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Cozy Issekai Craftsman (reupload) ch 3
🕑 Added 2023-03-09 23:59:24 +0000 UTCRickart, former Soldier of God, woke up in his bed next to his loving wife.
The soft moonlight spilled through their open window as Rick stirred awake. The sun had yet to rise, leaving the room hazy with its blue glow. He sat up in bed, his breaths slow and measured, as he relived the dream he always had. The dream of war, of battle, of glory, of thundering hooves, of might and strength. In his dreams, he fought against the tides of demons alongside his comrades. He was the flag of hope on the field for humanity, their paladin.
But that Rick was gone now. He only appeared in his dreams. Six months on the war front had been enough. When he came home, he was only Rick, a simple guard for the town.
Trying to move without disturbing his wife, he shifted in bed, but as always, Caroline was already aware of his movements. Without moving, she opened one eye, the moonlight caressing her face. Years of running the tavern and serving customers had marked crow's feet at the edges of her eyes. Her smile was always polite but firm, a necessary tool for demanding respect in her business. But here, in the quiet of their bedroom, her smile was softer, reserved for her husband alone.
"Is he calling for you again?" Caroline asked softly.
Rick sighed. "Ezekiel is always calling. It's getting annoying at this point."
Caroline chuckled, her breath warm against his skin. "He must like you a lot if he lets you get away with such frequent blasphemy against his name."
Rick slipped back into a lying position next to his wife. She grabbed his good arm and threw it around her, and they snuggled closer, finding comfort in each other's arms. "I paid my dues to him," he whispered quietly. "I did what was asked of me."
For a little while, Caroline was silent. Rick enjoyed lying there together in the comfort of their breathing and the silence that they had shared for so many years, even before the children had come.
Caroline whispered, "If you go, he'll fix your arm, strengthen your body. He could renew you."
Some younger wife might have said such a thing as a test to her husband, to see where his loyalties truly lay. It was the temptation of glory in battle versus the comfort of home with wife and children. However, Caroline's encouragement was true because she knew that a man had to step out sometimes and do the work that was called for him. But again, he had already done his job.
Rick tried to adjust the discomfort of his arm, the arm that had been broken when he returned from the war, by shifting his weight. Caroline edged forward and nuzzled her nose in his head, pretending to bite his head, her teeth playfully scratching against his scalp. He chuckled and said, "You've been biting me ever since we were children. When are you going to stop?"
"Shush," Caroline spoke with her mouth nestled in his hair. She said, "Let me chomp on this empty head of yours."
Rick sighed, basking in the sound of peace between them. Then Caroline said, "There's something you're not telling me. Did he show up during this time?"
He shook his head, his lion's mane of hair tussling against her face. "No, he didn't. But his sister did."
Caroline pulled back from him as if to study his face. "Quinn did? Are you sure?"
He nodded and said, "She didn't come in person, but I could feel her presence in the dream. Usually, the dream is full of chaos, and my blood is pumping, and I could feel the grip around my sword handle tighten..."
His voice trailed off as he tried to recall the feeling in the dream. It was such a bizarre, alien feeling of calmness. When he woke up from the dream, every bone in his body told him it had been Quinn, giving him some sort of sign.
"But this time," Caroline urged him.
Rick continued, "But this time, I felt a calm wash over me. It was an unnatural calm in the dream, a calm that I never felt in battle or in that dream before. And I knew instantly that it was Quinn's presence, and then I woke up."
Caroline blinked a couple of times and frowned. She said, "A goddess interfering with her brother's former Paladin."
Rick asked, "What do you think it means?" They thought about it for a little bit longer. They came up with nothing.
Caroline chuckled and said, "I should be proud. My husband has the attention of two gods."
He smiled and replied, "The only attention I need is yours."
Caroline gave him a playfully stern face and said, "You're darn right it is." She kissed him on the forehead, and he did the same to her. They lay like that in silence for a little bit longer before the first rooster crowed in the morning, and the day began for everyone in the town.
