Arc II - Agrarian Revolution
Chapter 15 - Seeds for an Exclusive
1 month and 25 days since the summoning
Alan sat in a fairly well-appointed carriage with soft seats, dressed in the same dark-blue doublet, though it had been freshly pressed. Opposite him sat Tsinker, arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window at the plains where the sun had long since risen.
Alan adjusted his sleeve. "How long is the ride?"
"Roughly a day and a half."
"I get that... formal protocol and all, but we're on a tight schedule. Wouldn't going on horseback be faster?"
Tsinker did not even look at him. "It would be faster, but this is an official visit. Traveling on horseback would be improper."
Alan nodded. "Alright... you're the boss right now. What should and shouldn't I do?"
Utew finally glanced at Alan out of the corner of his eye. "It would be best if you remained entirely silent; I shall do all the talking. However, Count Bannaho will inevitably speak with you as well. He is a lover of luxury who enjoys posturing as a scholar, using high-sounding vocabulary... Since you possess a vast store of descriptive words, perhaps there is a term for such behavior? It sounds rather tedious when spoken at length."
Alan thought for a second. "Hm... yeah, there is. Pseudo-intellectual."
"Pseudo-intellectual..." he tasted the word. "Yes, Bannaho loves luxury and is a pseudo-intellectual. Therefore, should he ask you anything, strive not to answer simply. Use sophisticated language, yet speak briefly, so as to sound like a nobleman. Do not speak excessively, lest you make a slip."
Alan rolled his eyes. "I get what you mean."
Tsinker nodded. "Precisely so." And he turned back to the window.
Alan leaned back in his seat, keeping his eyes glued to Tsinker.
'Fucking robot... Hm... interesting... what do psychopaths actually think about when they're just doing nothing? I mean, they don't think like normal people, right? Maybe I should ask? Ah, whatever.'
"What are you thinking about?" Alan asked.
"Whether it would be better to kill my middle brother with poison or to hire an assassin, so that the demise appears more plausible," he replied in a completely flat tone, still staring out the window.
Alan recoiled.
'Understood. Lesson learned: never ask a psychopath what they're thinking about.'
The nobleman turned his head to Alan. "Listen, since we have the time, tell me in detail how your agricultural revolution operates."
1 month and 26 days since the summoning
The carriage stopped before a sturdy manor in the middle of a small town close to noon. Townspeople walked along the streets: a man in elegant attire strolled at a calm, measured pace; a woman in simple clothes hurried somewhere with a sack; a beastkin with canine ears carried a crate toward some warehouse.
As Alan and Tsinker stepped out of the carriage, they saw heavy, iron-barred gates before them. Beyond lay a three-story stone manor with a tiled roof, fronted by a vast, grassy courtyard where servants occasionally came into view.
Alan straightened his posture as much as possible. Tsinker walked ahead toward a servant, a woman of about thirty, and Alan immediately followed.
The maidservant bowed deeply, her face expressionless. "Master Utew, Master Gothwald, Count Bannaho awaits you."
Tsinker simply nodded without a word.
A minute later, they were walking down a corridor lined with windows and paintings. Alan wanted to whistle in amazement, but stopped himself.
'Holy shit, I've only ever seen stuff like this in museums. Hah... compared to this place, Kamelia's castle looks like a shack... No, hers is functional, but this is just pure luxury.'
He swallowed slightly, wiping his sweaty palms.
'This is actually kind of terrifying... a real aristocrat... Not just in terms of status, but the kind of person who doesn't forgive mistakes. Kamelia needs me, and so does Tsinker, so they tolerate my "ignorance." But this guy is highly unlikely to put up with some random nobody.'
The maidservant before them opened the door to a large study. Inside was a desk, behind which sat a man of about forty-five dressed in expensive garments. He was slightly portly, sporting curled grey mustaches, and his hair was perfectly slicked back.
Tsinker bowed. "Greetings, Lord Bannaho."
Alan repeated the gesture a second later, keeping his face blank.
Bannaho nodded. "Greetings, Lords Utew and Gothwald. Please, sit." He gestured toward two chairs opposite him.
The two of them sat down, Tsinker placing his hands on his knees, and Alan copying the gesture.
The Count placed his hands on the desk, steepling his fingers. "What is it you wished to speak of, Lord Tsinker? And what business has Lady Armenas's hero in this matter?"
Tsinker straightened his posture and smiled slightly, a frighteningly genuine and believable smile. "We have arrived at your splendid domain, Lord Bannaho, to offer you a deal. We are aware that your lands, like many others, I dare assume, have been plagued by a pestilence that grants no peace. Is this correct?"
The Count narrowed his eyes. "Well, to say we are 'plagued' is somewhat of an exaggeration, yet a problem does indeed exist. That is true."
Alan just blinked.
