TACO Run

Chapter 29

"Here we go!" Shinobu said brightly, sliding into place by the table. "A draft beer and one kaisendon." Setting the big dish in front of her guest, she tucked her serving tray up against the front of her uniform and smiled at the delighted expression on his face. Their restaurant was small, and not especially fast-paced most days, but most of their customers were die-hard regulars who never missed an opportunity to make their enjoyment plain. "Let me know if there's anything else I can get you, alright?"

"Sure thing, miss Shinobu! You really are an angel!"

Shinobu muffled a laugh, hurrying off to wash dishes while she had the chance. Mister Iguna was later than normal today—he'd missed the evening rush—and he was eating alone for once. Apparently, his brother-in-law was focusing hard on getting their business contacts in order, and might not come for the next few days. Mister Iguna was at least still coming by, even if it was later than usual.

Thankfully, despite misplacing his wallet the previous day, he'd managed to get all of his cards canceled and re-issued in rapid order, and the pay-app on his phone let him cover his dinner. Nobuyuki would've let him run up a tab, if he had to, since he was a trusted regular, but they were all glad it wasn't necessary.

"Ah, miss Shinobu." An elderly hand waved her politely over to the bar before she could get to the dishroom. "May I have more squid shiokara?"

"Of course!" Darting around the bar, she collected another portion of the dish. "Here you go. Let me know if you need anything else." The sound of the front door sliding open caught her ears, and she turned to greet their next guest. "Welcome!" Oh, it was a new customer! Kind of cute, too. Probably around Nobuyuki's height, with dirty-blond hair in an awkward little ponytail at the back, and the top part finger-combed messily upwards. He blinked at her in good-natured bafflement, adjusting the strap of the messenger bag on his shoulder, and raised a hand in casual greeting, saying something she didn't underst—oh! He was a foreigner! No wonder he looked confused. "Welcome!" Shinobu repeated, bustling over to greet him properly. "Would you like a table? Or a seat at the bar?" Unfortunately she didn't know English, but she was pretty good at pantomime, and he seemed to get the gist of what she was saying, because he let her lead him over to the bar to sit next to Father Fugou.

He tried to say something, in a tone that wasn't really a protest or anything, scrubbing at the back of his neck in that uncertain way some foreign patrons had. Like he didn't know Japanese etiquette and was worried about messing something up.

Well, Shinobu knew what to do about that! "Just one second, sir," she said reassuringly, and went to fetch a warm towel and a glass of water. There was a reason she'd seated him next to Father Fugou—the elderly priest was as easy-going as they came, and had a way of nonjudgmentally guiding people into proper behavior while making them think it was their own idea.

Once he'd wiped his hands with the towel and sipped some ice water—he seemed surprised and pleased with both; were they not hospitality staples everywhere?—Shinobu handed him a menu. Their menus had pictures as well as text, so he should be able to point out what he wanted even if he couldn't read it. He blinked at it, and then started scrubbing the back of his head awkwardly again, grinning weakly in her direction and waving his free hand a little in a 'no, no, I don't need anything' kind of way.

At which point his stomach growled, and he let out a little laugh, head ducking.

"Sir?" What was the problem? Was he fasting? She thought there were some religions that did that, but she couldn't imagine someone going into a restaurant under those circumstances.

"Miss Shinobu," Father Fugou beckoned for her attention. "I think this young man might be a bit short of money. A pity, really, as Taishou's cooking shouldn't be missed."

"Oh!" Well, they took foreign currency too… and if he were a local, they could let him run up a tab… but if he didn't have any money in the first place and he was a foreigner, there wasn't much they could do.

"Shinobu." Nobuyuki looked at her over the divider. "At the very least, we should serve our guest an appetizer." He handed over a plate of pickled cucumber slices.

Shinobu beamed and took it. "Of course, Taishou!" She set the plate down in front of their foreign guest, and when he looked a little worried, just smiled at him. "Don't worry, this is a service," she said brightly, and bustled off to do some dishes.

Alfyn blinked after the cute little waitress who'd given him a cup of water and some cucumber slices, a bit worried. Because he didn't know what she'd said, but he didn't have any local money—he didn't have much money in the first place—and he wasn't sure she'd figured that out, since she'd left the menu with him.

