Heretical Fishing

Chapter 14: Coffee

Isat in the shade of my porch, delighting in the meal of fish I’d just indulged in. A perfect late breakfast, if I do say so myself.

I felt tired, my brain sluggish, but my synapses fired enough for a moment of clarity to strike.

“Shit! I forgot to ask Barry about caffeine!” No wonder I was so tired. What is a morning without coffee—or at the very least, a hot cup of tea?

“How ya doing, Barry?” The man was so focused on his farm work he jumped at my words. “Woah, sorry mate. Didn’t mean to spook you.”

Barry’s face was white, his eyes daunted. “O-oh, sorry, Fischer. My head was elsewhere. I’m doing good. How are you?”

Sheesh, I’ll have to make some noise before I say g’day next time. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Yeah, I’m good Barry. I had another question for you.”

Barry swallowed. “What is it?”

“Do you guys have coffee around here? Or tea?”

The farmer visibly relaxed. “Tea is plentiful, and there’s a coffee shop on the north side of the village, but it’s a little expensive . . .”

I rolled my eyes. “Same situation as the passiona husk? Is it genetically modified to not reproduce?”

“No, actually.” He leaned on his hoe. “But it is heavily regulated. Coffee is one of our kingdom’s main exports, and after genetic engineering led to poisonings or some such scandal, the kingdom cracked down and made it illegal to grow unless you have a permit.”

I made to laugh at Barry’s joke, but at seeing his serious demeanor, quickly pressed my lips together in a frown. “You’re serious about it poisoning people?”

“Yes. It killed quite a few noble sons if the rumors are to be believed, but I don’t really know all the details as truth.”

I rubbed my chin. Could be an elaborate hoax, set up to commoditize coffee and drive up the price . . .

I sighed, fearing the information I was about to request. “The beans are super expensive, aren’t they?”

Barry nodded with a grimace. “The merchant that comes once a month sells the beans for an extortive price unless you have an agreement with the crown. I don’t know the details, but I’ve seen the noble lady with a coffee shop on the north side of Tropica buy them for cheaper than our food supplies.”

I shook my head in dismay. “Tea is good, but nothing beats a good coffee. I’ll see what I can do.”

Barry raised an eyebrow. “You’ll see what you can do? What do you mean?”

“You let me take care of that, mate.” I shot him a wink. “See ya later, Barry.”

“Uh, yeah, bye Fischer . . .”

I strode toward the village. If not for the kingdom’s monopolization of beans, coffee would be easily accessible to everyone. All you needed was ground beans and water—not even hot water. One of my favorite types of coffee from my previous life was cold brew, and I’d often made it for myself at home, finding the brewing method relaxing, meditative.

No coffee for the common folk? How can I stand by and allow such oppression of the working class?

George’s thoughts had been a mess since Fischer’s arrival, and he was taking solace in his first lunch of the day, allowing the contrast of sweet and savory pastries to whisk his troubled mind to a place of comfort. A loud knock came from his front door and a spike of dread sheared through his peace like a knife through freshly toasted buns.

“Want me to get it, love?” His wife waddled over and massaged his shoulders. He leaned into the soft touch of her well-fed form.

“Not at all.” He kissed her hand. “It is a man’s job to deal with the rabble—you enjoy first lunch, dear.”

He walked down his stairs with care, holding the railings with butter-slick hands. Pausing before the door, he took a moment to catch his breath before opening the portal. When it swung open, the dread he’d been fighting off slammed into him.

“G’day George. How are ya, mate?”

“F-Fischer, hello.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’m well, and you?”

“Good, thanks! I had a suggestion for you, though.”

A suggestion? What plans has he put in place since I last saw him . . . ?

“Er—of course, Fischer. What was it?”

“I came to ask about coffee.”

“Uh . . . coffee?”

“Right. Coffee. I know that a noble lady purchases coffee for a reasonable price.” Fischer leaned in. “Is there any way I can get that same discount for some beans?”

George felt his considerable jowls quiver. He dares test my loyalty to the crown? The audacity! “Unfortunately,” he said, with deliberate pronunciation, “the decreased rate is only available to those that purchase a coffee machine from the capital. Lena has such a machine, which is why she can purchase the beans at a decreased price.”

Fischer’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance, confirming George’s suspicions. He was trying to trip me up! Oh, Fischer, my intellect is too vast for you to comprehend. You think I’d fall prey to such an obvious trap?

