Tokushima climbed up the ladder and emerged onto the top deck. Looking up, he could see all three lateen sails unfurled fully and swollen from the wind blowing across the ship. To the side, he could see the big swells created by the strong winds blowing in from some distant land. Then, on the other side, the sky was dyed in a rich wine color as the sun lay low on the horizon.
“Well? See any more pirates up there?”
Tokushima called out to the topman above him as he climbed up the shrouds.
“A two day’s worth of a detour to the south. If there were any pirates layin’ in wait, they’d completely miss us. I expected nothing more from our dearest cap’n.”
“Huh, so he’s that good?”
“Good? That wet bum of the Orange house? Hah! What I’m saying is that he’s a fuckin’ coward, so o’course he knows best how to run away from the pirates!”
“Ahh, really now…”
The previous topman then climbed down the shrouds as Tokushima took his place. Now that he was all alone, he took the telescope from its stowage near the mast and surveyed the horizon all 360 degrees. He noticed how the polished dried insect husk used as the telescope’s lens had many imperfections and deformities, but apparently, this was considered to be this world’s most bleeding edge in optics. Still, it was more than enough to help a watchman like him do his job.
After confirming that there were no ships around them, Tokushima looked down on the deck. Officers tended to their duties and the other watchmen kept a constant lookout for threats. Perhaps because they were absorbed in their work, none of them paid attention to him. He then took out the marine VHF radio set from his duffle bag, switched it on, and pressed the press-to-talk button.
“This is Tairyō-maru. Come in, Cooperative. Repeat, this is Tairyō-maru. Come in, Cooperative. How copy?”
“…”
“This is Tairyō-maru. Come in, Cooperative. Repeat, this is Tairyō-maru. Come in, Cooperative. How copy?”
“…”
Silence came out of the radio’s speaker.
Well, what else did he expect to happen? A small handheld marine VHF radio set like the one he has could only send out radio waves up to the horizon at best. Even if the Kitashio were nearby, for them to receive his calls they’d have to either be at periscope depth or their antennas were deployed. On the off chance he does make contact with the Kitashio, they may be able to take Chan with them and escape without incident, but he’d have to be luckier than winning the lottery.
“I guess it can’t be that easy.”
Tokushima muttered to himself despondently.
Sure enough, he wanted things to be that easy. However, just as you can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket, the Kitashio can’t find them if he doesn’t continue to call them.
“This is Tairyō-maru. Come in, Cooperative. Repeat, this is Tairyō-maru. Come in, Cooperative. How copy?”
Every few minutes, Tokushima would try to call the Kitashio. After several attempts, he suddenly heard the voice of a woman.
“What are you doing?”
Tokushima turned around. There, he found the ship’s guardian protector, the young Avi girl Odette.
Covering her small body with her big white wings, Odette sat on the rigging that held one of the lateen sails. On both sides of her hips dangled a green flag and a yellow flag, while dangling from a small rope around her neck was a collapsible telescope. As the topman perched on the highest crow’s nest, Tokushima realized his failure to account for all directions, having only focused his attention on those below him.
“What are you doing?”
Odette looked at him with a suspicious gaze as he hurriedly hid the radio set back in his duffle bag.
“What was that in your hand just now? Was it food?”
“Err… It’s nothing, really.”
“I know that it’s food. I can smell it.”
She somehow got the idea that it was food since she may have seen him holding it close to his mouth.
“Ah, haha… Sure.”
Feeling cornered, Tokushima took out a snack from his duffle bag.
“What’s that?”
It was a fish sausage snack glazed with cheese, which he had brought with him from Japan. In fact, he had several more in his bag.
“Do you want it?”
He took the sausage out of its plastic wrap and handed it over to Odette.
“Yes.”
Perhaps wanting it all along, she accepted it. Since she sat precariously on the sail rigging, her hands held onto the thick rope tightly, so she bent forward and ate the sausage directly from Tokushima’s hand like a small bird perching and stuffing its beak with feed.
“Is it good?”
“…”
Odette nodded as she chewed. Then, she began to lick and bite his finger to get some leftover cheese.
“Ow!”
Tokushima jerked his hand away.
“Sorry, I bit your finger… Does it hurt?”
“Ah, no, not really.”
It didn’t hurt at all. He was just shocked by the warm and moist texture of her lips and mouth. He got embarrassed, or rather he just felt like he was venturing into ‘no-go’ territory. Sensing some of her leftover saliva on his finger, he wiped it on his clothes.
