The toilet turned out not a pleasant place. The simple cesspool, surrounded by a wooden wall on three sides, stank to the point of pain in the eyes. The two neighbouring cabins had no difference but degree of impurity.
"Should I dive into this hole?" Cyril thought as he relieved himself. "If I can't die from injuries, can I die from suffocation?"
He thought a little more and decided that the idea was never worth it.
"No, it's better to live in pain than suffocate in shit," Cyril decided and hurried back. "It's too early to think about menu, I need to put this place in order. By the way, I should ask the bartender's name. I can't call him bartender if we're partners now, can't I?"
He pushed open the battered door and stepped out into the noisy hall. The smell of a roasting meat after dirty cesspool reminded Cyril that for a couple of days now he had consumed a lot of beer only. He wanted to sleep and wash, and probably start living again, but his hunger rase up, as the first symbol of his new life.
Cyril passed the suspicious man who was offering the job and went back to the bar.
- Bartender, - he called. - Can I order some meat in advance?
- You were going to sleep, weren't you? - the bartender raised an eyebrow as he handed another mug to another customer. - I bought you a mug of beer 'cause it's not my way to kick people out. I gave you a room because I trusted your integrity. However, Cyril, you haven't helped me in any way yet, which means you haven't earned your bread. Correct me if I'm wrong.
"What an asshole," Cyril thought. "But it's an airtight logic, though. I'm hungry."
- I get it, boss, - he said, and turned to see the strange man near the toilet. - I thought he offered me a job. Okay, boss, I'll get by for now!
The bartender's face didn't change when an older waitress approached the bar. She had just served a table in the corner where three burly men were cackling. She gave the bartender a handful of coins. The poorly processed silver dove into the boss's hand and disappeared under the bar.
Cyril noticed the waitress and thought that the staff should also change if he wants to lift this bar on top of the city.
"By the way, what kind of city is this, and where the fuck am I?"
- You offered me a job, I agree.
He sat down confidently across from the robed man. His simple face lit up with a smile, and the stranger removed his hands from the folds of his robe, pretending he had nothing to hide.
"You've got nothing to hide," Cyril thought. "All the situation is so muddy that I doubt there is anyone to trust. I don't give a shit. Still, can't die anyway."
- You didn't even ask what I was offering, - the stranger smiled. - Commendable courage. Well, it's really not a dusty job. You need to go to the forest and gather some herbs.
- Are you a doctor?
"Stupid question."
- Not exactly. I am an alchemist, - the stranger replied with a slight nod. - I'm making a resurrection potion, and I'm missing a couple of ingredients.
- Wait, wait, - Cyril said, holding up his hand. - An alchemist? Truly? Well, okay.
"Either I'm drunk as hell, or I'm in the Middle Ages," Cyril thought, but dismissed the doubt. "Anyway, I'm sturving."
- What does embarrass you? - the alchemist tilted his head, genuinely surprised.
- Let's just say I'm not from around here, - Cyril said. - By the way, what city is it? Munich?
"Why Munich?" Cyril was immediately surprised. "I don't remember European cities where alchemists hung out. This one doesn't look like Rome, it's too shitty."
- I don't know any Munich, - the stranger replied. - We are in Bardos, the capital of the Kingdom of Hewman.
- Human? Why did you call your Kingdom so stupid? Are there non-humans?
- What? - this time the alchemist did not understand, but decided to get down to business. - There is a forest outside the city where the herbs I need grow. I'll give you a reference book so you know what to look for. I pay five silver coins for this work.
- Is that much or not? - Cyril asked.
- That's enough to eat well for a week, - the alchemist smiled. - I appreciate my assistants.
- Isn't it too much for such a simple job? - Cyril was surprised. Of course, there was no such thing as a lot of money, and he had learned this well in his previous life, but the mysterious alchemist still seemed suspicious.
