Majo no Tabitabi - Volume 14 - Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

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The Travelers’ Restaurant.

It’s hard to believe that anyone who has spent any time visiting the countries in this region could have failed to encounter the name of this restaurant chain. Almost every country has one near its front gates, and it serves as an especially convenient rest stop for travelers and merchants.

I opened the door to the restaurant.

An employee greeted me with a nod from behind the counter, then told me to sit wherever I liked and gestured to the sparsely occupied interior.

The invitation to sit wherever I wanted was meant literally. Staff at the Travelers’ Restaurant didn’t care where you sat, whether it was at an open table or one that was already occupied.

Most of the customers who came here were travelers, merchants, or adventurers—nomads who made their living wandering from place to place—and the purpose of these restaurants was for those customers to exchange information while eating their meals.

For merchants and travelers, information was a matter of life and death, so to speak. Tips about dangerous cities and regions or stories of places with novel trends and customs were always in high demand. For that reason, travelers and merchants tended to gather at these restaurants when they wanted information, and their presence, in turn, attracted other clientele.

Most nomads were hungry for something or other.

Whether it was an interesting story or the latest news, they craved excitement.

Looking around the restaurant, I noticed quite a few customers facing each other across tables, talking as they ate their meals. Most of them were probably meeting for the first time.

I took a seat at one of the tables.

At these restaurants, once you sat down, someone else sitting nearby was likely to strike up a conversation.

“Good afternoon. Are you by yourself?”

So it wasn’t particularly unusual for a young woman to strike up a conversation with an old merchant sitting by herself.

I had been a merchant for forty years and visited these Travelers’ Restaurants on numerous occasions. So I’d been through this particular routine more times than I could count.

Forty years ago, twenty years ago, and even now—I always visited these restaurants alone.

When I nodded to the woman, she asked me, “May I talk with you for a while?” Then she set her glass and plate down on the table and took a seat across from me.

The woman’s glass was full of water, and on her plate were several slices of bread, accompanied by a poor excuse for a sausage.

These restaurants served their fare buffet-style. For a set price, customers could have their fill of whatever food and drinks they liked, and many a penniless traveler gratefully heaped their plate with cheap cuts of meat. However, it cost enough that most people thought it was a waste to content themselves with plain fare like that of the woman sitting opposite me.

Either the woman across the table had enough money that she wasn’t worried about wasting it, or she was a peerless lover of bread.

“Recently,” she said proudly, “I happened to come across some information from a special source of mine about an interesting country—”

Her hair was the color of ash. She wore a black robe and looked at me with eyes as blue as lapis. A star-shaped brooch adorned her breast. Apparently, she was a witch.

“Huh.”

I didn’t know what she meant by “a special source.” But her expression, brimming with confidence, seemed to say the information she spoke of would be something very profitable.

However, in my experience, those who approached me with such an expression usually turned out to be spreading nonsense in an effort to separate me from my money. It had happened before.

I wonder if the same is true about her.

The young lady lowered her voice so that the people sitting around us couldn’t hear her and told me, “As a matter of fact, the country I speak of has undergone a recent change, and now it’s the loveliest and most beautiful place in the region—”

“I see.”

This already sounds suspicious…

She spoke restlessly, gesturing with her hands and body. “It’s really difficult to describe exactly how amazing it is, but anyway, it’s an incredible place—”

“I see.”

That’s not very much to go on…

Her story had a truly suspicious ring to it. But I lent her my ear all the same.

Most nomads are hungry for something or other.

Whether it’s an interesting story or the latest news they’re after, they crave excitement.

Whether a story is true or false, our curiosity is insatiable.

Then the woman told me, “The country I’m speaking of is called—”