When the rooster crowd for the morning, Rick got up, ready to see what the goddess had in store for him.
–
Joe sprinted past endless fields of vibrant green, his eyes darting around to take in the kaleidoscope of colors. He marveled at the vegetables and fruits being grown, some of which he didn't recognize. But there were others that he did - each one more wondrous than the last. It was like nothing he had ever seen before - a world of boundless beauty and discovery.
As he ran, his heart pounded with excitement, and his lungs filled with the sweet scent of blooming flora. But soon enough, his body began to tire from the constant exertion. He had been running for nearly an hour straight, and although his muscles weren't in pain, they begged for a break. He slowed to a brisk jog, then finally an easy walk. He didn't want to approach the village gasping for breath and sweating like a pig.
Joe's mind raced with questions about this new world, but he didn't want to pester the goddess Quinn. After all, she had her hands full managing an entire world - what could a mere mortal like him offer? Instead, he pondered whether the other gods worked in tandem with her, or if they had their own agendas. He was eager to discover the answers.
As he neared the village, he fell into a line of people slowly passing through a massive gate. The town was perched on the coast, and Joe could see a dozen ships bobbing in the harbor. He could feel the buzz of anticipation growing in his chest.
The villagers wore simple clothing, but their contented expressions belied a deep sense of satisfaction. They were modest people, leading simple lives. But what they lacked in material wealth, they made up for in camaraderie. Joe got the sense that they were all part of one big family.
Joe scanned the crowd for any sign of non-human inhabitants, but all he saw were humans - just like him. He felt a twinge of disappointment, but he didn't want to come across as weird by staring at the possibility of mythical creatures. Perhaps they didn't exist in this world, after all.
The person in front of Joe seemed to be in his own world, completely oblivious to Joe's presence. He was an old farmer, his weathered face creased with deep lines from years of hard work under the sun. The dirt on his hands was caked and clustered, a testament to his tireless labor. Despite his grueling toil, the old man wore a warm and contented smile, as if the satisfaction of his work was enough to sustain his spirit.
Joe trailed behind the people in front of him, his eyes flickering up to the looming walls. Several guards perched on top like birds of prey, their eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble. Joe's gaze followed theirs, tracing the horizon for any sign of danger. He half-expected to see winged beasts swooping down from the clouds, their scales gleaming in the sunlight.
But as he looked around at the people in line, he saw that they seemed at ease, chatting and laughing as they waited their turn to pass through the gates. The gate guard himself looked relaxed, his burly frame draped in leather armor that glinted in the light. Joe's eyes traced the intricate patterns etched into the armor, feeling like he was staring at a work of art.
As the old man in front of him pulled out some papers, Joe's attention shifted to the guard's face. He had dark brown eyes that glittered like polished wood and a thick mustache that curled upwards like a cat's whiskers. His hair was slicked back into a neat ponytail that reminded Joe of a lion's mane, giving him an air of ferocity.
The old man jabbed a finger at the guard's armor, his voice laced with humor, "Rickart, when are you going to become the captain of the guard? It’s been a decade of this. Your mother would be ashamed of you knowing that you didn't try to claw your way up."
The gate guard let out a booming guffaw, his thick belly shaking with the force of it. It was a laugh that seemed to have been forged from years of endless repetition, a well-worn routine for the old man's benefit. With a grin as wide as the gate itself, the guard clapped a meaty hand on the man's stooped back.
As he handed back the old man's papers, the guard's laughter ebbed into a soft chuckle. "A promotion, eh?" he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "That means more work, more responsibility. Might even have to spend some nights away from my little ones and missus. Who's going to keep the tavern running then?"
The old man, unfazed by the guard's ribbing, gave a dismissive wave and shuffled past the gate. With a creak of hinges, the gate shut, leaving only Joe and the guard to exchange a quick nod of recognition.