“Of course,” Fischer said. “The coffee machines are quite expensive, aren’t they?”

With his victory over the crown agent, some of George’s anxiety was washed away by the crushing weight of his superiority. “Naturally. The cheap beans are an incentive to buy one of the marvels created by the capital.”

“Well, I assume as the lord of the village, you take a percentage of income as tax, right?”

George’s perceived sense of superiority dissolved and sweat sprouted from his forehead again.

“Y-yes . . .”

So he is here for the taxes. I knew he had nefarious intention. Oh, Fischer, you devious man, you scoundrel of the worst degree—

“Well,” Fischer said, interrupting his panic. “If the farmers were more productive, that would increase the yield of the village, right?”

What games does he play? What layered scheme is unfolding before me?

“It would mean that, yes,” George said tentatively. “What is your suggestion?”

“Coffee.”

“. . . coffee?”

“Right.” Fischer nodded. “Coffee would improve the work output of the villagers, but from what I can tell, there’s only a single shop that sells it on the north side of town, and it’s too expensive for the common folk.”

“W-well, yes, of course. It is an expensive drink for the upper crust—”

“That’s no good, mate.” Fischer shook his head. “Where I come from, it’s an affordable commodity, and I think you’d see a significant improvement of the village’s monetary output if it was accessible to all.”

George paled, and he dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. “It-it’s not so simple—the cost of purchasing a coffee machine alone . . .”

“Think of it as an investment. You could even use some of the gold I gave you, right?”

After giving me explicit instructions not to spend the coin? What trap is he attempting to land me in?

“Anyway,” Fischer said in his always demanding tone, “it’s only a suggestion. If you were to pay the cost of a machine for one of the existing stores in town, namely Sue’s bakery, she should be able to afford the beans and could pass on the savings to the rest of the villagers. It’d improve morale, output, and overall, the wealth of the village.”

“What—what of the cost? It is no small thing.”

Fischer waved the question away. “You could just use a bit of the funds already taken as tax and use it to generate even more income. What do you think?”

The statement was all the confirmation George needed that the capital agent before him knew of the gold he’d been skimming from the taxes.

“Y-you’re right, Fischer.” He plastered a smile on his face, trying to hide his distress. “That’s a fantastic idea. I can—I will make the arrangements immediately.”

George slammed the door, his significant weight leaning against it as he slid down to the floor. His head was swimming, and if he stood any longer, he may just faint. He lay down, staring at the ceiling as he tried to calm his breathing.

By the prosperous womb of Ceto, how will I extract myself from this mess?

Poor George, I thought as I walked back to Sue’s bakery. How did a man with such debilitating social anxiety end up the lord of a village? The bloke can’t even talk to me without breaking into a sweat and becoming a stammering mess.

The thought was fleeting, and I felt a broad smile spread over my face. The negotiations were successful, and it was only a matter of time before coffee was a mainstay for the south siders of Tropica.

“Good news, Sue!” I said as I approached her shopfront. “George agreed, and the equipment is being organized!”

Sue’s motherly smile froze in place, and her eyebrows formed a vertical line between them.

“You’re . . . you’re serious?”

“Yep! All you’ll have to do is offer the coffee at the agreed price of one copper.” I winked at her. “I assume my coffee and snack deal is still good?”

“Of course! You can have all the free food and coffee you can handle if you’re serious. You are serious, right? Don’t mess with me, Fischer.”

“I’m serious,” I said with a laugh. “Mind if I grab a pastry now?” I pointed at a baked good that looked like a croissant. “That one there is calling to me.”

“You can have every single one of them!”

“Just one will do. Thank you, though.”

With a practiced motion, she swept the treat into a paper bag and handed it to me.

I contemplated everything I’d done and learned this morning as I sat in the shade with my delightful little pastry. First and foremost was that George responds to pressure. The monetary gain didn’t seem to sway him at all, but with just a little leaning on my part, he’d caved and agreed. While my coffee goals were initially selfish, I really did want it to be accessible to everyone—it seemed like a travesty for the beans to be too expensive for the average person.

I’ll have to keep that in mind going forward if I see ways I can improve the lives of the citizens of Tropica. I may be here for fishing, but that doesn’t mean I won’t step in when I can improve the lives of those around me. If nothing else, it would make people like me more—which I sorely need, given my heretical ways.

