He shouldn’t have agreed.

When Apprentice said that it was only a wick — five minutes away, he should have realized that it was five minutes away relative to the boy’s swimming speed. Which was not a walk in the park he had imagined.

Yeah, he knew, bad jokes. Whatever he deserved it.

If not for you know, this round of purported jogging, he perhaps would be more appreciating to the park’s structure, especially how it was built mimicking tributary. Little islands of greens scattered. Each with their own ferns and flowerbeds, banyans swaying their hanging roots, and belvederes, modestly stood for shade. Connecting the islands were wiry-thin packed grounds; earth brown and demarcated by periodical lamppost shining soft white light.

Unfortunately you know, sweats, beads, perspiration, aspiration, heckling cough — all of those reflexes that hungered for scants more oxygen. They were kinda got in the way of him appreciating things.

“Stupid … huft … way too active kids…”

He paused his cursing to thank whoever designer that put a bench here. A very glorious bench. Unlike back home with their hostile, sorry, ‘defensive architecture’, this one — this springy wood with a firm backrest was obviously built for comfort; saddling the spine and cradling the coccyx. The moment he sat at it shined its inherent goodness. How the thing seemed to be made not from wood, but from spring bed and memory foam — denting just ever so slightly to accommodate his weight and shape.

A far cry from something that was designed so the user of said amenities didn’t overstay their welcome.

Wiping his sweats and scouring for another waterskin (one of the tens he had prepared in the inventory), he readily gulped them. Savoring the cold, flat, metallic-tinged liquids. Which of course ironic since the thing was the furthest from anything metal-containing. Yet, it was better than drinking what people in this town did — a barrel spiked with three to four flagons of gailen. He tried it once and the hungover was well, let just said, not something that he cared to have it repeated. Since then he had the others in his household use boiled water for both foods and drinks. Mostly. Kettles and barrels and jugs and whatever container this world had hadn’t really reached the level of airtight lid. Water, even boiled, would simply spoil if it had been left out for just one evening. Of course there was reboiling, it just he didn’t have the heart to do so — poor Rod already chopping a kitchen worth firewoods every day.

That was why when he could he used the [Distilled Water]. It was a bit drain of course, but hey, it counted as a practice. Also, the increased mana capacity was a nice bonus.

 

“Huh, is this what he was late for?”

It was a half-hour, five hundred meters, and an epic struggle later that he managed to drag himself from the comfort of the bench — from the caressing cool of cajoling mist. For this, he was rewarded, however. Somewhat. If you could call finally arriving at the heart of the park after a round of jogging he didn’t want to was ‘rewarding’.

Anyway, the park’s heart was, how should he say it, beautiful? Nah. Magnificent? Too cliche. Resplendent. Yes. That. Resplendent.

Of course, it wasn’t as beautiful as the spirit’s dream. Nothing was. But as the heart of the park, it was, well, fitting. The tributary structure, the numerous bend and turn ended, pooled here; an island’s lake circled by a big clearing.

He meant, looked at this, whoever designed this park was, he didn’t know, deserve a raise? No. Deserved to be immortalized. Probably with a statue placed surreptitiously on one of the many little mounds, by a good bench and a good banyan. Like a hidden nugget — a secret spot where you came about and said ‘wow’.

Just the clearing for god sake. Wow. Grass, tall and green, rippling in the wind. Sun, warm and spring, jolly intertwined. As he left the border of the packed ground, the cooling mist petered out, replaced by makeshift camps and walkway of stepping stones —little pebbles of black and white glued together forming stylized H in the center.

Out of the camps however was people. People and Clines. Milling, busy. Like on the left side, four clines side by side were drawing three carts which contained planks, scaffoldings, and other construction miscellanea. They were stopped shortly after he noticed it however, pulled aside to one of the unfinished structures. Several laborers — workers that were working quickly swarmed the carts, creating what looked like an assembly line where one person passed the materials to the other before stacking it.

On the right however, the workers seemed to work on what apparently more finished structures. The one who just needed a bit of furbishing — finishing. Donning dark green tunic, these workers were hammering nails, hoisting board, bringing tables in, or applying paint.

