The Invisible Stool and the Mayor’s Ale

Originally, Noren had intended for Kitil to introduce her to a few reliable Norse lads, and she was prepared to offer them substantial wages. However, Kitil’s peculiar condition made her realize something important.

These ‘northmen’ were, after all, still human beings, complete with parents and families; they hadn’t simply sprung from the earth. Staying in Hradec meant fewer troubles and proximity to home. Why, then, should she compel them to undertake the perilous task of caravan guarding, especially for young, inexperienced recruits, a job that could easily cost them their lives?

Thus, she resolved to visit a tavern, hoping to perhaps scout out some suitable candidates there.

Noren, with practiced ease, stepped into a bustling tavern. Indeed, it was her old haunt, the very same establishment known as ‘The Beauty’.

Inside, most patrons consisted of traveling merchants and their guards, individuals who, despite a vague awareness of the plague in Opava, seemed largely unconcerned. They continued to crowd around tables, drinking and playing finger-guessing games.

The window seats were already occupied, and no solitary empty tables remained, leaving Noren with no choice but to settle at the tavern’s bar.

The tavern keeper, diligently wiping the rim of a glass with a rag, heard the groan of the old wooden stool before the bar. Without lifting his head, he inquired, “What can I get for you?”

“A perfectly roasted chicken, drizzled with honey, and a mug of ‘Hradec’ ale.”

The young woman’s distinctive voice startled the tavern keeper’s sensitive nerves. He looked up, his expression shifting from puzzlement to wide-eyed astonishment. “Ah, Miss Noren!”

“Good day, esteemed lady,” the tavern keeper greeted her respectfully. He then beckoned a beautiful waitress, instructing her to inform the kitchen to prepare the roast chicken, adding in a hushed tone, “Slaughter a fresh, live chicken. The spoiled ones are for the others.”

Bending down, he reached for the wine jug beneath the bar. However, its unusual lightness immediately reminded him that the ‘Hradec’ ale had run out. He then picked up another long-necked, twin-handled earthenware pot sitting beside the empty jug.

He placed the earthenware pot on the bar counter, offering a sheepish smile. “The wine you sent last time has all been consumed, my lady. I daresay you might fancy a cup of sweet and sour fruit wine?”

“Cider?”

The keeper chuckled dismissively. “How could it be such inferior swill? This pot is brewed from wild berries and red currants, made only with the freshest, plumpest fruits. You will surely be pleased!”

“Serve it,” the young woman nodded. Ordinarily, she paid little mind to the taste of her drinks, but cider was truly too inferior, its flavor almost unspeakable. After all, in the year 1067, apple presses had yet to be invented, and while grapes could be stomped with malodorous feet, extracting juice from apples by foot seemed rather impractical.

“Erm… would you perhaps be able to speak with the Mayor about lowering the price of ale? A gallon of ‘Hradec’ costs two silver coins, which is truly exorbitant… As you know, our neighbors are very fond of this ale’s taste, but the steep price forces them to scrimp and save for just a small cup. Their expressions, a mix of joy and anguish, truly pain my heart to behold!”

The keeper produced a beautifully carved wooden goblet adorned with primitive patterns. As he poured the wine from the jug into the cup, he poured out his grievances to her.

“How much do you sell a gallon for?”

“Heh-heh, four silver coins.” As if his cunning scheme had been exposed, the keeper chuckled shamelessly.

Witnessing the keeper’s impudent, profiteering demeanor, Noren was momentarily struck by a few unpleasant memories. Her fall from the horse remained vividly etched in her mind, prompting her to suspect the tavern keeper’s origins and to scrutinize his appearance.

She leaned sideways, studying the keeper’s profile. It was the high bridge of a Slavic nose, distinctly not the aquiline hook characteristic of a Jewish person. Based on her dissection of Ogmund, she knew Jewish people possessed a sharp, hooked nose and underwent circumcision.

Noren harbored deep prejudices against Jewish people; whenever she encountered a shrewd merchant, she instinctively wondered if they were Jewish. Unable to simply strip the merchant of his trousers, she could only rely on his nose for judgment.

