《North Forest》6.

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In a shanty-like cafe far on the outskirts of Aelwick's capital city a man paced around endlessly. He had been fuming earlier. He even struck out in a rage.

The slave that had been struck was cowering in a corner of the pantry with tears welling under his eyes. Fear was still etched on his face.

All of this was caused by a spice.

This slave had been instructed to purchase cheap ingredients like boar meat and black pepper. Instead he had returned with some unknown grains of burgundy. The quantity was no problem. In fact he had gotten more than if he had purchased pepper at the cheapest price. And it was clear this was pure, it hadn’t been cut with sand like the black pepper likely was.

So what was the problem?

Well the powder was something that had no name. Of course the slave had been swindled or something. That was the thought that ran though the boys owner when he struck him. It was to teach him a lesson about trusting smooth talking salesmen.

But again that wasn’t where the current problem lay. No, now the problem was completely upside down.

"Amazing. I don’t even understand what I’m tasting." The chef again sipped at the single serving of stew he had made as an experiment. "Just where in the hell? And…"

The chef walked quickly to the pantry where the boy hid himself.

As the footsteps grew nearer the boy awaited a further verdict. The words said instead confused him though.

"Where did you buy this!? Who sold you it?!"

"I.II...III.. I’m sorry. I won’t mess up again, please don’t put me…" The boy sputtered bursting into tears. He already knew the pain and endless fear of living at the Slave merchant’s. He never wanted to return. He would rather a finger cut off than that. Perhaps his master would be happy with just that as punishment.

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"Wait! Calm down, shut up for a minute." The chef raised his hand to shut the boy up but instantly the boy’s mouth clammed up and he clenched his eyes awaiting another strike. "Look… I… I’m sorry… that I hit you. It was wrong. I apologize."

The slave looked at the man with confusion. Those words, were they English? It didn’t sound like it. The slave had almost forgotten the sound of those words but they soon returned. In the years he has been a slave no one had ever said those words. Maybe some would pity him externally but he had never heard the words ‘I'm sorry.’.

"W… wut?" The slave asked with a dropped jaw.

"I’m sorry." The chef again said. "Hitting you, I.. I was stressed with the shop and… I don’t want to be that type of…. owner. But please, I need to know where you purchased this spice. It’s something incredible. Its price will likely double… no, triple if we don’t get more now. I'm almost positive. This spice will create a revolution in food. I know it."

The slave had never heard the chef speak so resolutely. For a moment he found more respect for him. Wordlessly he nodded and wiped his eyes.

"On second thought you should probably buy it." The chef reasons with a finger to his chin. "If a chef comes in and buys a bunch the merchant will figure out that it is something good."

Again nodding to the idea the boy accepted the coins and headed back to the shops.

The chef, left behind in the empty shop dipped a spoon back into the stew. After a few sips it had all vanished. He rubbed his stomach happily before glancing at the small pile of red herb he had already acquired.

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"Maybe I should make lunch for when he gets back." The chef says to himself as he sets off to prepare another few servings of stew.

Days later, as predicted the price jumped. At this point another batch of the herb appeared on the market. It sold out almost instantly. Every three days this would happen. Everyone was excited, merchants, chefs, and eaters alike.

The merchants though were mystified, the main seller of the herb was a trade company nobody had heard of.

This was of course the trade company the King’s prime ministers had set up as a shell company to sell the herb without his name influencing it. He had thought of naming it North Forest Trade Company but he felt like it would be too obvious. For now the man’s location should be kept a strictly guarded secret known only by the elite guard and the four ministers.

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