Joe's eyes flicked from guard to guard, taking in their sharp weapons and intense scrutiny. They looked like a pack of wolves, each one ready to pounce at the slightest sign of danger. Above them, a watchman perched on the highest tower, his bow at the ready like a deadly extension of his arm.
Aware of the tension in the air, Joe raised both his hands in a gesture of peace. "Easy now," he said, his voice steady. "I'm new here. Just looking to enter your village."
Rickart, the gate guard closest to him, held his gaze with an appraising stare. Slowly, he stepped forward and extended a calloused hand. "Name's Rick," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Welcome to Lockwood, friend."
Joe's face broke into a relieved smile as he clasped Rick's hand in a firm grip. "Thanks," he said, relieved to have made it past the gauntlet of guards. "My name's Joseph Johnson. Seems like Lockwood's a friendly place. Everyone seems to know each other."
Rick chuckled, a rumble of amusement in his chest. "You're not wrong there," he said. "If you grow up in these parts, it's hard not to know every face and name. So what brings you to our little coastal city?"
Joe's hand hung in the air like a bird waiting to take flight. "Actually," he said, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice, "just call me Joe. I came here to find a new home."
Rick's eyebrow arched in skepticism. "And why would you leave your old home behind? Seeking fortune, fame, or hiding from some trouble?"
Joe's heart sank. It seemed like he couldn't escape the assumptions that followed every wanderer. "None of those, honestly," he said, his shoulders slumping. "I'm just looking for a place to work, maybe earn some coin." He turned his pockets inside out to reveal their emptiness. "As you can see, I don't really have anything. And I'd rather not beg."
Rick's gaze hardened, suspicion etched into the lines of his face. "No papers, no belongings, and yet you have 'abilities'," he said, his voice dripping with disbelief. "What kind of abilities?"
Joe took a deep breath, steadying himself before revealing his true nature. "I'm a wizard," he said, the words feeling strange and unfamiliar on his tongue. "I've been traveling for some time, but I'd like to find a place to settle down. I can perform magic."
Rick's eyes narrowed as he regarded Joe with suspicion. "Sorcery is not something to be trifled with," he said, his voice low and guarded. "It's dangerous, unpredictable. And we take our safety very seriously here in Lockwood."
Joe swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Rick's words bearing down on him. He had been met with skepticism before, but never with such outright hostility. He raised his hand tentatively, hoping to show the guard that his magic was harmless.
Several guards above them shifted uneasily, their weapons glinting in the sunlight. Joe could feel their eyes on him, cold and unyielding.
"We have a process for dealing with...special cases like yours," Rick said, his tone measured. "We'll have someone assess your abilities, and then we'll see if you're fit to stay within our walls."
Joe nodded, trying to keep his disappointment from showing. He had hoped that his magic would be enough to win the guard over, but it seemed that he would need to prove himself in other ways.
"I can also do carpentry, cooking," he offered, hoping to show that he had other skills to offer. But Rick's expression only grew more inscrutable at his words, leaving Joe feeling even more uncertain about his chances of finding a place in this strange new town.
"You said you can do this… magic," Rick said. "But you somehow bothered to learn mundane skills? Odd sorcerer you are."
“Wizard or mage, but not sorcerer,” Joe corrected. He wanted to separate himself from the idea he was a sorcerer as soon as possible, lest he be outed as a fraud.. "I don't care what the job is, as long as someone is hiring. Whatever pays the most. Right now, for tonight, I'm just looking for a place to settle. Maybe ask around for some jobs."
Rick said, "It's gonna be hard for you to find a place to settle without any kind of money."
"Maybe you can help. I'm not here to cause trouble, I promise. I'm just looking for an opportunity. A place where I can show my worth and live a quiet life."
For some reason, that seemed to soften Rick's expression. The man took a step back, assessing Joe from a distance.
"Okay, I'll let you in for the night. But I'll have to check on you come morning. However, there's only one place you can go for the evening,” Rick said.
One of the guards above them stifled a laugh, which Joe did not miss. Was he about to get hazed?
