Outer Harbor Obsidianberry (2)
Obsidianberry sat at the very tip of a Y-shaped stretch of land where two rivers met the sea.
Walls rose on the landward side, while the opposite shore held the harbor that served as Coldon's outer port.
Even as the largest harbor in Iceland, it was nowhere near Coldon's scale.
Still, the moment they arrived at a city so vast that ordinary towns could not even present a calling card, Karem cried out.
"Hweh! Good heavens! The humidity!"
Ever since his previous life, Karem had spent every summer half-dead from the damp. Spring in Coldon had already been miserable, but Obsidianberry was humid enough to inspire genuine revulsion.
Winter snow was melting, and moisture from the rivers and sea rode the wind straight into the city—of course it was like this.
The temperature was not even high, yet it felt as if he were breathing water instead of air. Dear gods, was this what weather was supposed to be?
On top of that, the procession had barely entered the city before Karem had to unpack and dive straight into the welcoming party's rehearsal for the Adovis envoys.
The humidity was so extreme that moisture beaded on bare skin even when standing still, yet most people moved about as if nothing were wrong.
Only when the sun began to sink was Karem finally released from rehearsal.
"Whew, so practice is over now?"
"As if. We'll do this every day until the Adovis envoys arrive."
"What?"
A bolt from the blue under a clear sky. Karem could only wonder what on earth that was supposed to mean.
But Adovis half-fed Iceland, so pouring this much effort into receiving their envoys was only natural.
If only there had been fewer people, it would have been far easier—yet contrary to Karem's wishes, Obsidianberry's population only swelled as time passed.
They came like migratory birds, seeking work in spring and leaving in autumn. And it was spring now.
Worse still, the group had claimed a whole stretch of the harbor, so the pressure of sheer density only grew.
Even Catherine, who had looked fine earlier, kept fanning herself.
"Hah. Winter came early this year, so it feels especially steamy."
"Does that mean the crowds are—no, wait. It's not usually this humid?"
"Junior Karem. Being right on the coast makes it worse. And look how many people are packed in."
"Then—"
"But spring in Iceland is originally humid. At least until summer."
"Aigoo, good heavens."
At Mary's answer Karem slapped his forehead. To think he would have to endure this dreadful damp every single year from now on.
Better to die of heat than of steam. Better to freeze to death than die of heat. For someone who hated humidity that much, it was a nightmarish reality.
Watching the boy who looked like a limp strand of seaweed as he stepped onto solid ground, Mary, standing beside Catherine, gave a quiet snicker.
Until the envoys arrived, the two archmages had nothing to do beyond the rehearsals. Catherine and Olivier's task was simple: inspect the samples of goods the accompanying merchants would trade. Naturally those samples were materials for magic and alchemy.
They were imports, true, yet having two archmages—let alone the highest magic advisor—personally check them was a touch beneath their station. Still, when hands were short, even the boss had to roll up his sleeves and work.
At least the weather had warmed and additional contracted mages were on their way; Catherine sighed in gratitude for that small mercy.
"Hah, by the time we return to Winterhome things should be freer than before."
"Excuse me, Contractor. When Lord Olivier first arrived you grumbled the whole time, then turned around and celebrated that the work had been cut in half—"
"Even accounting for that, there's still too much work!"
Catherine barked, and Olivier nodded slowly in solemn agreement. If it had only been Winterhome's affairs, perhaps—but when one considered the flood of tasks pouring in from Coldon and the Felwinter family's direct territories, the reality was that personal research time still did not exist.
Hiring or borrowing civilian mages, adventurers, and mages from other houses had lightened the load somewhat. Of course the most important and heaviest workloads inside the direct territories and the family itself had not decreased at all, so the help was limited.
Still, after shouting it out she felt better; Catherine rubbed her forehead and consoled herself.
"No, no. At least now we don't have to process work even while traveling, so let's calm down. At the very least we no longer have to work through meals and snack times."
"Heh, so you were that buried even then?"
"The contracted mages were vacant for so long that clearing the backlog is what got us this far. Once we return we'll be buried again."
Meanwhile people began flooding into the empty stretches of the harbor, so the group decided to move aside for the moment. Following Catherine without knowing the destination, Karem still felt like a tourist.
As befitting a harbor, merchants of every sort called out to passersby, and porters hauled cargo between the docks, the city streets, and the warehouses—or the other way around.
And above all else, one thing seized Karem's gaze: seafood so fresh it seemed to still breathe.
Familiar fish—cod and its cousins, rockfish, anchovies, herring—lay alongside sea fish whose names he could not recall. Clams were the same, hard clams and mussels and razor clams aside.
Karem could hold back no longer. A chef's instincts stirred.
"My lady. May I go off on my own for a moment?"
It was a request she had never heard even in Borderster or Coldon; Catherine reflexively raised one eyebrow, then accepted it. After all, this was the boy who experimented with every ingredient in the tower kitchen or at exchange meetings on ordinary days—of course his eyes would light up at sea fish rarely seen in Coldon.
"Hmm? Hmm. Fine. Be back before the sun sets. You have enough money?"
"Yes."
"Just in case, I'll send Mary with you. If costs run short, put them on the tab."
Permission granted, nothing more stood in his way. Accompanied by a reluctant-looking Mary, Karem strode straight toward the shop he had already marked.