- You're right, - the stranger nodded. - This kind of work would cost less if it were a simple forest. Unfortunately, there are dangerous animals in the area. I pay for the risk. But you don't seem like a weak person, so I'm sure you have nothing to fear. Besides, there's not much choice, is there?
"Damn bastard," Cyril swore to himself. "I knew you were a smartass."
- How dangerous is it? - he asked aloud.
- Well, - said the alchemist. - If you don't get away in time, you might die there.
- Deal! - Cyril was happy and hurried to make a deal.
"Die, you say? I'd like to fucking die. I've been trying for a week, but giving up is not my way of living."
- Pay for my portion of meat, I wanna eat.
The alchemist smiled contentedly, shook Cyril's hand, and took a couple of copper coins from the folds of his robe.
- That's enough. When are you ready to start working? - he asked.
- I'll sleep first, - Cyril said, grabbing the coins and waving at the waitress. A woman in her late thirties, with a haggard face and empty eyes, came to take the order. - Two beers, a portion of meat and vegetables, and ask boss to cook some breakfast for room three by tomorrow's noon. If here is not enough, he will add money.
Cyril pushed the coins to the waitress and pointed at the alchemist. The waitress smiled guiltily and replied that she needed to add three copper coins. Cyril looked significantly at the alchemist, who sighed and took out more money. The waitress took the coins, asked them to wait, and left.
- Draw your reference book, herbalist, - Cyril said. - And this money isn't fucking on the bill for my work.
- Of course, - the alchemist said, taking out a small notebook and a pencil. - I'm glad you ordered two beers. I was just about to wet my throat.
- What makes you think it is for you? - Cyril was surprised, and had no intention of giving drink for anyone.
Ah? - the alchemist looked up, clearly upset. - As you say.
The alchemist bent over his notebook, carefully sketching the appearance of the necessary herbs. He drew separate flowers at different angles, stems and leaves. Under each of the four plants, the alchemist carefully signed their names and where to look for them.
Cyril looked at the notes. The alphabet was clearly unfamiliar to him. At first he thought the herbalist was writing in Latin, but then it dawned on him that he could read what was written, even though he had never studied a foreign language.
"Strange," thought Cyril. "I'm sure there was no Kingdom of Human in Europe, it sounds too stupid. He doesn't write in English, but I understand what it says. If they speak the same language, I wonder why I understand them."
- Listen, herbalist, - he said to the alchemist. - What language do you write in?
- Don't you know the language you speak? - the herbalist asked again. - It's a local dialect of the Western language.
- Cool, - Cyril nodded.
"I'm drunk enough to understand foreign languages."
The waitress came back and placed two foaming mugs and a bowl of delicious-smelling food on the table.
- Beef stewed in vegetables, - the waitress said, her voice as empty as her eyes.
- Well, at least the meat is familiar, - Cyril was happy and attacked the food. He filled his mouth, drained the first beer in one gulp, and belched with satisfaction. - Sorry, herbalist.
The alchemist said nothing, apparently used to such manners, and continued to draw. Cyril finished eating, finished his beer, and grabbed a second mug. The thick foam curled softly around his lips, and the cold liquid filled his already full stomach.
"I wonder if I can die from overeating?" Cyril thought as he finished his beer.
- Done, - the herbalist handed him a sheet of paper. - I described everything in detail, indicating not only the herbs I need, but also near which trees they can be found. I'll be waiting for you here in two days.
- Roger that.
Cyril grabbed the paper, put it under his shirt, and decided not to go to the toilet again, but to get some fresh air before going to bed. The bar was noticeably less crowded, many had gone home, a few faces were dozing in their plates, and the night outside promised a warm, Sunny day.
As he'd taken a leak around the corner of the establishment, Cyril went up to the second floor, giving the bartender a thumbs-up on the way. He found the third room, opened the door with a key, and lay down on the simple wooden bed, being still in his clothes.
"I won't even look at how many bedbugs there are in this mattress," he thought before going to sleep. "I'd rather find out how I got here, first."