Chapter 9: Currency

Chapter 9: Currency

Iarrived at my first destination with a broad smile and my tray of pastries in hand. I stepped into the clothing store, looking at the basic garments hanging on the walls. A kind-looking woman was behind the counter, and she gestured at the tray I was carrying.

“Sorry, dear, but there’s no food allowed in the store.”

“No worries!” I stepped up and displayed the ten remaining pastries. “I got a fresh tray of passiona-stuffed pastries from Lena’s Café just now, and while I admit you can eat them, these aren’t food—they’re currency.”

The woman was giving me an odd look, but at the mention of passiona and Lena’s Café, barely contained greed quickly replaced her suspicion.

“Oh.

Oh. C-currency is always welcome.” She licked her lips absentmindedly. “What are you looking for, dear?”

I set the tray down on the counter. “I’m looking for a few sets of clothes and a roll or two of string or line—something thin, strong, and abrasion resistant.”

“I think I may have just the thing for the line—one moment.”

She all but ran out the door behind the counter, returning a moment later with a crate. She set it down on the counter. It was filled with rolls of different-sized string and plastic line. I felt my eyes light up. I’d been hoping this world had plastic-based lines akin to fishing line from my world, but was willing to settle for fabric string if that was all they had. The crate before me was a treasure trove, and with the pastries George gifted me, I had the keys to the castle.

I sorted through them, picking out two rolls—a one-millimeter-thick roll, and another two-millimeter thick one.

“Y-you can have both for a quarter pastry.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you have extra rolls, or are these the only ones?”

A man came from the door behind the counter. Judging by the bow and deference he showed me, the woman told him of the treats I was using as coin.

“Welcome to our store!” the man said. “I’m Steven, and this is my wife, Ruby.”

I smiled at both of them. “Nice to meet you—I’m Fischer.”

“We only have one of each roll,” Ruby said, “but we can buy more when the merchant comes at the end of the month.”

“Won’t you need them before then?”

“Well, yes, but I’m sure we can make do without . . .”

I looked down at the rolls of line—both of which had what must be hundreds of meters of line. I shook my head. Before I could speak, the man intervened, misreading my intentions.

“An eighth! We only need an eighth for both rolls of line!”

Damn, this passiona stuff is serious business, huh?

I shook my head again with a smile. “I don’t want to leave you without the tools for your craft, and I don’t need that much.” I rubbed my chin in thought. “Tell you what, I’ll trade two whole pastries for half of both these lines, some small lengths of different colored string, and a few sets of clothes to—”

“Deal!” they both yelled, extending their hands. I laughed and shook both.

The man darted to my side of the counter, a measuring tape appearing from nowhere as he rushed me.

Ruby’s eyes sparkled. “What kind of clothes do you need, dear? Formal wear? Pajamas? Active wear?”

I tossed my head back and forth in thought. I didn’t think that far ahead—I was just going to ask for three sets of regular clothes to wear while fishing . . . maybe I do need some variety, though . . .

I started rattling off my thoughts as the man measured me. “I might go with two sets of the plain clothes I’ve seen the farmers wearing, and a set of more formal attire—nothing too ostentatious, but something a little more suited for going out, if that makes sense?”

“Of course, dear,” Ruby said with a smile. “For what you’ve offered, we can do a lot better than that, though.”

“Much better,” Steven agreed as he measured my waist.

Ruby tapped the counter in thought. “How does a formal set, four work sets, and a set of silk pajamas sound?”

“Sorry, Thomas, what did you say?”

“U-uh, does one pastry sound like a fair deal?”

I thought the tools would be more expensive than that . . .

“You’re sure that’s enough to cover it?”

“Y-yes, of course!”

Thomas ran—literally ran around the store as he collected the rest of the items. I smiled as I watched the man sprinting around his domain, a whirlwind of tools and efficiency.

“Is there a Mrs. Thomas?” I asked.

“Y-yes, Fischer. There is!”

“All right. Take two, then. Call it a tip for your energetic service.”

A look somewhere between confusion and awe filled Thomas’s face as he arrived back at the counter with everything packed in the requested cart.

“Y-you’re sure?”

I laughed.

“I am, mate—take one for yourself, and one for the missus.”

Thomas shook my hand as tears—genuine tears—welled in his eyes. “Thank you, Fischer. She’ll truly appreciate it, as do I. Come back whenever you want—I’m in your debt.”

“I’ll be sure to come back if I’ve forgotten anything.” I held out the tray for Thomas, and he took the pastries with great care, placing them on the counter and staring at them as if he couldn’t believe they were real. “Until next time, mate.”

I made my way to the blacksmith, tray in one hand, my new cart in the other.

“Just offcuts?” the behemoth of a blacksmith asked.

“Yep! The thinnest metal offcuts you have lying around, and do you have any soap?”

He strode with purpose toward a shelf at the back, turning his head in passing toward who I assumed was his apprentice. “Duncan! Thin metal offcuts!”

“Aye, Fergus!”

The similar-sized apprentice had overheard our conversation so far, and his muscular form lumbered around the forge, picking up scraps and throwing them into a bucket he held.

Less than a minute later, Fergus placed the biggest tub of soap I’d ever seen on the counter, and Duncan presented his bucket of metal offcuts. I extended my hand and the blacksmith wrapped it in two meaty paws as he shook my arm with vigor.

“What’s your name, lad?” Fergus asked.

“Fischer. Nice to meet you, mate. Fergus, right?”

“Come back anytime, Fischer,” his deep voice rumbled as he nodded at my question. “It’s been a pleasure doing business.”

“Cheers, Fergus! The pleasure is all mine.”

Watching the bear of a man gingerly pick up a pastry and split it in half with great care was a sight to behold. He passed one-half to Duncan, who licked the passiona jam timidly, then stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. His eyes went wide as saucers as he chewed the baked treat. Following his apprentice’s lead, Fergus did the same. Their noises of joy and laughter were music to my ears as I carted my spoils back toward the furniture store.

After picking up the rods and balancing them atop the rest of my loot, I took a moment to rest in the shade, intending to eat one of the pastries. Before I could even pick it up, someone slammed into my side.

“Out of my way, peasant!”