Chương 26: A Man With a Lot of Wood

How long had it been since I last worked a harvest? Not since my death, by my reckoning. So... over a decade ago. But as I went through the golden grains of wheat, cutting the harvest with a sickle of glossy black metal born of my power, I allowed myself to feel good about it. After all, it was nice to create something after years of nothing but destruction. Smoke padded along at my side, a wicker basket hitched to his left shoulder. It housed the accumulated grain I'd gathered thus far.

"Looks good, doesn't it?"

"Mrnn... yes, father," Smoke said, his voice a low growl. He had gotten more used to speaking, but his cadence was stiff and slow. Like he was assembling each word, syllable by syllable. I, personally, had not gotten used to him speaking. But it was part of my life now, and I loved the cat all the same.

"I have to go into town when we get done here. Folks are saying that Brazio and a few other smugglers from the Shadow Caravan will be here today. That means you're on watch."

"Of course." Smoke... smiled? It was hard to tell. Even if he could talk, that didn't change his face in any way. Talking animals... Novos had had a few in his menagerie. Ravens, mostly, and other large birds who could serve as spies on his behalf. But I'd never seen a cat talk. Magicka was involved, no doubt about that, but... well, maybe the cat was just an oddity?

"Any intruders... shall face my wrath." I breathed through my nose.

"Don't kill anyone, Smoke." Mikan surveyed my grain, whistling as her eyes roamed the basket.

"I didn't think anyone could get anything to grow on that land you bought. You're pretty impressive, Master Amon," she said, grinning. I shrugged.

"Land wasn't the problem. Last fella who had it just didn't bother to put the right work in. I'm only getting started. Wheat for now, and then... well, ideally Brazio will have some potatoes for me to plant." Mikan cocked her head, eyes widening at me.

"Po... tatoes?" she asked, testing syllables.

"I have not... heard of such things?" Now it was my turn to look surprised, lifting a brow at her.

"Damn. You people have been missing out. I'll be sure to get you some to try." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I had no doubt the locals would thank me. Rice and fish, rice and fish, they barely ate anything other than rice and gods-damned fish. Potato stew would hit this village like a drug.

"They're a vegetable," I said.

"They're pretty easy to grow, and you get a large yield from even a few seeds. Provided you take good care of them. A lot of the peasants back home, myself included, grew 'em. You could feed your family on potatoes alone, and then sell your more valuable crops."

"Oh?" Mikan moved behind the counter, gathering a small stack of gin.

"And... do they taste good?"

"Depends on how you cook them. And, fortunately, there's a lot of ways to do just that." I took the coins as she offered them to me, and she too the grain behind the counter.

"Tell you what? If they grow proper, you get to try the first potato."

"Looking forward to it." I smiled at her as I left, but that expression left me as I stepped out onto the muddy street beyond. What was I doing, getting sentimental with these people? Or maybe it was just some holdover of fatherly instinct. Casea would have been older than her by now, had she still been alive, and that thought was like a punch to the gut. But I welcomed that pain. It kept me from feeling particularly friendly. People watched me as I made my way to the docks.

Their gazes were kinder, but not without some measure of scrutiny. I would likely always be a foreigner in their eyes. But one of the 'acceptable' kinds of foreigners who had done good for the locals. Brazio's boat was in its usual spot on the docks, locals puttering about as they bought their imported goods from the man. Brazio was not cheap but it seemed that he got good business from the locals, who saved up an excess of gin to buy his rare wares.

The older man brightened at my approach, and the sunlight glinted on his golden teeth.

"Ah, my mysterious Yvigrosian friend. I was able to get the trees you requested. I have them in my hold, the saplings stored in enchanted pots to keep them stable." I followed him onto the boat, planks creaking and groaning beneath my feet. Gentle waves slapped against the hull of the boat, and even I had trouble keeping my balance aboard the deck. I never had been all that good on sea. Well, all of Novos' campaigns had been on land, and I hadn't had much experience with boats before my undeath.

I helped Brazio bring the pots onto the surface and set them on the docks.

"I shall..." The older man grunted and popped his back, "need those pots back. The enchanted ceramic is... not cheap. Unless you would like to pay extra for them?"

"No, thank you. At least, not for now. Would you mind if I plant these and then return the pots? I'll be back within an hour or so." I handed over the gin and he handed over a neatly wrapped parcel of potato seeds.

"I suppose you are... a repeat customer." Brazio pursed his thin lips together, bejewelled fingers stroking through the coarse tangles of his beard.

"Very well. We will not be shipping off again until late tomorrow. Know that to lie or steal from me would be grave error."

"I've lived a whole life of grave errors, friend. But, relax. I won't stiff you." Making an enemy of a man who could get me theoretically anything for the right amount of coin? Poor idea. I gripped the pots containing the saplings, both ringed with strange runes that glowed whenever the sunlight struck them. The tense of magicka in them was faint, a tingle. The enchantment kept life in the soil but it was only designed to work for a few weeks at most. And then I set off, easily carrying their weight.

I'd get some more alchemical potions when I made my way back, something to add more strength to the rest of my soil. And then-"You know, I always like me a man with a lot of wood." I turned to see Yomi leaning against a nearby wall. She bore a wicked grin, a hand resting on her injured side while her weight was against the side of a fisherman's hut.

"Well," I said, offering her something that could probably be considered a smile.

"I suppose you're not dead after all."