Upon seeing that the tavern keeper lacked an aquiline nose, her taut muscles relaxed. She raised the wooden cup of fruit wine and took a small sip. “If you were to sell ale for two and a half silver coins a gallon, your tavern would undoubtedly be brimming with customers.”

“Heh-heh, but then there wouldn’t be much profit, would there? And ale spoils so quickly; what if it goes bad before I can sell it all…?” The keeper rubbed his hands incessantly, like an irritating fly.

The young woman toyed with a golden strand of hair, the clustered locks brushing her fingers and palm with a ticklish sensation. “Has no one told you that ‘Hradec’ ale can be preserved for a full year?”

“A full year?!”

The tavern keeper exclaimed in astonishment, instantly drawing the attention of everyone inside.

He chuckled heartily. “Even at two silver a gallon, it’s still too expensive. If the Mayor could just shave off half a coin…”

“Fine,” Noren conceded, lacking any desire to prolong the conversation. “I’ll speak with my uncle-in-law.”

The man’s nasolabial folds stretched outwards, his cheekbones rising into two ‘apple cheeks,’ as he displayed a rather nauseating smile. “My deepest thanks! May God bless you!”

Propping her cheek with the back of her hand, she turned her head away, no longer engaging with the man.

Just as the young woman believed she had finally found some peace, a commotion erupted behind her. Immediately, a hoarse male voice rasped in her ear, “Hey, you slut! Come drink with me!”

The stench of alcohol, mingled with foul breath, caused the young woman’s beautiful golden brows to knit together. She cast a sidelong glance, revealing a heavily drunken brute.

A haze of liquor clouded the drunkard’s eyes, his entire face a fiery red. His repulsive, rubicund nose was pitted and scarred, and his face was speckled with small brown spots.

The drunkard was likely blackout drunk, mistaking Noren for a tavern harlot. Seeing her unresponsive, he cursed under his breath, seized the fabric armor on her shoulder, and yanked her backward!

She did not budge.

The forceful tug partially sobered the drunkard, but when he realized he couldn’t even budge a woman, rage instantly flared within him. The stares from those around him only exacerbated his humiliation.

He cackled, a vile smirk spreading across his face. Anyone observing him could easily guess that he was about to unleash a malicious trick.

The drunkard swayed unsteadily, positioning himself directly behind the young woman. He spread his feet shoulder-width apart, straightened his left instep, locked his ankle, and bent his right leg backward at a 90-degree angle, preparing to deliver a violent kick.

The curious onlookers gasped softly. They had discerned the drunkard’s intent, yet felt no concern whatsoever for the young woman about to be humiliated; the entire crowd of drunks simply wanted a spectacle.

Saving someone? That was hardly as important as the gentlemen finding their amusement!

Meanwhile, the tavern keeper was still frantically searching for his two-handed long axe, unsure which thoughtless servant had hidden it away.

Due to his heavy drinking, the drunkard’s cerebellum was numbed by alcohol, severely impairing his balance. He attempted the powerful kicking stance several times before finally stabilizing himself. Just before delivering the kick, he let out another vile chuckle, as if already envisioning the shameful spectacle of the young woman tumbling to the ground.

“Found it!” The tavern keeper’s shout, as he produced his great axe, coincided with the drunkard’s powerful, arcing kick, which swept away and shattered the high-backed wooden chair beneath Noren’s posterior…

However, the scene that unfolded next left everyone utterly dumbfounded and speechless.

The young woman remained in her elegant sitting posture, comfortably crossing her legs. Beneath her, there was nothing but empty air; she simply sat suspended, as if supported by an invisible stool.

The drunkard’s hazy eyes narrowed into a cross-eyed stare. He tilted his head left, then right, scratched his itching backside, and stared at Noren, utterly bewildered. After a long moment, the drunkard failed to comprehend anything, and his anger only intensified!

‘Damn it, if he couldn’t figure it out, he simply wouldn’t bother!’

