Chapter Nine: Wonderful Days

The news that Carlos was going to the alchemy cottage spread through the town as if it had grown legs of its own. In truth, though, there weren’t many who were truly interested. Most of the townsfolk continued their days as usual. The men went down to the salt wells by day, mining salt, and in the evenings gathered in lively groups at the tavern to talk about anything and everything. The women, meanwhile, kept their households in order, fetched out last season’s clothes and hats to mend them for the coming one, and at most would occasionally appear at the market, herding stray white geese from the town’s streets back to their own courtyards.

As for why the skinny geese that left in the morning would return fat and plump by nightfall, or why a gander would come home a goose, no one bothered to question such trivialities. As long as the numbers matched, it was considered a stroke of luck.

The town, meanwhile, was filling with dusty outsiders, coming and going in ever greater numbers. They looked fierce and intimidating, enough to make anyone’s heart race with unease. Yet, ever since more black-hatted men and bounty hunters had begun arriving in Saltwell, all the idle gossip in town seemed to diminish. Raina—more widely known as Malt, the little girl with a face spotted like wheat grains—thought this was all for the best. For days now, no one pointed or whispered at her family’s courtyard. It was a good omen.

Malt put on a new cotton dress with a floral print. Today, she was delivering goose eggs to the Stevensons. Her geese had been too scared to go out lately and spent their days idling in the courtyard, laying eggs all the while. And Malt’s household wasn’t the only one drowning in eggs. When the mayor learned of this egg surplus, he generously ordered his servants to buy up all the excess at market price.

Many townsfolk made their way across the Wooden Bear Bridge to the Stevenson estate, where they exchanged their surplus goose eggs for copper coins. Carlos even saw a woman whose basket contained a golden wild bird’s egg, twice the size of a regular goose egg. His curiosity piqued, Carlos bought it himself for a silver coin.

Malt sold out her basket, and as she was leaving, she shyly said to Carlos, “Young Master Carlos, Char and Sidis wanted to know when you’re going on a picnic.”

Carlos glanced at the sky; it wasn’t noon yet. He smiled at Malt. “I’m going to pay a visit to the Comans. Tell Char and Gold-Glasses that I’ll wait for them under the Wooden Bear Bridge, and we’ll fish there.”

“Right now?” Malt asked.

Carlos nodded, and Malt dashed off with her empty basket, wild with excitement.

Augusta’s Steam Valve House wasn’t far from the Stevenson’s. After passing a few dilapidated wooden cottages, Carlos looked up to see thick white plumes of steam rising into the sky—a sure sign someone was home. Carlos knocked at the gate.

“Carlos? What brings you here? That day you disappeared, you gave us all quite a scare.” Coman opened the door, looking pleasantly surprised.

Carlos glanced at the soot-stained face of the chubby boy and, changing the subject, teased, “What is it? Did I catch you at something good?”

Coman wiped his face. Whether it was Carlos’s imagination or not, in just a few days Coman’s round face seemed to have matured; gone was the harmless cherubic look of before, and there was a new determination in his bright eyes.

Chubby little Coman didn’t answer, just grinned foolishly.

Carlos continued, “So, have you managed to install that steam engine you took from the Watcher’s airship?”

Coman’s silly grin vanished. He sighed wryly, “So that’s where it came from. That engine’s several times bigger than ours and the steam it releases is scalding hot—no way a normal person can refine it. Looks like my good days are over.”

Carlos watched his friend’s misery and, thinking of his own upcoming lessons at the alchemy cottage, couldn’t help but wonder how that eccentric old man, Dubui, would torment him. Not that he hadn’t brought it upon himself. The two boys shared a moment of mutual sympathy.

Carlos patted Coman’s shoulder and pretended to sigh, “Well, I was going to invite you fishing, but since you’re working so hard at your studies, I suppose I’ll leave you to it…”

Coman let out a howl, “No, take me with you!” He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “Just tell my father you’ve got an important guest at your house and you want me to broaden my horizons. He’ll definitely agree.”

Carlos blinked. “Like who?”

“Black sorcerer. Do you have any relatives who are black sorcerers?”

Carlos thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Can’t say that I do, but my brother’s back!”

Coman bounced up. “Who, Dericht?”

Carlos nodded.

Coman’s eyes turned up like bean sprouts as he clapped his hands in agreement. “That’s just as good! Dericht is a renowned swordsman—his name echoes all over these wilds.”

Carlos didn’t bother to ask where Coman had heard such tales about his brother. He’d never thought them so extraordinary himself.

Coman turned and left—only to reappear moments later.

When Coman reemerged from the Steam Valve House, Carlos hadn’t exchanged a single word with Augusta, not even caught a glimpse of him. Whatever arcane secrets hid in that noisy wooden house, Augusta always refused Carlos’s requests to go inside, and strictly forbade Coman from speaking of its contents.

Carlos watched Coman burst out of the house and joked, “Out of prison already? That was fast.”

Coman’s chubby cheeks quivered as he looked at Carlos with sympathy. “My father said since you were here, I could go out and play.”

“I have that much sway?” Carlos asked.

Coman nodded solemnly, though his eyes darted up and down Carlos as if measuring him.

Carlos, unnerved by his friend’s scrutiny, gave him a playful kick. “What’s with that look?”

Coman gazed at Carlos with mock sadness. “My father said to cherish these times—after all, you’re about to go study under the pervert Dubui. Might not get to see you again.”

“That bad?”

“Mmm…”

Out in the gentle weather, lying comfortably on the grassy riverbank chewing on a blade of grass, Carlos felt himself drifting into a pleasant stupor. Gazing up at the sky, his thoughts wandered aimlessly.

His fishing rod was stuck in the soft earth at his feet. Sidis the Gold-Glasses watched over both floats, though in truth his attention was fixed on the unmoving bobber attached to Carlos’s line. The moment a fish nibbled away Carlos’s bait, Sidis was ready to skewer another wriggling worm.

As for the odds of Carlos catching anything at all—that was a hope bordering on fantasy.

Coman, in contrast, fished with utmost seriousness—his grip on the rod as steady as a vise, not a muscle twitching, even his breathing quieter than usual.

Malt worked industriously, fetching buckets of worms from a muddy hollow nearby. The small bucket was mostly filled with thick mud, making it rather heavy, but she was happy to do it. Once everyone had enough bait, she would collapse onto the grass to catch her breath, craning her neck to see if any fish had bitten.

Char, the tall one, was unusually quiet today. His vivid red hair seemed dulled, his thoughts elsewhere, sitting in silence with his rod in hand but his eyes fixed on the reeds. He probably wouldn’t notice even if a fish did bite.

Carlos lay there for a long while. The breeze was gentle, the sun warm—everything was peaceful and perfect. When the soft wind paused for a moment, he rolled over and sat up.

“Let’s talk about something,” Carlos announced.