'Man... the conversation's barely started, and I'm already losing track... way too much pleasantry and filler text per square inch.'
Tsinker nodded. "Naturally, the problem may be minor, but..." he gestured slightly. "I assume a man of your standing would not wish to lose anything, even to such a trifle, correct?"
The Count leaned back slightly. "True. I always attend to the smallest of difficulties, as a minor issue can lead to grave consequences."
Tsinker's smile widened slightly. "Heh, it would be a crime to disagree with that sentiment. That is precisely why we have come, Lord Bannaho. Lord Gothwald and I... are entirely capable of resolving your minor problem, or rather, providing the knowledge of how to resolve it. The fact is, Lord Gothwald has already achieved success in combating the plague."
The Count raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I have heard. Is burning villages indeed considered success?"
Shivers ran down Alan's spine, but he remained silent.
Tsinker calmly raised his hands. "Oh, Lord Bannaho, that is indeed true, yet somewhat exaggerated, much like the rumors that your county is dying of the pestilence. Do you understand?"
Bannaho slowly nodded. "I see... Tell me then, what is the actual truth?"
Tsinker clapped his hands lightly, maintaining a soft smile. "The fact is that while a fire did occur, the details are highly exaggerated. There was a burning, yes, but certainly not of an entire village. Only a few dwellings, which the exhausted peasants had filled with corpses, were burned. To avoid extracting them and risking the infection of others, Lord Gothwald simply decided to burn those structures. You, Lord Bannaho, were likely misled by the sheer volume of rumors, from which it is difficult to extract the truth. I trust I have clarified the matter?"
Alan didn't even glance at him.
'Oh, he is lying through his teeth. What a massive load of bullshit... I hope this doesn't bite us in the ass later... Tsinker, please, tell me you know what you're doing!'
The Count was silent for a few seconds, then leaned back against his chair. "Yes, you have explained it clearly. Let us get to the core of the matter, then. What do you propose to combat the plague?"
"Lord Gothwald has devised methods to avoid the sickness, as well as a means to purify water, so that one does not consume dirty and dangerous fluids. I believe you must have heard of this miraculous device, have you not?"
Bannaho froze for a mere instant, then nodded slightly slower than usual. "Naturally, I have heard of it, though the finer details have not reached me."
Tsinker's smile relaxed slightly, but his eyes gleamed. "This device is called a filter, and I have, of course, tested it myself. The results, frankly, astonished me. The village afflicted by the ailment began to recover. Most importantly, any peasant can construct this filter, and it costs virtually nothing. The most valuable asset is the knowledge of its creation." He raised a finger. "Furthermore, the recipe for the filter is not widely known; it is kept exclusive to Lady Armenas's personal domain, and now, my own."
The Count narrowed his eyes slightly. "Speaking of which... the hero belongs to Lady Armenas. That raises a question: why are you with him, Lord Tsinker?"
Alan swallowed.
'Here we go... alright, buddy, wriggle your way out of this one.'
The faint smile on Tsinker's face did not waver in the slightest. "The reason is simple. Lord Gothwald possesses vast knowledge of highly useful things. Since Lady Armenas owes substantial debts to my father, she decided to settle them by utilizing the hero's intellect, and I..." he shrugged. "I am simply taking advantage of this arrangement."
Alan wanted to burst out laughing, but didn't make a sound.
'Excellent, so I'm your personal slave in his eyes now. Why the hell are you talking so much? This is incredibly risky!'
The Count remained silent for nearly a minute. "Very well. State then what you desire in return."
"We desire seeds. A vast amount of seeds, turnip, barley, and wheat."
"How many?"
"I believe we can agree upon the quantity later... The primary question is, do you agree to the trade, Lord Bannaho? For us, transmitting the knowledge of the filters is a mere trifle, and the seeds are a trifle for you as well. Thus, it could prove to be a highly profitable exchange. Frankly, it is exceptionally advantageous for you, as the filter recipe is known to almost no one."
The Count stood up and extended his hand. "We have a deal."
Tsinker's smile broadened, and he also rose to shake his hand firmly. "It is a pleasure doing business with you."
Suddenly, Bannaho turned to Alan. "Lord Alan, allow allow me to ask you, how is it you possess such wondrous knowledge?"
Tsinker slowly released his grip, his smile remaining fixed.
Gothwald's hand twitched slightly, and then he took a breath. "The fact is... Lord Bannaho, in my world, from which I came here, filters are a common and, most importantly, centuries-proven practice. That is why I applied it here. You need not doubt its reliability."
The Count nodded slowly. "You possess such knowledge, yet you still serve..." his face twisted slightly in distaste. "Lady Armenas? I harbor nothing against the lady, but let us be honest. She is destitute, she has no understanding of governance, merely a girl who is capable of nothing, and she possesses a highly disagreeable temperament. Would you not wish to improve your situation?"