Then there was the center — the center center. Carpeted wide and almost made entirely of dark wood, was an open platform. The platform was acting like a centerpiece, pulling all the structures in the clearing to one arc-like complex.

“Too bad Leo is still asleep.”

He said, looking behind the platform. To the five maybe six small boats that were floating about, taking off one by one from the far dockyard. The dog would love that surely. Too bad he was dead tired (much more than the usual). Which of course understandable, two hours playing with that hyperactive girl would do that to everyone except one: the girl herself. Which was weird — odd. Sure, Euca knew Leo was a bit what did kids these days called it? Oh yeah, ‘perpetually exhausted pigeon’. The dog did always slept wherever he got the chance. But that was not the point. The point was when both of them were done with their playing, the one in the spirit’s ground where they were running — chasing that swarm of not-butterflies. Also those jumping around, which almost look like tree-swinging routines, he meant — wasn’t it odd that the girl wasn’t even breaking a sweat? You knew, one sweat. One liquid sweat flowing from her forehead. Forgot sweat, she wasn’t even huffing, gasping, or he didn’t know, anything. Anything that indicated that you were you knew, tired. It was almost surreal.

The unlucky cross-world traveler suspected that she somehow siphoned a part of his mana as a form of energy. Not his mana reserve of course, that would be obvious and ended in some serious talk. Instead it should be part of his regeneration stuff — the MR if he borrowed [Chronicle] term. The one that overflowed — weren’t pouring in because, well, his mana were full, the container was full. Perhaps. Like he always said, he didn’t know. And it was as likely the girl might also didn’t know.

Still, that line of thinking would at least explain her spirited sprint. The one that kept up with Apprentice’s swimming speed. Both of them had ‘apologetically’ decided that his non-sprinting, non-swimming self was kind of a drag and summarily left him behind.

Of course he let them. Kids needed their friends right? Playing, gallivanting, making stupid mistakes. And Apprentice was well, Clar’s first friend. Of course he was a bit worried for her, but then again, his and her mana tug was kind of stretching forever. Which meant unless both of them got ambushed by several A-rank equivalent bandits by surprise, he was pretty sure she was safe.

Maybe.

A little irrational voice inside his head kept telling him that he should still be there — stayed beside her, keeping her safe. Especially from that boy. The little brat had been way too—

“—Nonsense…”

He chucked the ridiculous feeling to the trash bin. Forcing it out with a slap to the forehead. Of course not. They were still young. Even if that boy, that elf boy was likely to be one hundred years or something because elf. Which of course, as logical consequence opened lots and lots of questions about well, first and foremost age of consent, second, comparative mentality and possibility of long-term interracial rela—WHAT THE HELL WAS HE THINKING ABOUT?

Let—Let just forget about it! That was not something a twenty-something should think. Sure he was concerned with her well-being and what the future that all might bring— AHH! He knew! Let see what these structures were all about! It definitely would be more interesting — way better than drowning in a thought that somehow he had lost his proverbial daughter to the first boy she ever me— he meant LET see what this stall was ALL ABOUT.

Taking a gander, putting a smile, and drinking the denial pill, he walked almost too hurried to reach the first stall.

He could use that gailen-laced water right now.

Stopping a half meter in front, he took a look closer at the structure’s construction. Which from how there was a long table on the front paired with three display racks angled in diagonal incline, he summarized that it must be a farmer market’s stand. You knew those wooden stalls where farmers put their vegetables for sale.

The topside and the inside however was still bare — the tarp hadn’t been put on and there were leftover construction materials lying scattered. Were they holding some kind of festival? A fair?

“Yer done?”

A voice asked. Turning his head he saw him, a worker a head shorter than him. The brown-haired man was working at the other stall across when he asked the question.

“Almost. Just need to put the sign up.” another voice answered. Euca almost didn’t see the man. His body was obfuscated by the stall’s long table. Only when his head moved out a bit that he saw that he was there. It seemed that the man — the black-haired one was the one who built the stall in front of him.

“That fast?” the brown-haired man turned. A 360 before he to Euca surprised spat on the ground. “Pah! Yer got Mrs. Nora. Ogre spit — of course yer done. What did ye pay Ger, Lud? Two rounds? Three rounds? Oh... ye promise him yer sister letter didn’t ya?”