Long-unseen and never-before-seen seafood made curiosity and itching hands rise, yet he forced his thumping heart quiet and studied the stall goods with a cool head.
"Kid. On an errand? Looking for something?"
"I'll just look around for now."
From a distance he had not noticed, but up close the truth was plain: fresh live goods mixed with ones that had left the water some time ago. Among fish with clear, bright eyes sat ones with dead eyes that reeked of strong fishiness.
Fortunately the guts had already been cleaned; every belly, throat, and gill was opened. For now he would aim for the familiar ones.
"The mussels and hard clams that came in today are fine quality. How about these?"
"They certainly are. Not the ones you just touched—give me the ones beside them. Same amount of razor clams as well. And cod and rockfish, please."
"Of course."
The owner, who had begun by trying to push one thing after another, quickly abandoned any thought of hard-selling once he saw Karem's cool gaze and the hands of someone who, if not a full professional, clearly knew what he was looking at.
The quality of the boy's clothes and those of the strangely inhuman-feeling maid behind him, plus the bold way the youth spent money despite his age, prompted the shopkeeper to inquire casually.
"There's one precious item inside."
"Hmm? A precious item?"
"I can't show it out here. Please come in."
"Yes. It's fine if my companion comes too, right?"
Karem pointed a thumb at Mary standing silently behind him. The owner agreed, left the stall to an employee, and guided the boy straight into the shop.
Inside, the building handled dried goods—every surface filled with thoroughly smoked or dried fish, mostly things that looked like herring.
From beneath the counter the owner drew a box and opened the lid as if to say, have a look.
Inside lay a crab whose body alone was larger than an average adult's head. Two massive pincers that could fill a belly by themselves, short but plump pointed legs tucked tightly against its body, and barnacles covering a shell that at a glance resembled rotten wood. Short antennae and oval eyes set as if lying on their sides moved slowly. The impressive crab was wrapped in thick, dark, fabric-like seaweed.
Karem unconsciously furrowed his brow. For its size, the visual was not especially appetizing.
Mary, however, opened her eyes wide in admiration.
"This is a treasure crab."
"Mary. You know it?"
"Like adventurers who occasionally find treasure chests, it's a crab that rarely turns up in the nets of fishermen who go out to sea. A precious catch—people with money are desperate to get their hands on one."
The sparkle in Mary's eyes shifted to suspicion as she fixed the owner with a hard look.
"But isn't this something shady?"
"Oh no, not at all! Looking at your clothes, would I sell something suspicious to the two of you who clearly serve high-ranking people?"
The shopkeeper had no idea whom Karem and Mary actually served, yet the unusual quality of their fabric let him make a rough guess. Even if Karem alone might have been manageable, Mary's strange aura pressed him until he spilled everything.
"Originally a noble had reserved this first, but on the pickup date yesterday they suddenly canceled the order one-sidedly! I could find another buyer, but if the treasure crab spoils before then it'll be a loss, so please show some consideration!"
The single most important core of seafood is freshness. No matter how deliciously prepared, seafood is uniquely particular about it.
Karem briefly buried his head toward the treasure crab and sniffed. Fortunately the specimen the owner offered was as fresh as its moving antennae and eyes suggested—no fishy smell at all.
Karem understood the owner's worry. Present-day Iceland was no longer the dry, cold winter. It was a spring so humid the air itself felt heavy. The weather was still chilly, thankfully, but once rot set in it would be a straight loss, and according to Mary the cost would be considerable—anxiety was only natural.
"How much is it?"
"Exactly forty shillings! Please just help me avoid a loss!"
"Hmm."
Karem hummed as if testing the waters and crossed his arms. In truth he was fretting because he had no frame of reference. He never paid for ingredients himself, so he had no idea whether the price was high or low. At that moment a piercing gaze stabbed from beside him; he rolled his eyes to look.
Mary was silently pouring her will into him with intense focus.
Junior Karem. Can you hear me. Junior Karem. If you can hear me, abandon the hesitation.
Yes. Mary. I hear you.
Don't hesitate—buy it right away. Junior Karem. Can you hear me. If you miss out on this, you'll be stuffed forever with a head worse than a slime's.
And slimes had no brains.
Karem discarded his hesitation at that fact.
"Alright. I'll buy it right away."
"Thank you so much!"
"And since I've bought this much—may I make one request?"
"Anything! Shall I discount the things you bought outside—no, give them free?"
The owner proposed it seriously, joy unhidden. Being able to clear the high-value item that only took up space and made his heart race meant a few fish and some clams could naturally be given as service.
But Karem shook his head firmly and pointed at the box.
"Free is fine. Do you have dried anchovies?"
"What? Ah, of course. But for a distinguished person, rather than just dried, smoked ones—"
"Please give me dried anchovies and this."
"Uh, yes? The treasure crab?"
"No. This wrapping it."
Karem indicated the black seaweed that had wrapped the goods he had just purchased. In form, smell, and color, it was unmistakably kelp.
"Uh, the seaweed? Why would you…?"
"Even better if it's dried."
"Do you perhaps need cheap kindling?"
The owner was sincerely flustered, and so was Mary. There was plenty of firewood—why get that stuff used for kindling?
But Karem was serious.
Have these people gone mad? Using kelp of this quality as kindling?