Consultation on Worries (2)
Villagers came to Patrick's house with all sorts of worries. Some asked what would make a good birthday gift for their children, while others wanted advice on how to express their feelings to someone they liked.
“I think buying Tommy paint would be best. Brushes too. He’s been enjoying drawing more and more lately.”
“Well, sincerity is what matters most, isn’t it? I’ll help you write a letter.”
Though it was troublesome, Patrick genuinely put his head together with them to think things through. It wasn’t just because of the thank-you gifts the villagers brought; listening to their stories was genuinely entertaining.
‘Busy, but at least not bored.’
With little in the way of entertainment, these worry consultations were a welcome way to pass the time.
“Village Chief? What brings you here?”
“Hoho, I’ve got a little worry of my own.”
Today, even the village chief had come, cookies in hand.
“You have a worry, Chief?”
“Yes. Though it’s less a worry and more… a dream, I suppose.”
“A dream…”
“There was no one I could talk to even when my heart felt heavy. When I heard you were willing to listen, I thought I’d come air things out. Hoho.”
“Ah, you’ve come to the right place.”
Patrick understood. Word had spread that he was offering consultations, and several villagers had already visited. Most brought problems with no clear answer, issues too difficult to solve, or matters where they already knew the answer deep down. What they needed wasn’t someone to hand them a solution, but simply someone to listen.
‘I’m just nodding along and reaping the benefits. This is pure honey.’
All he had to do was nod or offer the occasional murmur of agreement. Nothing could be easier.
“I’ve always wanted our villagers to live comfortably. We never go hungry, but earning money has always been difficult on this island.”
“You must have had a lot on your mind.”
“Yes. Thanks to selling the oysters, money has started circulating, but Oren tells me that once the weather warms, storage and transport will become difficult.”
“So sales will drop?”
“That’s right. Haaah—”
The chief let out a low sigh.
‘Even if we’d never had it in the first place, once people get used to something, losing it will breed discontent. It’s hard to shrink spending once it’s grown.’
Patrick saw exactly what the chief was worried about.
“What did you used to sell in the summer?”
“Fish and shellfish, mostly. In years when fruit was plentiful we’d sell some, but the island’s farmland is limited, so it never amounted to much.”
After a few more questions, the conclusion was clear. This island had no answer.
‘That’s why they used it as an exile destination. Tch.’
Still, Patrick wanted to roll up his sleeves and help. If the villagers’ pockets grew fuller, more would trickle down to him as well. Even though his own garden crops weren’t impressive, he knew the reason his table was always abundant was because the villagers’ incomes had risen.
“If primary production isn’t the answer, then processing is the way to go…”
“Processing?”
“Yes. Turning fruit into jam, making salted fish, that sort of thing.”
“It’s not that we haven’t considered it, but our village doesn’t have anyone you could call a true artisan.”
Though Patrick thought it was a good idea, the chief shook his head. They had tried selling the liquor from Ben’s parents’ brewery to the outside, but it hadn’t gone well. The brewery’s history was short, and it wasn’t one favored by famous nobles, so it lacked name value. The taste itself wasn’t bad, so they’d managed contracts with a few taverns in the nearest port city, but that was all. A few other villagers had tried making bread or pickles, yet securing contracts proved just as difficult.
“What about offering some as tribute to the nobles…?”
“They say you need connections for that. Hoho.”
The chief laughed, but it was a frustrated sound, and he gulped down water.
‘If the brand is weak, the only option is to pour money into promotion.’
But there was no money to spend on advertising.
‘A way to promote without spending money…’
He had only meant to listen, but now he wondered if he would have to step forward himself.
***
“Oh my, Teacher!”
The next day, Ben’s parents received an unexpected visit.
“What brings you all the way to this humble home? Please, sit over here, Teacher!”
“Thank you for welcoming me even though I came without notice.”
“Not at all. Whenever you visit, we must treat you as best we can! You made our Ben a Spiritist, after all!”
Strictly speaking, Patrick hadn’t done anything regarding the spirit contract, but Ben’s parents were the sort who would do anything he asked.
“Teacher, let me at least wet your throat first. I’ll slice some cheese right away.”
Ben’s mother even brought out an entire bottle of sweet potato soju and busied herself preparing snacks.
“Could you show me a few bottles of your liquor first?”
“Liquor? Oh, take as much as you like, Teacher!”
“Ah, I’m not here to drink.”
“Then why…?”