“Fuck off, Ron. My sister is kind. She doesn’t deserve your slander.” the man tutted. “Also,” he added. “I’m hurt that you would think that I, Lud, an honest, hard-working carpenter of the whole east-east would stoop to such unseemly thing. Her light simply saw that I’ve been working too hard for these last moons and allowed me a well-deserved chance to rest.”

“Cline shit. Don’t take that [Minstrel] stuff with me, ye bastard.” the one who was called Ron said, chucking a little pebble which the black-haired man ducked it from. “Spill it.”

“Heh,” the man smirked. “You know Ger’s new missus right?”

“Vera?” the man raised her voice. “Of course, ha’f of the crew still think he got one of thar academy’s prof to practice forbidden’s art on her.”

“Yes, yes. One of the leading theories.” the man nodded which in Euca view, almost too fervent. “Anyway, I promised to babysit their nephew for the next seventh. You know play knight, grab some lunch at Ozoo, go to park here. Easy stuff.”

“What? That’s it?”

“Yeah, apparently the missus’ sister was out of town for two weeks. Weaving or something. And Ger you know, didn’t want to lose their ‘alone time’.” he said.

“Lucky bastard. How did ye know?”

“I have my source.”

“Bah! Source. It’s yer nephew, right? The one who was training to become stairs. What? Had the lad became a riser already?”

“Shh! Not so loud, you dumbass!”

“Fine, fine…”

”Although, why do you need to go out town to weave, anyway? I passed Elm every day. And the street filled with [Tailors]. Sure those thieves charge like merchants who lose their entire wares and still have to compensate twenty adventurers’ dead. But buying there at least would be convenient.”

“Why would you want to spend three days that would end in a sore butt to just save five silvers?”

“After-harvest spinning ye dumbass. How could ye not know this? And ye said yer the best carpenter on east-east.”

“Carpenter, Ron.” the one called Lud huffed. “ I didn’t do all those farming stuff. Anyway, just the sign and I’m out of here.” he laughed, hefting all the leftover construction material to the carriages, the clines in front shift a bit because of the additional weight.

Then the man pulled what seemed to Euca as a bigger version of his haversack — like that camping backpack that had a sleeping bag attached to it. He blinked his eyes three times. Because oh boy, what that— that almost too familiar.

The worker, Lud, was plunging his hand to the bags, the whole length reaching his armpit. Which was still well, ...normal even though it kind of weird. What surprised him was what happened next. From the bag, bits by bits he lifted a plank, lacquered and white, which should be the sign they were talking about.

However, and this was important, the plank was at least thrice the bag length and almost one and a half more in width. He even saw the space in the lid warped, expelling the box-shaped sign like a three-dimensional trapezoid.

Like his inventory.

“[Transporter’s] Backpack? Seriously?”

“Told you.” the worker’s smirked as he started nailing the signboard. “Mrs. Nora.”

Euca took a look at the board, sidelining the question whether from now on he could use his inventory more openly. He’d research it later, but it was certainly promising. He just had to make sure that the [Transporter’s] whatever Backpack was convincing enough. That’d certainly ease a lot of things.

The board — the sign was certainly ...vintage. The lacquer was fading a bit, but in a good way. The little brownier spot looked like those scratches in old strings. The one that had been passed by at least two generations of musicians. Even he, a total layman could tell that there was history there. Long history. In the center of the calligraphic decoratives, the tesselations of dodecahedrons and hexagons stitched together, was one word: Magrath.

“Lucky bastard.” the brown-haired man commented. Tutting twice looking at the board in envy.

“Hey, hey. Be thankful, bud. You at least got the standard flower’s stand. Sure you ain’t got Mrs. Nora stand like me…” he smirked. “But at least you don’t get the rhopis’ cage.”

“Hrr…” the man paused. Looking miffed but ended it in sigh. “Fair enuff. Who got it this calendar anyway?”

“There.” he pointed. “Isaac…”

“Isaac? Are ye sure? The man couldn’t—”

“—and Jeff.”

“Ye weren’t kidding me, right Lud?”

“Nope.”

“Light bless us.”