I took a bite of the fantasy croissant, raising an eyebrow at the flaky, buttery insides. Damn—that’s good.

Another notable thing I’d learned came from Sue—she patiently explained the currency system, something I’d managed to avoid so far with my use of whole gold pieces and pastry bargaining chips.

There were copper, iron, silver, and gold pieces, converting up at a ten-to1 ratio. My use of one gold to purchase my land meant that I’d paid the equivalent of one thousand one-copper coffees—an absolute steal if you asked me, even if George had hustled me on the price.

Speaking of money, I had a terrible truth to confront: as much as I’d wanted to avoid doing anything other than fishing, I needed coin. Selling fish seemed unfeasible for the time being, considering it was heresy to live off the sea. I’d have to compromise if I wanted to do all the cool things I had planned for my fishing endeavors and property both.

Getting to my feet, I put the last bit of croissant in my mouth. I walked around the corner to thank Sue but stepped right into an ambush.

“There he is!” Sue said, pointing at me. “Go ask him about it!”

Maria, Roger, and Fergus, the blacksmith, turned their heads to me.

Fergus was the first to reach me, taking powerful strides. “Is it true?” he demanded.

“Er, is what true, mate?”

“The coffee! You’re really giving Sue a coffee machine?”

“Uh, I mean technically George is, but yeah, she’s getting a coffee machine.”

The behemoth of a man laughed and clapped my shoulders. “I could kiss you, Fischer!” His eyes danced, and I thought he might actually kiss me for a moment. “I had coffee once as a gift when I finished my apprenticeship—I’ve never forgotten the taste or feeling but haven’t been able to justify the cost of buying it!”

“You’re starting to make me suspicious, Fischer,” Maria said in a joking tone as she walked over. “You’ve done nothing but good since you arrived—what’s the catch?”

“No catch,” I said with a laugh. “Can’t a guy just do good by his neighbors?”

Roger’s scowl said No, you can’t, but he remained silent.

“First the passiona pastries, now this?” Despite his size, Fergus was the personification of an excited child. “I don’t think I can ever repay you . . .”

“About that, Fergus—I was about to come see you after thanking Sue for the lovely meal I just had.”

“Oh, what about?”

Unbidden, my oldest nemesis returned.

[Error: Insufficient power. Superfluous systems offline.]

I wiped the sweat from my brow as I dismissed the unwelcome harassment.

“Are you sure you’ve never worked bellows before, Fischer?”

I stopped pumping, looking over at Fergus. Both he and Duncan, his apprentice, gaped at me with odd expressions.

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“Because you’re working that thing like a seasoned pro,” Duncan said, still staring.

I glanced down at the pump and the forge it was attached to, not seeing the big deal. Sure, it was physical work, but it seemed straightforward enough for me. I’d expected it to be hotter too, but the heat radiating from the forge was almost cleansing.

“I’m just pumping.” I shrugged. “You two are doing the actual work.”

Fergus shook his head with a smile. “Maybe so, but thanks to you we’ll finish today way ahead of schedule, even after making the cages you requested. You’re sure that’s all you want?”

I nodded. “That’s all I need for now, mate. I wouldn’t say no if you let me trade time on the bellows for more smithing in the future, though.”

He roared a laugh. “I’d be a madman to turn that down with the speed we’re getting things done!”

“Well, let’s get back to it then.” I resumed pumping the bellows. “I think you fellas deserve an early finish.”

A few hours later, I was walking out of the smithy with seven cages piled atop each other.

“Er, you’re sure you’re all right with those, Fischer?”

“Yup! Cheers boys!” I called over my shoulder.

I hope Sergeant Snips is around when I get home—I have a need for those sharp clackers of hers.

Fergus watched Fischer go, his face frowning in confusion.

“Is he really human?” Duncan asked from beside him.

“He’s certainly stronger than he looks. He was like a demon on the bellows.”

“I hope he comes back every day—it was nice just being able to craft and not worry about keeping the forge lit.” Duncan cocked his head as he stared after the departing man. “That’s at least a hundred kilograms of metal he’s carrying, right?”

“Closer to two hundred, I’d wager.”

“Well, definitely not human, but he’s a nice demon, at least.”

Fergus bellowed a laugh. “Aye, that he is.”