“The den mochi you made before was better, though, Tokushima Hajime.”
It seems that she didn’t think much of it, actually.
“Oh, you remember me?”
“Of course. You gave up being a merchant and signed up for the Navy, yes?”
“Well, I guess you could say that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d rather not…”
Tokushima scratched his head, showing her he wasn’t about to explain.
“You’re working at the galley, right?”
“Yes, I’m the lowest-ranked steward.”
“Unfortunate that you’re making food for the slaves. If only you were the head steward, then the food would be better.”
It looks like Odette wasn’t satisfied with their food.
“Oh? But isn’t the VIP room served by Her Highness’s own cook?”
Princess Primera’s meals are prepared by her own cook, who came aboard with her. The head steward prepares the meals of the captain and the officers while the stewards under this instruction prepare the sailors’ meals; lastly, the lowest-ranked steward (Tokushima, in this case) makes the slaves’ meals. This was how it was in all the navies in the Avion Sea.
As a friend of Primera, Odette gets to be included in the meals meant for the VIP room.
“Prim’s cook has been seasick throughout the journey so he’s cooped up in his bunk and couldn’t cook. So all this time we’ve been eating the stuff made by the head steward.”
“He’s seasick? Poor guy…”
In other words, Primera, Odette, and Shura were eating the same meals as those of the captain and the officers.
“But the head steward shouldn’t be that bad himself.”
“No, I don’t doubt his ability, but it just isn’t enough for Prim’s taste.”
“Ah well, she’s a princess, after all. Eating such good food every day will do that to anyone’s palate.”
“Actually, I too don’t find it enough. Being with Prim all this time, I’ve gotten used to eating the food she eats, and the stuff the head steward makes is just so plain.”
As she said that, Odette stared at Tokushima as if hoping for a certain response.
“W-Well if I ever get the chance, maybe I’ll make you something.”
“Promises put to paper can be destroyed, but promises spoken aloud can last as long as both parties remember. Do you agree?”
“Mmm.”
“Alright. I look forward to the time when you’ll uphold your promise…”
While they were talking, the sun had set below the horizon, marking the end of Tokushima’s shift.
“Tokushima! Is Tokushima here?!”
“Y-Yes!”
On the evening of the following day, the head steward came to him roaring in a guff.
The head steward was an Agathon, a humanoid race with large, round bellies and short legs, and he had a large, thick hatchet hanging by his waist. This was his signature clipper, sharp enough to cut clean through meat and bone like a hot knife through butter. According to rumors circulating among the sailors, he’d chop up anyone who dared to complain about the food he made and turn them into bits of salted meat. Of course, since no one has gone missing since they left port the rumors may just indeed be rumors, but the intimidating face of the head steward surely gave anyone the impression that he was capable of it. Tokushima was naturally scared that that head steward would come roaring at him.
“I-Is there something wrong?”
“So you see… These lads have been saying the slaves are eating something good.”
Behind the head steward were several table heads, representatives of their respective ‘table’ groups.
“Now I trust you haven’t been putting in more than I asked you, right? You’re not giving them any meat or butter, hmm?”
The cultures in the Avion Sea love meat. As such, dishes with meat or butter are considered high-class while those with fish, beans, or grains are considered plain and low-class. In reality, people accommodate all ingredients, but culturally this was how they valued them. In a way, it’s similar to how ancient Japanese subconsciously consider sashimi as high-class while wheat-based foods are considered plain.
“I’ve only been putting in bean-based ingredients in the oat porridge you’ve tasked me to cook. That’s within the orders you gave me, right?”
“Y-Yeah. Right.”
Hearing what he expected to hear from Tokushima, the head steward turned his attention back to the table heads.
“See? Same as I’ve been telling you! The slaves aren’t eating any meat!”
But the table heads weren’t convinced.
“Then why do they look so happy eating their food?!”
“Yeah, that’s right!”
The head steward responded.
“That’s because they’re only allowed two meals a day, so they’re always hungry! Anyone who’s starving will always eat up anything you give them!”
“But we’re always starving, too! But the food we eat doesn’t even feel that good to begin with!”
“Yeah, that’s right!”
Tokushima meekly raised his hand as he cut into the conversation.
“Umm… What exactly are you eating?”
“Huh? You don’t know?”
The head steward turned to him with a surprised look.
“Well, we stewards eat our own meals.”