He replaced his baffled expression with a grotesque, lecherous grin, spreading his hands and wiggling his fingers in the air, as if caressing something incredibly soft. Then, like a man warming up, he bounced on his feet and rotated his arms 360 degrees, preparing to deliver a grand surprise to the young woman with an upward slap.

“Heh-heh!” The image of the young woman looking shy and charming bloomed in the drunkard’s mind, making his lecherous grin deepen further.

However, the drunkard remained oblivious to what transpired behind him. Many of the patrons had ceased their boisterous chatter, instead casting discreet glances towards the drunkard’s back—the tavern keeper, his face etched with icy fury, stood behind the man, his long axe raised high. Should the drunkard dare to make another move, the keeper was clearly prepared to split his head open before he could even act!

Some mercenaries, accustomed to living by the blade, still relished the escalating drama; one whistled, another shouted encouragement to the drunkard. Even the bard in the corner, strumming his lute, quickened the tempo of his tune, seemingly urging the events along.

The world before the drunkard’s eyes blurred. After several stumbles, the single cascade of golden hair finally coalesced from three into one, and his lecherous grin twisted into a grotesque rictus.

‘Ugh… killing someone would only soil my clothes. I truly wonder how much force I should use to avoid actually killing him.’ Such was life, Noren sighed.

Zzzzt—

The raucous tavern fell silent in an instant. The tall young woman was seen standing, while the drunkard had, at some unknown moment, collapsed to the floor.

The drunkard lay face up, his hands folded over his abdomen, his expression serene, a faint smile gracing his lips. He was asleep, slumbering like an infant.

As the surging neural currents subsided, the young woman flicked her wrist, then turned to the stunned tavern keeper. “Are you not going to throw him out yet?”

The tavern keeper lowered his axe and, with the help of a kind-hearted patron, dragged the drunkard to the doorway. After a few swings, they tossed him out. “One, two, three, and away you go!”

The drunkard lay face down in the middle of the hard dirt road, his backside sticking up like a dog eating excrement, resembling nothing so much as a wriggling maggot.

Suddenly, the drunkard’s breeches slid smoothly down his legs, revealing his muscular buttocks and ‘devil’s eye.’

“Ew~” A chorus of groans and exclamations arose from within the tavern, while the previously kind-hearted man whistled innocently, turned his head away, and tucked a tanned leather belt further beneath him.

At that very moment, two patrolling guards happened to pass by outside the tavern. The guards circled the drunkard twice, eyeing him with curiosity, before each grabbing an arm and dragging him away. As the drunkard’s feet scraped along the ground, his trousers were, predictably, stripped off and left behind in the middle of the street.

Immediately afterward, a shifty-eyed, masked rogue darted out from a dark alley. The rogue looked left and right, acting furtively, snatched up the trousers from the ground, and in the blink of an eye, vanished back into the gloomy alleyway.

This dramatic sequence of events rendered the tavern utterly silent, leaving the patrons speechless for a long while.

The keeper gave the beautiful waitress a knowing look. Understanding his unspoken command, she stepped onto the large round wooden table in the center of the tavern, pulled down her collar, lifted the hem of her skirt, and began to dance. The bard in the corner shifted his tune from spirited to soothing, gradually allowing the patrons’ tense nerves to relax.

“Damn it, let’s drink!”

“Drink? Drink my ass! I’m going up to dance!”

The patrons cursed and grumbled. One man leaped onto the table, slinging an arm around the beautiful waitress as they danced together, and the tavern once more erupted in revelry. Yet, the glances, both intentional and unintentional, cast towards Noren indicated that the strikingly beautiful young woman had left a profound impression upon them.

“My lady, please forgive them,” the keeper said kindly. “These are merely itinerant merchants and mercenaries; they don’t recognize you, nor do they even know the Mayor.”

Noren swirled the fruit wine in her cup, noticing the fermented fruit pulp residue floating to the surface. She nodded slightly. “Rest assured, I won’t ruin your business, nor do I have any interest in chastising everyone.”

The keeper chuckled softly.

She then changed the subject. “However…”

The keeper froze. “However what?”

“I have something I need you to do. Listen carefully: I need you to do this… then this… and finally, this…”