Rick's eyes narrowed as he shot a glare at the guard above them, his irritation simmering just below the surface. He gestured towards the dimly lit path that led deeper into the village, his words laced with a sense of impatience.
"There's a tavern down the way, a few blocks from here," he said, his voice sharp. "The Rusty Nail. You can't miss it - the sign is as rusty and worn as the tavern itself."
Joe nodded eagerly, a glimmer of excitement flickering in his eyes. He had been looking forward to a night of rest and relaxation after days of grueling travel. He turned to follow Rick's gaze, his eyes tracing the winding path that led deeper into the heart of the village.
Quinn had assured him that the language spoken here was nearly identical to English, but Joe couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension. What if there were misunderstandings? What if he couldn't make himself understood?
Rick seemed to read his thoughts, his gruff voice cutting through Joe's musings. "You can read, right?"
Joe nodded again, a surge of confidence filling him. "Yeah, I can read."
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Rick's mouth. "Good. Go to the Rusty Nail. You'll find a woman there, Caroline. Tell her I sent you and that you're staying for the night. And we'll see your trade in the morning."
Joe stepped forward, his hand extended in a gesture of camaraderie. Even though they had already shaken hands, he wanted to seal the deal once more. He was determined to make a good impression and prove his worth to these strangers.
Rick's eyes flickered with an odd mix of curiosity and suspicion as he looked down at the item Joe had given him. Despite his confusion, he clasped it tightly, his fingers tightening around the object.
"Thank you," Joe said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "You won't regret this. Thank you so much."
He held on to Rick's hand for a beat longer, unwilling to let go. He wanted to convey his sincerity, to show this stranger that he truly appreciated his help. But Rick pulled away, his expression morphing into one of pity.
Joe couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment at his own desperation. He had arrived in this strange new world with nothing but the clothes on his back, and the first person he had encountered had shown him kindness. Maybe he had come across as too desperate, too needy.
As they released their hands, Rick gestured towards the winding path that led deeper into the village. "The Rusty Nail should be on your left, two blocks down. It's out in the open and should be easy to see. There are several lamplights that should make it easy for you to find your way through."
"Thank you, thank you again," Joe said, his heart full of gratitude. He turned to glance up at the guards above, offering them a friendly wave. They looked bewildered, but a few waved back tentatively.
With a sense of relief flooding through him, Joe walked through the gate, happy to have passed the first trial. He couldn't wait to see what adventures lay ahead in this strange, new world.
- - -
The Rusty Nail loomed before Joe, a sturdy two-story tavern that could easily house an entire village. Its wooden exterior was weathered and stained, with the sign above the entrance creaking in the breeze. Inside, the raucous sounds of laughter and chatter flooded his senses, swirling around him like a whirlwind.
Joe couldn't help but feel uneasy as he noticed the sign's familiar lettering. He had been transported to a new world, and yet everything seemed oddly familiar. He had always dreamed of being whisked away to a magical realm, where he would have to learn a new language to survive. But here, in this strange place, English was still the norm.
He scanned the room, taking in the lively crowd gathered around the rough-hewn tables and benches. Their faces were lit by the flickering flames of the torches that hung from the walls, casting deep shadows across the room.
In the back, a group of warriors caught his eye. They were dressed in mismatched armor, each piece bearing the mark of a different style. They were a motley crew, not like any city watch Joe had ever seen.
Maybe they were adventurers. Was there an adventuring guild here? Or was that just a normal trope that plagued the isekai books he read?
He turned his attention to the trio of children to his left, lost in their own world of imagination. They were nestled around a rough-hewn wooden table, their tiny hands gripping intricately carved wooden toys.
The girl, with her long black hair cascading down her back, was absorbed in a book, her eyes flickering across the pages with intense concentration. She looked up every once in a while, her dark eyes scanning the room with a curious glint.
