, and lamb stewed in plenty of milk. Rye bread accompanies it on the tray.
“Thanks for waiting. Go ahead and dig right in, hon!”
“Thanks.”
In contrast to her husband, the innkeeper’s wife moves briskly through the inn with peppy energy. She’s got a quick wit too, and she’s also an amazing conversationalist with the customers. Not to mention, she’s terribly caring.
She knows I’m raising my niece (in other words, the princess), so she always gives me a little something to bring home as a present. Usually it’s something small that won’t burden my journey back. Today’s present is a bright-green ribbon.
“…Thanks.”
“It’s just an afterthought, an afterthought! I bought the ribbons because my daughter was pestering me for some, but then I realized I bought one too many.”
She doesn’t try to force her goodwill on us or make me feel indebted—she does it because she likes to and that’s that. And she understands when to push and when to back off. She’s a fine woman, in every sense of the word.
“This place’s awfully crowded today.”
“Ah…yeah, you can say that,” she mumbles, which is unlike her. I follow her gaze to some dangerous-looking men, camping out among the usual customers. They’re downin’ some hard ale even though it’s still midday. A bunch of empty mugs are tipped over on their table.
She continues, “The money’s good. Just the money…”
“I’ll bet it is.”
“I can’t be picky about our customers. Recently, taxes have skyrocketed as well...” She catches herself. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. I had to go on and spoil the mood with sobering talk.”
“It’s fine. Doesn’t it feel better to get it off your chest?”
“You can say that again.” Someone calls for her from a table across the way. “Okay! I’ll be right there!” She turns to me one last time. “Alrighty, you take it easy and enjoy that soup, hon.” Her breasts slowly jiggle as she walks away.
Is the size of a woman’s chest proportional to the size of her heart?
“Time to eat.” I tear a piece of the bread and dip it in the piping hot soup. I blow on it before placing it in my mouth. It’s hard bread with a sour bite to it. Soaked in the savory broth, it smoothly melts away. “Good stuff.”
Being able to eat something that somebody else made, especially good food, is unquestionably one kind of happiness.
Lamb has a strong, distinct smell. At least, that’s what I thought until now. Compared to the rabbit and deer I’ve been eating lately, it’s much mellower. In other words, it doesn’t have much of an acrid stench and isn’t as gamey. Goes to show that how close you are to a human settlement is obvious in what food you eat.
Next, I dip the spoon into the soup. Basil, sage, and rosemary make the base flavor, topped off with a big ol’ dash of ginger to give it that bite. Then the milk envelops all of the flavors, makin’ a taste that can definitely only come from stewing a buncha ingredients in a huge pot.