The edamame buyouts had begun. The Azur government had pressured the producers to limit the plant’s flow into the market. The same thing had happened in Japan, when the government bought up all the rice they could before setting their price and putting it on the market. The intention was to keep the producers from overpricing their people’s main source of food.
“That’s just plain dumb.”
That was my partner’s opinion, and I agreed. A ubiquitous food, like rice, was one thing. The people would buy it regardless. But edamame wasn’t that. It was far from becoming a staple, and we were still in experimental stages when it came to recipes. That’s why we had to draw people’s attention through the sweetness of the Zunda mochi. Even if the government ordered the people to eat it, they wouldn’t know what to do with it without knowing how to cook it. Edamame was livestock feed in the first place.
If things would resolve by some governmental force-feeding, we would have never needed to explore alternatives like edamame or gagd. All the king had to do was to tell his people to eat brown rice. Tokugawa Yoshimune (who massively improved the country during the Edo period) ate brown rice himself, as well as promoted it to his men and commoners alike. Still, most people in the city continued to eat white rice. That’s about how well these things go.
Even a modern man like myself can understand the pushback against any government power dictating what to eat. What’s worse, since there was no way of watching the people eat the foods shoved down their throats by the government, they were most likely just discarded.
“This may be the worst move they could make.”
Mister Milon chuckled. Since we had no way of obtaining edamame, we had halted the sales of Zunda mochi, too. Just selling the beet sugar would only wreck the market. This would not have been a laughing matter for us if it wasn’t for one reason: we had already developed a substitute prescription for beriberi, and it was ready to go on the shelves.
Ten days had passed since we sent back the royal messenger, and Tiamat and I had done a little more than just goofing around during that time. The next weapon in our arsenal was potato croquette. Potatoes grew most anywhere, but because of the minor toxin in their eyes, historically it took a while for them to become popularized. Also, continuously growing potatoes apparently weakened the soil. In recent history, the population of Europe practically depended on its yield of potatoes. It was a little too risky to make it our main weapon.
So we decided to sell something pre-processed. We had rye, so we could make panko, and while they weren’t exactly chickens, there was a similar livestock from which we could gather eggs. In addition, we would stuff the croquette with ground gagd meat. We would be able to counter the king’s move. Although, considering the issue of preservation, we also wanted a refrigerator. So that’s exactly what we were making while waiting for the kingdom’s response.
The idea, of course, came from Tiamat. Her trivia came in handy yet again. There is a type of refrigerator that doesn’t require electricity or ice: a zeer, or pot-in-pot cooler. Its usage dates back millennia, but it had only recently been scientifically analyzed and used in modern technology. The only things needed to make one are a pair of pots in different sizes, along with dirt and water. Construction is simple. Put the small pot in the big pot, fill in the gap with dirt, and soak the dirt with plenty of water. That’s it. Though there would have to be a wet cloth or something draped over it to keep dust out, I would say this is still an extremely simple contraption.
While you might wonder if its contents would really cool, the inside of that small pot becomes spectacularly cold. The trick of it is in a process called evaporative cooling, where evaporating water takes a lot of heat with it. In Japan, for example, this process is used during the summer through hosing down the street or outside your front door.
The contraption would be less effective in places with high moisture in the air like Tokyo, but the climate of this region was similar to that of Hokkaido. Dry summers. If used in a dry, breezy location, the zeer’s internal temperature can drop to about 4 degrees Celsius. In fact, this is apparently used in rural Africa, where they don’t have electricity, to enable the storing of vaccines, saving many lives in the process. Of course, that allows for preserving fresh foods at the same time.
“The wisdom of Hermits never ceases to amaze me.”
Mister Milon laughed as he took out a tomato-ish food from the zeer. Taking a bite from a cold, fresh vegetable in the middle of summer must have been a great luxury here. On second thought, vegetables and fruits could have also been kept submerged in a well.
“It was Tia’s idea. Nothing like this could come from my knowledge.” I shrugged.
“As humble as ever,” Mister Milon replied.
Nope. Just honest.
“In any case, let’s start selling the croquettes tonight.”
“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that, Sir Eiji.”
We had been waiting for the right time, when the king would make his move. Tiamat and I had actually guessed that there would be a ban on edamame, especially since we were calling them Hermit Beans of all things. Seeing that they moved to monopolize rather than illegalize...
“They know how badly Azur is affected,” Tiamat said, munching on another tomato-like thing. She could have at least taken off the stem, though. Wow, did she eat anything.
“Beriberi is most common among young, active, otherwise healthy people.”
Soldiers, for example. During the Russo-Japanese War at the beginning of the twentieth century, more deployed soldiers died of beriberi than were killed in combat. It was easy to imagine that the Azur military was in a similar condition.
“Mm-hm. Azur can’t afford to go to war at the moment. Even if they consider us a threat, they wouldn’t send their army here.”
“That’s where those covert teams came in, though.”
During the past ten days, we were attacked by an assassination unit on three separate occasions... apparently. I never saw any of them. Hieronymus, Baze, and Syfer’s parties had each defeated a team. Losing to a Cait Sith and a Fenrir was one thing, but I didn’t know what to make of the official military losing to a private adventurer team, even an A-rank one.
“We could take on swarms of those cowards.”
Syfer came out from within the manor, having overheard our conversation. He had a bandana on his head and an apron around his neck. As I recalled, he was hired as my bodyguard, not a chef. I must have been mistaken.
I didn’t ask him why he trained in the kitchen day after day though, because I already knew the answer. He was improving his cooking for the sake of his younger brothers and was helping in the kitchen for leftover food. I had enough heart to condone that much. Besides, Syfer having enough time to work in the kitchen was one indicator of how weak Azur’s military was.
“They were that bad?”
“Wobbling all over the place. They tripped over nothing, dropped their weapons... They were bad enough that we were able to chase them away alive.”
“Ah...”
Textbook beriberi. Their limbs were no longer listening to their brains.
The hard-training soldiers would mostly be eating white rice. Since they had all the calories, they would appear healthy at a glance; underneath their skin, though, their bodies were crumbling. There was only so much lethargy they could overcome with their willpower. On the other hand, Syfer’s party was completely healthy, physically and mentally, with Baze and Hieronymus behind them. Of course, there was no reason for them to lose.
“I’m starting to feel sorry for the royal army.” I shrugged.