One of the boys, his jet-black hair a wild mess, was holding a tiny chess piece in his hand, its delicate curves chiseled with precision. He was bashing it against a small wooden horse, sending it tumbling across the table in a chaotic dance.
The other boy, his hair neatly combed and styled, was organizing the rest of the pieces into different formations, his nimble fingers working with precision and care. He was creating his own miniature army, a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield of his imagination.
Joe couldn't help but feel a pang of envy for the children's carefree innocence, their ability to lose themselves in the world of make-believe. It was a luxury he hadn't had in a long time.
As Joe made his way further into the Rusty Nail, his senses were assaulted by a barrage of smells and sounds. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat and simmering stews, mingling with the heady aroma of ale and mead. The sound of clattering dishes and raucous laughter echoed off the rough-hewn walls, creating a boisterous symphony of noise.
As he turned his gaze towards the bar, he saw two women working in tandem, their movements fluid and practiced. The younger of the two, with her hair in soft curls, flitted back and forth behind the counter, her deft hands pouring frothy drinks and slicing through succulent cuts of meat with ease. Every now and then, she would duck into the back room, emerging with steaming plates of food that she delivered to grateful customers.
The other woman, slightly older and with a world-worn look in her eyes, sat perched on a stool at the end of the bar. Her tired smile belied a sense of deep weariness, the kind that comes from years of hard work and long days. She kept a watchful eye on the trio of children, offering stern glances when necessary. Joe had a feeling that this was the woman Rick had mentioned, the one who ran the restaurant with her husband and children.
As he made his way towards the bar, Joe couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sheer bustle of activity around him. It was a far cry from the quiet, monotonous life he had led back on his own world. Here, there was a vibrancy and energy that pulsed through every inch of the Rusty Nail, a feeling that he knew he would never be able to fully capture in words.
The older woman seemed to be maybe in her mid-thirties to early forties. She had a tired smile and gave the occasional stern look to the kids at the table playing and reading. So, apparently, that was the mother.
Joe remembered Rick's conversation with the old man at the gate, how Rick had said something about a restaurant with his wife and kids. And then he also remembered the guards snickering above him when Rick told them to go to the Rusty Nail.
It all fit together for Joe, nice and neatly. He had been tricked.
This was Rick's establishment, and the gate guard was probably happy at the idea of getting free work.
Joe approached the bar, its smooth wooden surface gleaming in the dim light of the tavern. The older woman behind it bustled about, her movements quick and precise as she poured ale into mugs and counted coins. Her tired smile hinted at a life of hard work and endless toil. Joe could hear the clinking of dishes and the hiss of cooking food coming from a door behind her, the tantalizing aroma of spices and roasting meat drifting into the air.
When she noticed Joe, the woman paused, her brown eyes scrutinizing him with suspicion. "Haven't seen you before," she said, her voice low and gravelly.
Undaunted, Joe flashed her a disarming smile. "I was looking to find somewhere where I can put down some roots. I had spoken to who I assumed to be your husband, Rick, at the gate. He told me to come here."
The woman's eyebrow arched, her expression skeptical. "Did he now?"
Joe kept his reply simple and direct. "My name is Joseph Johnson. Your husband told me to speak with Caroline. He said you could take me in for the night, and I could figure out a way to work off my stay here in the morning."
Caroline sized him up, her eyes flickering over his form. "Your nails are clean and your hands are soft," she observed, her tone hinting at disbelief. It was clear that she was looking for someone who could do real labor, not a dandy who'd never seen a hard day's work.
But Joe had a trick up his sleeve. "I'm a jack of all trades. Although I do do some magic."
Apparently, that word seemed to interest the kids behind him because they had stopped their raucous fighting with their toys.
Caroline asked, “Magic? Is that some sort of fancy form of basket weaving?"
Joe chuckled. "I'm a wizard. It's sort of like sorcery but a bit different, much more mundane. Honestly, it's not that amazing. But it is a little bit useful."
Caroline lifted a finger as if to say, "Give me a minute," and attended to a customer.