“Right…”
The table heads then placed a wooden bucket used for eating and a panis bread in the shape of a brown brick on the kitchen counter.
“Then let us enlighten you. This is what we eat!”
Inside the wooden bucket was buro soup.
Buro soup is a well-simmered mixture of beans and salted meat (meat is salted in a cask to preserve it; it’s salty as a consequence so it’s soaked in water to remove some of the salt but it also gets less tasty) in a pot. Should the buro not be enough for the next meal, it’s usually topped up by simply tossing in water and new ingredients and simmering it. This means that sometimes there are days-old ingredients in the soup. Vegetables tossed into the buro eventually dissolve into the soup after days of being reheated and cooked all over, which adds to the texture and taste.
It’s certainly surprising for some that people can put up with the same food day in and day out, but it’s actually a very common way of life in the cultures of the Avion Sea. There would only be a single large pot within the home furnaces of commoner families in which they mix water, meat, and vegetables for days, weeks, and months upon end. They’d just keep reheating it and topping it up if there wasn’t enough. This is how it was like for most sailors growing up, so no one really held any grievances toward it.
Besides buro, the sailors were given hardened butter, ale, and other foodstuffs for consumption. The primary liquid consumed onboard was alcohol, mostly because water turns bad pretty easily.
The main problem is the panis bread. As the table heads placed it down on the kitchen counter, it made a hard sound as if it were a piece of ceramic.
“W-What the hell?!”
“That’s right! This panis is that hard!”
The head steward and Tokushima each held the panis in their hands. It was indeed as hard as a brick. Back when they were in port and shortly after they left, the panis was soft and easy to chew, but not even three days into the journey it was already stiff; in the meantime, they’d run out of perishables and have switched to preserved food.
“How do you even eat this? Won’t you crack your teeth trying to bite it?”
“We dip it in the buro and let it soften.”
“And you’d be lucky if there weren’t any bugs in it. The longer this voyage goes the more weevils there are in these panis. Every stinking day this is what we’re made to eat!”
“Eugh…”
Tokushima was at a loss for words.
It has somehow come to the point that the food being served to the sailors has become no different from the food served to the slaves. Sure, the sailors’ meals have meat and butter, but if this was the state of their meals then the meals Tokushima served the slaves were far better. After all, he took the order given to him to serve the slaves with only beans to heart and did his utmost best to create dishes based on it.
Fortunately, from the three types of beans carried aboard the Odette, one of them, the yellow bean, was essentially the same as Earth’s soybeans. With these soybeans alone, a lot of dishes become possible to make. They can be boiled in hot water to turn into tofu, which can then be either grilled, fried, stir-fried, or made into soy milk and then boiled for dried beancurd. The other beans, the black beans and green beans, can be germinated and used as bean sprouts. By devising all sorts of ways to cook the beans, which are supposedly low-quality food, Tokushima is able to create the dishes the sailors were so envious of.
But the head steward didn’t know any of that was happening.
“Bugs in your food are natural! There’s no helping it! Man up and eat your food!”
“We have been! And yeah, we know it’s natural to have bugs in the food! But why do the slaves get to have better fucking food than us?!”
“Were you listening?! They only get to eat twice a day! Why the hell do you even bother about what they’re eating?! It’s just porridge!”
The head steward asked, to which one of the table heads replied.
“Because the guardian protector said so herself…”
“Odette? What did she say?!”
“She said that their food tastes better.”
For some reason, the ship’s guardian protector, Odette, who was supposed to be eating the food he made, got her hands on a meal meant for the slaves. What’s more, she said it was better.
The head steward was at a loss for words. He slowly turned around to face the crux of their problem and stared him down.
“What’s the meaning of this, huh?!”
“Ah, err… I-I’m just doing my job, that’s all…”
What in the world happened for him to suddenly come to the center of everyone’s attention? However, unbeknownst to him, the matter had already grown beyond his control and there was no more playing aloof to get out of it.
After that, Tokushima was summoned to the senior petty officer’s quarters. There, the head steward, the representative of the petty officers all lined up inside, had one order for him.
“You! Transfer to the stern! Effective now!”
The stern here refers to the aftmost which housed the captain’s quarters, the VIP room, and the officers’ quarters. Access to this place for the regular sailors without explicit orders is forbidden and for Tokushima, it was no man’s land unless he had orders from damage control.
“But why?”
Tokushima asked, to which the head steward’s expression got more enraged as he put his hands on his signature clipper.