Alan pressed his lips together.
'You piece of shit... you don't know a damn thing about her...'
His face remained calm. "I understand all that, but unfortunately, I was bound to her following the summoning ritual, and there is nothing I can do to change it."
Bannaho stepped out from behind the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, I understand. Yet Countess Armenas is unlikely to remain in power for long. Her soft-hearted nature and lack of foresight shall be her ruin. Should anything occur... my doors are open to you."
Alan forced a slight smile. "Thank you for the offer. I shall consider it."
'Go fuck yourself, you fat piece of shit.'
1 month and 27 days since the summoning
Alan and Tsinker walked out beyond the gates of the Count's manor as dawn approached.
Alan stretched, rubbing a dark circle under one eye with his hand. "Man, he is so tedious... squeezed our balls all night, trying to drive the price down, drilling us with questions, and trying to recruit me again."
Tsinker's face looked entirely normal. "Such are negotiations. Overall, you acted correctly; the matter concluded without flaw." He turned and walked off toward the town.
"Hey, where are you going?" Alan asked.
"To eat," he replied without turning around.
Alan raised an eyebrow but followed him. "What do you mean, eat? Couldn't you wait till we get home? We're on a schedule here."
"No. I always eat at dawn and at sunset. Without exception."
Alan blinked. "Right... your habits are pretty bizarre too."
He looked off to the side and nearly tripped. Outside some building, a man of about forty was carrying a heavy box above his head, and his body was faintly glowing red.
Tsinker, hearing his footsteps stop, turned around. "What is the matter?"
He silently pointed a finger at the man, who was already entering a warehouse.
"And what of it?" Tsinker asked.
"What do you mean, what of it? What is that?"
"That is..." the nobleman stopped, then raised an eyebrow slightly. "Are you unaware of magic?"
Alan waved his hand. "Of course I know about it! I just don't know any of the finer details. Mind filling me in?"
"Very well," Tsinker said, turning back around and walking down the street.
They entered the nearest tavern, not a dump, but not a lavish place either. Wooden floors, sunlight, and candles faintly illuminated the room, which was entirely empty. Only the tavern keeper, a man of about thirty with a bit of stubble, stood behind the counter, counting coins. He glanced at the early customers, raising an eyebrow slightly, then noted their doublets. "What is your pleasure, gentlemen?"
Tsinker stepped up to the counter. "I wish to break my fast."
Alan frowned. "How about 'we'?"
The nobleman blinked. "You wish to eat as well? Very well then. A bowl of porridge for me, mutton, bread, salad, and water."
The tavern keeper nodded. "It shall be done." He turned to Alan. "And what is your wish, sir?"
"Uh... the same for me."
"Understood. Please, be seated."
Tsinker and Alan went and sat down at a table by the window, on hard wooden chairs.
"So," Alan began. "What was that back there?"
"Magic. To be precise, Body magic, and by the looks of it, Strength."
Alan raised an eyebrow. "Wait... what kinds of magic are there? Elemental... Body... what else?"
"Supporting and Otherwordly," Tsinker finished. "To put it briefly, judging by your demeanor, magic does not exist in your world. Here, however, everyone possesses it."
Alan leaned in closer. "Everyone... literally everyone?! That means you have it too?!" He gestured toward the tavern keeper, who had long since vanished into the kitchen. "And him too?!"
Tsinker winced slightly and scratched his ear. "Do not shout. Yes, both I and even he possess it."
Alan shrunk back a little. "Ah, oops... What kind of magic do you have, if you don't mind me asking?"
"It is a secret."
Gothwald crossed his arms. "What a surprising answer... Wait, does that mean I technically have magic too?"
Tsinker nodded. "If there is fiolla, there is magic. It is that simple."
"And what's the most common type of magic?"
"...Do not even attempt it. I am well aware you are trying to subtly pry into mine."
Alan raised his hands. "Okay, I got you."
The tavern keeper brought over two trays of food and set them on the table. "Enjoy your meal," he said, before returning to the counter.
Instantly, the aroma of fatty mutton wafted from the table, easily overpowering the weak, meager scents of the porridge and salad.
Tsinker picked up his fork and knife, precisely cutting a piece of mutton. He scooped a bit of porridge and a little salad onto his spoon, topped it with the piece of meat, and then stuffed the whole combination into his mouth, taking a bite of bread and immediately following it with a small sip of water. Then, he repeated the process.
Alan quietly started with his porridge. "How long is the trip back? Another day and a half?"
Silence.
"Hey," Alan said.
Silence.
"Are you even listening to me, Tsinker?"
The nobleman simply continued to eat, as though Alan did not exist at all. Gothwald sighed. "You're really fucking annoying sometimes, you know that?" Naturally, receiving no answer, he went back to eating.