Joe took that time to turn around and say hi to the kids and introduce himself. "Hi, my name is Joe. Is your dad Rick, the gate guard?"
The kids nodded.
"Yeah, he's Rick, soldier of God. I’m John." One of the kids with a big snaggletooth stood up and offered his hand to Joe. Joe took it. The kid's grip was firm, very manly, asif the kid had something to prove.
The other boy waved politely. " I'm Brian," and hooked his thumb just like his father had to his sister. "This is Niamh.”
His sister looked up from her book, and she gave him a polite smile. "Hi, Mr. Joe."
Joe nodded to them as well. "Nice to meet you guys."
Caroline seemed to be finished with her patron and tapped on the table to get Joe's attention again
He turned to her and said, "I hope I'm not encroaching or anything like that. I'm just doing what your husband told me to."
She sighed. "You're not the first stray who's been brought in, but it is going to mean work on your part, at least for the rest of the evening. Are you okay with that?"
Joe shrugged. “Hard work is easy. You just do it.'"
Caroline blinked at him, and then she threw her head back in a big laugh. Apparently, the whole room seemed to find it funny, and they laughed along with her, probably not realizing what she had laughed at. When she was done, she wiped tears from her eyes and said, "You know, no truer words have been spoken. So, you're a handyman of some sorts. You can do all things?"
Joe said, "Not everything, but I do have experience in the kitchen. I can prep, cut, clean, wash dishes, and of course, cook. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it. I just need a bed for the night and to figure out how to find my bearings."
Caroline nodded. "Okay, then." She was cut off, and there was noise in the back of the tavern.
A rowdy group of soldiers, mercenaries, or perhaps daring adventurers caught his attention. Their heated argument with a lone man who had drifted away from his table was impossible to ignore. The man, clearly inebriated, swayed unsteadily, his words slurring as he struggled to keep up with the fast-paced exchange.
The drunken group shouted incoherently, their voices rising to a fever pitch, drowning out any coherent thought. One of them, a burly brute, suddenly lunged forward with a meaty fist, aiming for the man's face. The man, barely managing to avoid the punch, stumbled back with an awkward step, his balance clearly faltering. In a clumsy attempt at retaliation, he threw a wild haymaker, but it missed by a mile.
A flurry of fists followed, exchanged between both parties, but none found their mark. The chaos of the brawl made the patrons of the tavern laugh and jeer, finding amusement in the spectacle before them. However, Caroline, watched with a furrowed brow and a frown, her expression a mix of concern and anger.
Joe took a hesitant step forward, but quickly thought better of it. Despite his magical prowess, he knew better than to foolishly engage in a physical altercation. The mere thought of getting caught in the crossfire of flying fists was enough to make him reconsider any rash decisions.
Caroline's eyes darted towards him, silently urging him to take action. However, Joe could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the fear of being pummeled into submission overwhelming him. He had never been in a real fight before and had no desire to start now.
Caroline turned her gaze to her left, and Joe followed her line of sight. There stood a tall, imposing figure, his dark skin contrasting against the stained white of his chef's apron. Long, knotted dreads hung down to his broad shoulders, giving him an intimidating aura. He looked like he could have been a grandfather. Despite his age, the man moved with the ease and confidence of someone who had seen his fair share of brawls.
As the man strode past Caroline, he gave Joe a quick glance, acknowledging his presence with a nod. Joe watched as he deftly sidestepped through the bar's doors, leaving the chaos behind. The man's tired demeanor spoke volumes, his eyes reflecting the weariness of someone who had grown tired of such senseless displays of machismo.
The drunken brawl had left its mark on the bar's interior, with two broken chairs and a cracked table the unfortunate casualties of the senseless fight. Joe couldn't fathom how two men, both heavily intoxicated, had managed to inflict such damage in such a short span of time. Perhaps they too possessed special abilities like Joe himself.
