It's Just a Tavern!
It's just a bar!
Looking at these Westerners, I figured running a tavern here would be a pretty decent business.
Clunk.
And this dish the owner just set down! It's simply grilled meat...
A dish that's nothing but grilling, buried under a thick crust of pepper and whatever other spices he had on hand. The heat must have been far too fierce — crispy on the outside, soggy within. And I mean soggy, not juicy. Hey, mister! You said you put care into this! It's still raw in the middle!
"Miss, where might one procure this ale?"
"If you ask the merchants, I'm sure they'd bring you some?"
It probably wouldn't taste as good as what I just had, but even so, it'd likely beat this beer?
"Do you have anything finer than this?"
"I doubt it. This is the highest grade there is — merchants couldn't get their hands on it."
Things like this, made with such devotion — should I call them tribute? Offerings? After all, even the Temple only reserves this level of quality for me.
"Ah! You must be a nobleman's daughter, then?"
Yeah, extremely noble. Try to grab my hand, and I suspect that fellow glaring at you from that alley over there will be taking your wrist home with him.
Hmm... actually, no. That look in his eyes...?
Is this kid going to make it home alive tonight?
"Forgive my rudeness."
"It's fine. I'm glad you understand."
Well, at least he's well-bred enough to rise to his feet and apologize properly. Do nobles actually come to places like this?
With no desire to touch the food or the drink, I decided to just head out.
Whoosh.
I don't carry money myself, so I'll have to call the kids over to settle the bill for me.
Tap-tap-tap.
"Miss! What's the matter! You there, you bastard!"
"Whoa! No, stop!"
The moment this one arrived, he tried to deck the man sitting across from me, and I had to grab him fast. If anyone were going to throw a punch, I'd have done it ages ago. This kid is far too quick-tempered.
"It's nothing like that. I don't carry money, so pay for me."
"Understood. Head on ahead — I'll settle it and follow."
"Mm. Thanks."
The square-jawed man in front of me, spooked the moment this reckless-looking fellow showed up swinging, just sat there stammering. Good grief. If he's like this, how did he even work up the nerve to talk to me? Next time I'm parking a guard right next to me.
And on the way back, one thought kept circling in my head: I have to open a tavern.
Soju keeps well, after all. Why not load it onto a train and ship it out here?
Scribble-scribble — there. There.
"What's this?"
"Did I draw it badly?"
"It... looks like a building, I suppose?"
"Ah, then I drew it well. Build the structure in the shape of a letter D, with a stage in the center. The two sides are for the customers, and the middle building is for us!"
This could be fun.
"What will its purpose be?"
"The stage in the middle is for performances, and it'll be a place selling drinks and food!"
"Will you be needing funds?"
Ahaha! To think the man who deals in information thinks in such a one-dimensional way.
"Where there's drinking, information flows. All you have to do is gather it."
"I'm not sure I follow."
People who don't get drunk would never understand.
"Maybe not you lot, but ordinary people talk more when they drink. And then they start telling secrets, don't they?"
"Ah! So we're to collect that kind of information?"
"Right. So the first floor is for regular customers, and the second floor — for those with secrets to share — gets private rooms."
"Oh! But should we hide one of the children in each room?"
Hide those hulking brutes where? They'd be spotted in a heartbeat.
"It has to be actual people, obviously."
"Shall we hire women, then? Though keeping secrets might be difficult..."
Hmm, fair point. Back in Joseon times we'd have filled the place with gisaeng or servants, but we're Daehan.
"How about this..."
"..."
"Ah! Run a metal pipe from each room down into the basement. Through that pipe, you'd be able to eavesdrop on anything happening a short distance away."
It's a listening device. What else would it be?
"Is such a thing actually possible?"
"I don't know how thick the pipe can be or how far the sound will carry, so you'll have to experiment."
"If you say it works, it would be useful in plenty of other places too."
It'll come in handy more often than you'd think? They used it on the early ironclads, on the ships and all.
"Ask the Temple to bring in a huge shipment of soju. Judging by the tastes of the locals here, even the cheap stuff would go down like a delicacy."
"And we'll line our pockets while we're at it?"
"Oh, right. What currency do they use here?"
"Ours — Daehan's. It can't be counterfeited."
As long as it can't be faked, paper currency really is wonderful. Light, easy to carry in large amounts.
"Looks like every last coin of foreign gold is about to end up in our hands?"
"What can we do? They haul it here on their own backs. Haha."
Honestly, this place is a gold mine for anything you care to bring in. Fabrics, jewels, medicinal herbs — everything sells out at staggering prices, wherever it all goes.
Ever since steam engines started working everywhere, production has soared enough that some things are even sold cheap.
The surplus steel especially — bring it over in square ingots and they buy it up in heaps. Haul it home, hammer it into shape, and you can make whatever you like.
It won't match the finest work of a master smith, but you can knock out weapons just a step below — or worthy rivals to them — in no time at all.
"Let's get this tavern going already. It'll be fun."
"...Fun?"
What's romance without a tavern brawl? Mugs flying, fists flying — isn't that the whole charm?
I'd pictured a D-shaped building, but our friends went ahead and built a full amphitheater. Come to think of it, that's not bad — this way everyone in the audience gets an equally good view of the stage.
The ground floor runs as a tavern. The center houses the Intelligence Bureau's headquarters, its dormitories, and the kitchen. And the cellar is packed with an absolutely staggering amount of alcohol.
"How are we fixed for performers and musicians?"
"Volunteers lined up around the block, so a simple audition should do."
"Ah, so you're not paying to bring them in?"
"No, miss. They're wanderers who perform wherever they can and live off the tips."
Huh. So artists lived hard lives back then too, same as now?
"Unless someone's truly hopeless, let's at least slip them a little something for their trouble."
