The Smell of Stew and Schemes

In a forest clearing not far from Prague, carts had come to a halt and campfires flickered to life.

Travel-weary men drank and bragged to one another, while servants tending the horses moved back and forth in the firelight, feeding them their nightly oats.

Outside a simple tent, a campfire blazed.

A woman had set an iron pot over the flames. She casually tossed in a handful of rock salt, added onions, garlic, fennel bulbs, red wine, and beef, cooking it all into a hearty stew.

The woman had golden hair and cool, sharp eyes, but a small mole at the corner of her eye softened her expression. Her skin was the typical pale white of the North Germanic peoples, yet unlike most, it had a softer, more delicate quality, like fine porcelain.

Beside her, a man was pouring out his admiration in an endless stream. The embroidery and fur trim on his clothes marked him as a noble’s son.

“God must have been troubled on the day of rest when He created your face,” he declared. “Your beauty outshines the gems set in the king’s crown; your figure rivals the grace and strength of a Friesian horse; your aura is as cold and noble as the bright moon at night; your…”

The man’s praises were neither cloying nor exaggerated, but just right, and he kept a respectful distance from the golden-haired woman.

But that didn’t mean Noren would tolerate it forever.

“Shut up!” Noren could take no more.

She felt like a fly had been buzzing incessantly in her ear.

“I sincerely apologize, beautiful lady. My intention was only to praise you, just as one cannot help but admire a carefully tended flower in a garden. If I have annoyed you, I shall remain silent.” The man was like a chatterbox parrot, or a peacock spreading its feathery barrier. He performed an elegant noble bow and then departed.

“What a chatterbox,” Noren muttered. It was the first time she’d met such a talkative man. He and Svein were complete opposites—one was a tight-lipped gourd that couldn’t squeeze out a fart in half a day, the other a chattering songbird.

John of Lublin asked, “Who was that?”

“A challenger I met on the road,” Noren replied.

“Challenger? I’d say he’s a suitor,” John muttered under his breath. He was roasting a small bird of unknown species on a stick, his skill evident as it sizzled and dripped with oil.

“I don’t see Tolruk around?” Noren asked John.

“The Undefeated’s gone over there. You know how it is—everyone gets lonely on the road, so they gamble a bit. It’s a good way to pass the time.” John shrugged and jerked his chin in a direction.

From that direction came the sounds of a noisy crowd.

“The Undefeated…” Noren stirred the beef stew in the iron pot with a long wooden spoon. The aroma filled the air, whetting the appetite.

In the Middle Ages, people loved giving nicknames to everyone, from humble peddlers to kings and nobles.

Tolruk was no exception.

As John had said, once night fell, the men of the caravan started playing dice. Without women, the only way to make the evening interesting was dice.

Tolruk had never lost at dice during the journey. After he won his hundredth game, someone started chanting “The Undefeated,” and the name stuck.

As for why they didn’t call him “Gambler,” “Dice,” or “Quick Hands”?

Noren guessed it might be because Tolruk didn’t take the losers’ money.

That’s right—the bastard didn’t take coins from the losers.

If it were Noren, she’d have stripped the losers down to their underwear and cured them of their gambling addiction for good!

“I really can’t figure out what Tolruk is thinking.” Noren scooped up a spoonful of broth, smacked her lips, and tasted it. “Oh well, if he can build good relations with the caravan folks this way, that’s not bad either. Reputation comes from everyday life…”

“By the way, John, do you remember the task I gave you?” Noren suddenly brought up a matter.

“Of course I do.” John lowered his head, tore a bite from the bird’s wing, and spat out bones. “Spit! Establish a gang in Prague.”

“And the purpose?”

“To build an intelligence network in Prague.”

“Hmm,” the golden-haired woman nodded with satisfaction. “Tell me your plan.”

“My lady, last time you ordered Wood’s head sent to Jaromir, I took the opportunity to scout out Prague’s urban layout.” John couldn’t help recalling the bathhouses in Prague. The bath girls there were so supple~

When Noren frowned at him, John quickly wiped the lecherous expression off his face.

He wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and continued, “The city of Prague lies between Prague Castle and Vyšehrad. Both fortresses are heavily guarded with towering walls.”

“Between the two castles flows the Vltava River. The land on the northwest bank rises steeply into a plateau—that’s the Prague Castle District. Outside its walls is the Lesser Town, which descends along the hillside straight to the Vltava.”

“The Lesser Town is too close to Prague Castle, with many patrols. It’s not a good place to establish a gang.”

Noren narrowed her eyes. “So after all that rambling, you just end with ‘Not in the Lesser Town’?”

“My lady, please be patient.” John’s verbose explanation was to show Noren that he had indeed put effort into surveying Prague’s layout.

Noren knew John was tooting his own horn, but he hadn’t earned a reward yet.

“Continue.” Noren’s patience was wearing thin, but the soup wasn’t fully cooked yet, so she could still bear to listen to John’s drivel.

“Yes.” John put down his stick and propped the roast bird by the fire.

“Besides the Prague Castle District and Lesser Town, directly north of Vyšehrad, across the river from the Castle District and Lesser Town, is a much larger district. According to the locals in the tavern, that district spans at least three thousand mou.”

Noren nodded. “Indeed, it’s much larger than Hradec.”

“The Duke has opened a market there, with merchants coming and going. It’s the commercial heart of Prague, and all of Bohemia!” John’s tone suddenly rose. He had originally thought Krakow in Poland was a big city, but after seeing Prague’s prosperity, he completely flipped his allegiance. In his view, Bohemia and Poland were originally one family, both West Slavs. Abandoning Poland for Bohemia was no big deal.

Whoever has the tits is the mother, and the bathhouse girls in Prague are so supple~

A lecherous smile crept back onto John’s face.

“If you keep smiling like that, don’t blame me for knocking your teeth out.” Noren’s cold voice jolted John from his dream of bathhouse beauties.

John broke out in a cold sweat. He quickly suppressed his smile and clamped his mouth shut.

Noren lifted the iron pot off the fire. The beef stew was ready.

She took a taste. Delicious.

Her mood improved significantly.

Noren — Stress -10

“Go on!” She ladled out a bowl of stew, picked up a piece of brisket with chopsticks, chewed, swallowed, and then devoured it ravenously.

“Gulp~” John’s stomach growled at the delicious aroma. He looked at his roast bird with disdain; the taste in his mouth turned unbearably dry.

“That district is cluttered with debris, houses packed tightly together, and there are many alleys… and some dilapidated wooden shacks. They could serve as the gang’s hideouts.”

“Aren’t there guards patrolling?”

“My lady, you must understand—guards…” John rubbed his fingers together, implying bribery.

“Even dilapidated shacks in a capital city like Prague must have owners. They might even be gathering places for thugs. What do you plan to do?”

“What else? Fight, kill, bribe—plenty of ways. They’re just shacks, and there are plenty in a big city like Prague.”

“But I have an even better option.” John glanced at the shieldmaiden, then quickly looked away.

“Speak.”

“Prague has a Jewish quarter. A gang needs money. Perhaps we could…” John’s meaning was clear—usury.

“No!” Noren refused decisively. The beef stew turned tasteless in her mouth. Just thinking about the methods Jews commonly used filled her with deep disgust.

“Anything but usury.”

“Anything but usury?” John asked cautiously. “Including… child trafficking?”

Couldn’t she even enjoy her meal in peace?!

Noren — Stress +10

“Of course not either.” The words ground out through clenched teeth.

“I understand.” John bowed his head. “My apologies for disturbing your dinner. I’ll take my leave.”

That annoying fellow finally left.

Noren picked up a piece of tendon with her chopsticks. The flavor of the beef stew came alive again in her mouth.

“Mmm~ Delicious~” She cupped her cheeks, her face flushed with happiness.