As our wagon departed the city of Zibil, Ginem Bari sat, trembling, in one of the corners of the slightly rocking carriage as he hugged his knees.
How pitiful. That cowardly assault by the Paisley Company had deeply scarred his heart. His wounds had been treated, but his face was still swollen in places, and his bandaged fingers looked to be in pain. Those injuries would take a long time to fully heal.
Sorry, Ginem. I only took my eyes off you for a second… I was once again depressed by my negligence.
Before we departed, the old driver opened a part of his cargo and gave us several of the peach-looking fruits inside. I asked Gol to cut them for us. She used her favorite green knife to cut the fruit into adorable yet elegant bite-sized chunks, into which I stuck toothpicks before I passed them along to Mr. Chotos, Teru, and the driver.
I held out the last piece to Ginem Bari. Ginem’s fingers shook as he accepted it.
I didn’t think he was such a bad guy. His jester golems had been polished until they gleamed. I was sure he thoroughly wiped them down every single day. Moreover, there were four clowns. Four of them. When I thought of four Gols begging to be wiped down every night on the bed, I grew faint. Well, I’d do it, but…
That reminded me. We needed to make sure we recovered his clowns on our way back.
Let’s play the golem-fighting game again once they’re all better.
As I chomped on the sweet peach, I gazed out at the scenery from the back of the wagon. The gray walls of Zibil had grown so small. Soon, I wouldn’t be able to see them anymore.
“Hm? That’s…” I peered.
A thin line of smoke rose from the city. What was that? A fire, perhaps? Ah, right. Just before we departed, the city had become rather noisy. When I headed to the branch office, a ton of people were gathered along the roadside as if waiting for something. Was there really a festival happening today? In that case, that had to be a festive fire of sorts.
Plenty of countries lit bonfires during festivals. Turned out this world was no exception. Fire was sacred in many cultures, after all.
As I watched the trail of smoke in the distance, I thought of roasting sweet potatoes on an open fire.
“Hey, mister.”
“Hm? What is it, Nemaki?”
“Um, does this world…ah, no. Does this country sell something like a freshly baked sweet potato that’s soft and flaky? There was something like that in my hometown.”
Mr. Chotos looked thoughtful, stroking his short mustache and speaking in a contemplative tone. “If you’re looking for that kind of sweet potato, you probably need to visit the warmer regions of the country—the southern territories. They’re sold in the big city markets, too. I ate them many times back when I was young and peddling in various lands.”
“Oh, so they do exist.” I could have roasted sweet potatoes in this world! I was excited.
“Then again, it’s hard to come by that sort of produce in Tibar and Zibil.”
“Aw, is that so…?” I deflated.
“Well, the potatoes around here aren’t bad. If you want, I’ll make a potato dish for you later.”
No, that’s not what I meant, mister.
Well, whatever. I didn’t mind entertaining the idea of tasting some local potato dish.