"Ahaha. Yes, miss. Of course."
What is this? Why are you looking at me so tenderly, like I'm some sweet little sister running a charity drive?
When living war machines like you make eyes that gentle, it is genuinely unsettling!
"I'll head out. Do well!"
"Leave it to us, miss."
The house specialty here is potato soju. Any Daehan crop with nowhere to be sold gets bought up by the Temple at a guaranteed price. From all those harvests, the priests brew oceans of liquor. With such a huge population, domestic consumption is heavy — but even so, it overflows.
And so that liquor rode an entire train across the frozen earth to arrive here. At first, things took a while — they had to research how to keep it from freezing and bursting.
The room at the very top of the building overlooked the city, the people, and the stage — the best seat in the house.
Click.
I opened the window and stepped out onto the railing. The sun was sinking, and business would begin soon. Time to have some fun.
Glug. Aaah~ now that's the stuff!
Soju straight from the bottle. The moment this alcohol hits my body it's practically a carcinogen, so why does it feel this good?
I'd been drinking alone for a while when the moon rose, and the seats below began filling up.
"BWAAAHAHAHA!"
"Is THIS what being drunk is?!"
Two men who looked like friends were drinking — one sprawled flat on the floor, the other having a heartfelt conversation with a pillar. From where I sat, they were both a lost cause.
"Haha. European country bumpkins. Can't hold their soju."
That beer I tried when I first arrived was watery and bland too. Turns out these people are total lightweights?
From early evening, the crowd below was collapsing and heaving and generally falling apart. Thank goodness the nearby residents were working as staff. If we'd assigned the Intelligence Bureau to clean-up duty, they'd probably be found buried somewhere far underground.
Ring-ring~
A woman who looked like something I'd once seen in Greece took the stage for the opening act. She had a strangely familiar look about her.
"I've set the diary of our house's founding to song. Please enjoy."
"Oi~ if you're a woman, shouldn't you be up there taking your clothes off?! WAHAHA!"
THUD. Crash.
I flattened the loudmouth with telekinesis and knocked him out cold. What kind of talk is that? Trying to turn this place into some cheap dive — this is a conspiracy. He's a spy, no question!
"Long, long ago~ a woman of white skin and black hair came across the desert of the East~"
By their reckoning, "the East" would be my old neighborhood, wouldn't it?
At this point it's less a song than a story. Is this what they call a bard?
Apparently the story went that she was invited to a feast and had a wonderful time there, and then...
"She thought she would be a blessing upon the city, but the king's greed brought down calamity..."
Good grief. What did he even want, that a king would go so far as kidnapping?
"Homes crumbled and the city burned~"
Isn't this basically mythology? One kidnapped woman, and a whole city collapses and burns?
It feels oddly familiar, like I've heard it somewhere before. Strange. Is this what they call déjà vu?
"Fweee~ fweee~"
"Bravo~!"
"Looks like she picked a fight with the wrong witch and got cursed for it?"
"Well, it was a good show."
Clang-cling, clang-cling.
People tossed tip coins into a box set on the floor. Apparently this was how she made her living.
I sent a few bills fluttering down into the container, with my regards.
"Thank you. Thank you."
The woman then made a round of the hall, gathering her tips into a pouch. I should really tell them to hire someone whose job is just collecting that, shouldn't I?
Tap.
"Haha. Miss, might I have a more... thorough conversation with you tonight?"
"I'm sorry. I don't do that sort of work."
"..."
"..."
I couldn't make out the details, but something hushed was being discussed. Judging by the little I could hear, apparently there are fools everywhere who can't read a room.
Bzzt-bzzt.
"Yes, miss."
In my room there was a call bell — a signal device, I suppose — for summoning the kids.
"Look into that singer's circumstances, and find out what that man over there is."
"Yes, miss!"
Had he been caught in some compromising position? The way he trembled and went pale was almost pitiful.
And now he's being dragged out, limp as a rag?
Step, step.
Should I go watch too?
"This way, miss."
"Judging by his behavior, he's some noble or other. Are there many of his kind around?"
"Quite a few. There's so much interesting here that nobles come to visit often."
Ha. Well, well. I suppose it was just that man's bad luck to catch my eye.
"Once you've looked into it — if the quality of the men coming into this city is poor, just clean them up."
"Yes, miss."
"If you set foot in someone else's territory, you keep quiet and leave. Don't go making a nuisance of yourself..."
Running a tavern and taking contracts on the underworld? Are we a mafia now?
"How far should the disposal go?"
"Let's watch how today's business with that man goes first, then decide."
"Understood."
BOOM!
And then — an explosion and a flash of light from somewhere outside the city. No need to look; that's the spot.
"Shall we go?"
"Let's. We should at least hear his side of things."
Did they go by horse or carriage? They moved fast.
We'd only just left the city when someone came running up with news about that clown: apparently he was a noble from a place called Byzantium, over there on the Mediterranean.
What — he's not even a frontier noble?
"Huh? So he's nothing special after all?"
"It was once a great empire, they say — but even so, their reach couldn't possibly extend this far."
"We've got cannons planted all over this place anyway, right?"
"Yes, miss."
Then there's really nothing to worry about, is there?
Fire a few cannon shots and they'd flee in terror at the sound alone.
Even if they copied what we used and came chasing after, making the gunpowder would be the hard part. They'd need centuries just to get that far.
By then, we'd be lobbing high explosives and firing rifled guns. Unless we openly taught them, they'd spend eternity trailing in our wake — and that would be that.
"Feels like they'll have some Fist Potatoes lying around too, don't you think?"
"Oh yes. Plenty. Hehehe."
Right. Cannons are huge — too much for you lot to handle. Fist Potatoes are just your size.