“That incident with the table heads reached the captain and the officers. You see, if things continue like this, I might have to kill you.”
“Huh?!”
Tokushima was taken aback by the bare naked threat.
“When people aboard a ship start to hate their food, they have nowhere to express that anger. If I just let you do your work catering to the slaves, the sailors will start groaning again. But if I promote you and let you serve them, they may stop their bitching, but now the captain and the officers will start to wonder why the sailors are eating better food than them. Can you imagine what’ll happen if that happens?”
“B-Beats me…”
“I’d run out of a job, you fuckwit!”
The head steward swiveled his gigantic fist and slammed it on Tokushima’s head. An intense sensation overcame him like that of having ingested wasabi, and then all his senses went numb for a while.
“O-Ow!!! I’m seeing the light… I’m seeing the light!!!”
Tokushima clutched his head in his arms as he writhed in pain.
“Be thankful I didn’t chop you up! I’d have made mincemeat out of you if it weren’t for Her Highness putting in a good word for you!”
The head steward gnashed his teeth and begrudgingly informed him. Then, his new assignment: make the VIPs’ meals.
“I’m letting you go, you fuckwit! Now get out of my kitchen!”
“U-Understood.”
With this, Petty Officer, 1st Class Tokushima Hajime of the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force was assigned to serve Primera luna Avion, the last living heir to the Avion royal house and eldest daughter of Harvey luna Walkvanker, Doge of the Majestic Pearl of the Blue Sea, Tinaye.
The VIP room was a space at the stern for someone on the rank of captain or higher, such as that of a fleet commander or commodore, to call their own personal quarters. As the Odette was still a warship, the accommodation was by no means spacious: the ceiling beams were still low enough that one had to lower their stature to prevent hitting their forehead. Still, the room was furnished with luxurious fixtures and extravagant articles; it was essentially a mini-palace fitting for the personal living space of a princess.
At the center of that room was a woman whose pink hair was tied in braids, Princess Primera. Standing to the right was a woman who donned the uniform of a skipper and wore an eyepatch, and to the left was a woman in a maid’s uniform.
Tokushima’s eyes fell on Primera as he imagined the scenery to be that of a dollhouse. Primera, seeing his line of sight fall on her, timidly hid her face behind a fan as she whispered to the skipper.
“…”
“So you’re the Tokushima we heard about, right?”
It seems like it was the skipper who would do the speaking for the princess. There were indeed instances in the Middle Ages and the early modern period when noblewomen used intermediaries to talk to people of lower status and the commoners weren’t allowed to answer or refer to them directly. Tokushima, thinking that that was the case here too, gave his reply to the skipper.
“I’m not sure what it is you heard, but I am Tokushima Hajime.”
“…”
Princess Primera whispered again to the skipper, who then told him.
“Oh, no, sorry. You can answer Prim directly. I’m just her megaphone.”
“M-Megaphone?”
“This girl right here’s afflicted with a reaaally severe case of shyness. When things get formal, she essentially freezes from the nerves. If she isn’t talking to someone she already knows well, she can’t talk to them, let alone look them in the eye. It’s even worse when it comes to boys. Besides her dad, that is. Oh, but trust me, she’s a good kid at heart. She wanted to be able to talk to you directly, but unfortunately, she couldn’t. She’s actually saying that she’s sorry for making you feel awkward and all.”
Tokushima turned his gaze back to her, prompting her to hide behind her fan and nod in rapid succession. The sight of her eyes peeking through the fan slats was charming in and of itself.
“O-Oh, really? And she’s going to marry into another royal family like that?”
“She’ll be fine. She becomes a different person altogether with alcohol.”
“Sorry?”
“Once she gets alcohol in her system, she’ll go all out with the ‘I’ll show you who I really am!’ kind of energy, the type that’ll make you wonder where her shyness even went. So keep it in mind not to be surprised or wonder if she’s some body-fake when you serve her something with spirits, okay? Actually, you can just imagine that that’s her real self.”
“Huh? O-Okay…?”
For a while, it was a back-and-forth of Primera strongly whispering to her behind her fan, and the skipper teasingly dodging her fists.
“!!!”
“Haha, yeah, yeah, I’ll stop. I’ll stop… Let’s get back on track. So, Tokushima.”
“Yes?”
He had no idea what was going on but he nonetheless set all his questions aside. All he understood was that Primera had two personalities and that the other could be brought out with alcohol.