Though puzzled, Ben’s father brought out every type of liquor they were brewing. Ben measured the bottle shapes with a ruler made from paper glued to a thin board and recorded the dimensions. His parents didn’t understand the reason, but they trusted their teacher had his motives and simply prepared several bottles of good wine for him to take home.
***
Eltron, the closest city to Dunbrook Island. It was also where Oren’s trading company was located. Though called a mid-tier merchant, he only had two shops. Still, having fewer shops didn’t mean he could be underestimated. Even if his goods were a little expensive, his consistent handling of only high-quality items had built trust and earned him a reputation as a solid, reliable merchant.
“Agh! Is this all that’s left?”
“I already told you these are headed to restaurants and noble households.”
“Still, can’t you set a few more aside? Who am I supposed to sell this to?”
The moment Oren displayed the freshly imported oysters, a customer arrived.
“If you don’t want them, fine. Plenty of others will buy.”
“I never said I wouldn’t buy. I just wish there was more. Once summer comes, I won’t be able to buy even if I want to.”
The man arguing with Oren was the owner of a large inn in Eltron. The two had grown up in the same neighborhood, so instead of sending an employee, they often came out themselves to haggle and chat.
“That’s why I told you to place an order in advance.”
“Most of our inn’s guests are mercenaries. They prefer meat over seafood. …Wait, is this liquor?”
“Yes, we just started carrying it.”
“Dunbrook Brewery? Was there a brewery on Dunbrook Island?”
The innkeeper looked puzzled at the name written on the wooden crate.
“Tsk tsk. You’re too soft. If a request won’t turn a profit no matter how much they beg, you should’ve refused. A merchant who lets sentiment sway him is finished.”
“Are you lecturing me on commerce now? Hoho, this is rich.”
Oren laughed in disbelief at his friend’s scolding. It was all said out of concern, but he had his own reasons for making the deal.
“Look at it first, then talk.”
“Look? Come now. Liquor is something you drink before you can judge it. …What’s with this label?”
Oren handed him a bottle after opening the crate. The innkeeper was about to pull the cork when his eyes caught on the label.
“What is this…?”
Normally, a liquor label contained predictable information: the region, the brewery name, the liquor’s name and vintage, sometimes the producer’s name or the sponsoring noble house. Since a craftsman’s skill and history determined a drink’s value and price, such details mattered as much as taste and aroma. Taste and aroma could be subjective, but a house’s history and honor were not.
“Gift Dreams to the Children?”
The label bore a single crooked sentence, written as if by a child who had only just learned to write. “Dunbrook Brewery” appeared beneath it in small letters.
“What kind of label is this?”
“Hoho. They say that for every bottle sold, ten percent of the profit goes toward gifts for the children of the island.”
“Huh?”
The innkeeper blinked, not quite following, and asked for more details.
“Exactly as it sounds. Drinking this liquor lets you gift wooden swords, books, and paints to the children living in the rural island village of Dunbrook. Those children might grow up to become soldiers, officials, or painters.”
“Oho…”
“Both the brewery owner and the village chief signed a contract, so you can trust it.”
“Hoho, well now.”
“Want to take a box?”
“This guy, what do you take my inn’s guests for?”
The innkeeper frowned.
“Let’s see… three boxes? Hey, pack them all.”
“Huh? Boss, all of them?”
“Yes.”
“But this liquor isn’t even known yet…”
The young employee who had come along as a porter tried to dissuade him, but the innkeeper clicked his tongue.
“Tsk tsk. What kind of people are our guests?”
“About seventy percent are mercenary bands, and the rest are travelers on the road for various reasons.”
“Right. People who left their families behind to earn money in a foreign land.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why I’m telling you to take them.”
Sometimes, the satisfaction of imagining a child’s smile—someone whose name and face you didn’t even know, yet who reminded you of the family waiting back home—was far more fulfilling than any fine liquor.
“So the reason you called me wasn’t the oysters, but this?”
“Hoho.”
“Fine. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Did I say thank you?”
“Tch! Then this is on the house?”
Oren burst out laughing at the sight of his friend hurriedly packing a bundle of fruit.
***
“One rich snack, whatever’s fastest, and a strong drink!”
Even though it wasn’t mealtime, the first floor of the inn was packed with customers wanting liquor and snacks.
“Here are our liquor options.”
“Forget the menu. Just bring whatever you recommend.”
“Then how about this one?”
The waitress, as if she had been waiting for the question, held up a bottle to a burly, bearded mercenary.
“What kind of liquor is this? Never seen it before.”
“Well, you see, it’s…”
At the waitress’s explanation, several mercenaries at nearby tables perked up their ears.