As the tall, imposing chef intervened and put a stop to the melee, the two men stared up at him, their faces quickly sobering in the presence of his stern yet friendly demeanor. Joe strained to hear the exchange between the three, but the man's words were lost on him, muffled by the clamor of the bar.
The group of adventurers, who had initially been the cause of the commotion, quickly gathered their wits and tossed a few coins to the chef, a small gesture of thanks for his intervention. They hurried upstairs to their rooms, eager to put the night's events behind them.
Meanwhile, the other man, thoroughly embarrassed by his inability to hold his own in the fight, slunk back to his own group of friends. They ribbed him good-naturedly, poking fun at his lack of combat skills, while the man looked on shamefacedly. The aftermath of the brawl left a bitter taste in Joe's mouth, a poignant reminder of the senselessness of violence.
The chef, Dylan, walked back to Caroline, his face etched with concern. He leaned in, his words hushed, "Caroline, I can't keep doing this. If you want me to stay, you need to hire a bouncer. I'm too old to be breaking up fights every other night. I got lucky tonight, but next time might not be so forgiving."
Caroline's expression turned sour at the news. "I'm sorry to hear that, Dylan. I'll see what I can do on our end," she said, her voice heavy with regret.
Dylan shook his head, his brow furrowed with worry. "It's not just about tonight, Caroline. I'm getting too old for this. If it was me twenty years ago, I would have stayed, but I can't take hits like I used to."
Caroline sighed, her eyes downcast. "I understand, Dylan. But you always have a place here," she said softly, her words tinged with sadness.
As Dylan handed Caroline his stained apron, the weight of his decision hung heavy in the air. The tall black man turned and walked away without another word, leaving behind the chaotic aftermath of yet another bar fight.
Joe watched Dylan leave, and the rest of the people within the tavern went back to their own merriment. He looked at the broken chairs and cracked table. Maybe he could find a way to solidify the rest of her furniture so that they wouldn't be broken so easily in the future. And he did have the right tools to fix the broken chairs and table.
She spoke before him. She said, holding out the apron to Joe, "Well, it looks like we need a cook."
Joe grinned. He said, "That's fine. I can start right now."
Caroline shook her head. She said, "Not tonight. I'm going to close up the kitchen. We'll start early in the morning. I'll wake you up and we'll go over your duties until we can get a more permanent cook, whether that be you or somebody else."
Joe felt sad about seeing the man quit a job, but he was grateful that he had an opportunity to fill in. He took the apron and held it in his hand.
Caroline nodded towards the staircase. She said, "Upstairs.”
She reached inside one of her pockets and pulled out a key ring. Her fingers fumbled among the array of keys before finding the one she was looking for. She passed it to Joe and said, “ Fifth room on the left. That one's yours for the night. I'll wake you up in the morning.'"
She leaned forward and sniffed him the way a mother would. "It doesn't seem like you need a bath right now," she said.
But Joe sniffed himself and didn't smell too good. Apparently, they had different standards for cleanliness here. It seemed to be the Middle Ages in this town. He didn't see any kind of electricity or signs of advanced technology.
Joe said, "Thanks again. I'll work hard for you tomorrow."
Caroline nodded then went back to work.
Joe didn't realize how tired he was until he went up the stairs, found his room, and sat on the bed. The bed was a little tough compared to the beds back on Earth, but he didn't mind it. However, when he sat on it, he realized his pillow was too tough for him to sleep on. Maybe he'd have to get used to it.
And then the thought occurred to him. He muttered, "Oh yeah, I'm so stupid."
He pulled up a window while holding the pillow in one hand and the blanket in the other. Several properties from each window appeared. He scrolled down to find the softness of the blanket and transferred it to the pillow. The pillow screen was updated with 'Softness +2.' Joe held the blanket in his hand. It was much stiffer than before.
He didn't mind a stiff blanket, but he hated a stiff pillow. He blew out the candle light next to his bed, placed his head on the now incredibly soft pillow, wrapped his stiff blanket around himself, and went to sleep.
—