“First, introductions. My name’s Shura. Shura no Arch. Refer to me as Skipper Shura without all the modesty, alright? Then on the other side of this light pink creature is Amarett. She’s Primera’s chief maid.”
The chief maid bowed solemnly.
“You may refer to me as the chief maid.”
“Then this light pink creature is Princess—Ah?”
“…”
“She’s saying you may lovingly refer to her as Prim. Ah, no, ‘Dear Prim’ actually works, too! She’d be glad to be called that!”
“!!!”
The princess was at it again as Shura continued to tease her.
Seeing what kind of relationship the two had, Tokushima arrived at the conclusion that Primera had the kind of personality who didn’t mind being close. Or maybe perhaps this was on purpose since formalities and such were a burden for her, as Shura said.
“Going back. There’s only one reason why we called you here: you will be making Prim’s meals!”
“‘Cause your cook’s currently down with seasickness, yes?”
“Right. We didn’t think he gets seasick easily, so it’s been hard for us to get by.”
“Can’t you settle with the head steward’s meals? Just from what I see, he doesn’t seem to be that bad.”
One can judge a cook’s abilities just by watching them work; it shows in how one moves their hands and handles the ingredients. In all those aspects, the head steward wasn’t bad.
“Yes, he isn’t bad at what he does. Me, Prim, and Odette could still get by even if we have some… reservations.”
“So why, then? Though I don’t mind being called here. Not at all.”
Had he not been called, he would be minced meat by now. In any case, what was definitely certain was that the head steward’s pride was dashed.
“I’ll be straight with you. We don’t like Curaçao, the captain.”
“Sorry?”
“I… I hate him.”
Primera finally opened her mouth, though even then Tokushima barely caught it. Her face was that of disgust and hate.
“Yeah, I hate him too. Not only is he arrogant that he insists his rank on those below him but he also hovers around Prim, trying to play up to her. He’s putting his pride in the wrong place. I’m of the belief that there’s not a single decent soul among those who don’t know how to respect experience and skill. Prim doesn’t also do well with the aura seeping out of that man.”
Primera nodded her head in quick succession.
“What do you mean by that?”
“She says that he has some evil, ulterior motives and that he’s just pretending to be courteous… She tends to change her attitude when she’s up against those types of people. Still, since he’s the captain and he’s also eating the meals the head steward makes, we have to be in the same mess hall as him. It’s not like we could just say we hate him out loud and ask for privacy in our meals, right? Being with him day in, and day out, I’ve just grown fed up with him. The reason we gave is that Prim wants to eat the food you make.”
“It’s an absolute insult to the food when we have to share a table with him.”
“Ahh. So that’s how it is, huh.”
Tokushima finally connected the dots. There’s always a fear that the food could have been poisoned, so assigning a person to cook for a person of high regard isn’t that simple. Even with the prerequisite skills, one can’t just be given the kitchen of a noble person. For them to trust that duty to someone they didn’t know like him, it must mean that there may be another factor in play. As it turns out, they just didn’t want to share a table with someone they detested, which while it wasn’t a reason anyone would normally give, was still logical. It also means that it was by no means a fault with the food itself.
“You can’t enjoy a meal when you’re right next to someone you hate, after all.”
“I’m glad you can see where we’re coming from. Of course, we summoned you specifically because Odette had nothing but praise for the food you make, and we can trust her taste! So yeah, there’s all sorts of reasons why you’re here right now.”
“I understand. But are you really sure about me?”
“Actually, Prim herself was surprised with how good your food was. Despite being given only oats and beans, those were some absolutely amazing stuff!”
“Wait, you’ve eaten them? Those were meant for the slaves, though. How’d you get your hands on them?”
“…”
Primera whispered to Shura.
“Prim thinks that there’s no such thing as high-class or low-class food, only delicious or bad ones. As for how she got them, well… I’ll let Amarett explain.”
“I bribed one of the kitchen helpers to hand me some. I think his name was Chan?”
Amarett explained with a straight face.
“Prim said that she especially liked the tofu and yuba stuff and that she wants to eat them again.”
“Thank you.”
“Alright. Don’t hold back on us, alright? Well, at least until we get to Schilaff.”
Primera closed her hand fan and bowed deeply.
“Please, until then at least.”
Her deep bow despite her title as a princess and her soft yet clear voice communicated her will to Tokushima, who made his decision then and there.
“Understood. I will take the job.”
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