Whoever drew the pictures in it was a really good artist. You could practically smell the stuff! And damn if it didn't look good. He'd had the sandwiches missus Meeky'd made him for lunch, and they were really good—the bread was pale and light and fluffy in a way he'd only ever seen on fancy high-society tables back home—but it was after dark now and kind of chilly, and he hadn't had anything for supper, so his stomach was scolding him something fierce.

The warm towel had been really nice. It was just a little bit damp, so he could wipe his hands clean on it and warm them up at the same time.

The old guy to his left—Alfyn thought he was maybe a priest of some kind?—he was real nice and calm-seeming, like Alfyn not being able to communicate and not having much money wasn't a big deal. He was eating something pink and squishy-looking with his wooden eating-sticks, in between sips of clear liquor from a tiny, tiny glass cup.

Alfyn kind of thought the pink squishy stuff might be some kind of fish-innards, but he wasn't sure. Smelled kind of salty-vinegary.

The pickled cucumber slices were really good, though! They had a crisp crunch that said they were real fresh, and hadn't been pickled too long. They'd be enough to stop his stomach rumbling for a bit, even if they weren't a real supper.

Alfyn still hadn't found anyone who recognized the pictures of the other guys, but he wasn't exactly surprised by that, in a city this big. It sucked, and it worried him, but it wasn't like he'd thought he'd find them right away. He'd just keep trying, that was all.

And at least asking around at taverns and bookstores and such meant he got to come inside pretty frequently. Because the rain the previous day had left things kinda chilly outside, even if it was early spring.

Thinking of his little not-bad sketches, though…

Rummaging through his satchel, Alfyn pulled the paper out and unfolded it. It'd gotten a bit blurred and dog-eared and wrinkled from being jammed in there and taken out and folded and unfolded so many times, but it was still plenty good enough to use.

Unfortunately, when he showed the old priest the pictures, he just smiled a little regretfully behind his fragile-looking spectacles and shook his head.

"Damn it." Alfyn sighed, scratching at his hair and frowning down at the sketches. He thought he'd done a pretty good job of capturing their likenesses—especially Therion's bland, disgruntled stare—but maybe he hadn't. He wasn't a great artist, after all. And most of what he drew was plants and fruits and such, making sure he could identify everything at a glance. Drawing people was different.

Or maybe they just hadn't seen 'em. Therion was sneaky, after all. The other guys weren't, but…

Alfyn deliberately didn't think about the possibility that he was the only one who'd gotten poofed here. Wherever 'here' was. I mean, I'd kind of deserve it. It was my fault for egging the Prof on…

No. No, nobody deserved being taken away from their friends like that.

And he hadn't been! The other guys were definitely around here somewhere too.

They had to be.

Alfyn heaved a sigh, resting his chin on his forearms atop the bar. The old priest guy was talking to the pretty little waitress and the tavern-keeper—or maybe the cook?—and Alfyn figured he could maybe linger and mope for a little while before they told him to leave.

He'd found a decent alley to make camp in an hour or so back. It wasn't the cleanest, but there was enough overhang from the neighboring buildings to keep out the worst of the wind and the wet, if it rained again.

I've been real lucky so far. Getting to stay with missus Inko and little Izuku for a couple days, and then missus Meeky and mister Hiraku last night. Running into nice people who'd fed him and made sure he was alright. Not running into any monsters or street thugs or anything. And he hadn't gotten sick or anything either. Sure, he could defend himself, and patch himself up if he had to, but that didn't mean he wanted to get hurt in the first place.

Not that he minded a good fight, but that didn't mean he was gonna go looking for one. Not in a foreign place where he couldn't even talk to people. That was just stupid, and his ma hadn't raised an idiot.

"Ano… Okyaku-san?"

Alfyn blinked and sat up, coming out of his funk to see the pretty waitress—Shinobu?—looking at him worriedly. "I'm fine, I'm fine!" he assured her, forcing a big smile. No point in worrying folks who didn't really know him and couldn't do anything to help anyway.

She made a kind of cheerful noise, like she was glad he was alright, and leaned past him with an apologetic murmur to set a bowl on the bar next to his empty cucumber-plate.

"Wh—I didn't ask for that…?" Gods damn, but it smelled good, though. He could see bits of meat and vegetables floating in the broth, and it made his mouth water and his stomach growl something fierce.

"Nihon e yōkoso," The old priest guy chuckled, and nodded his head as if to say 'it's alright', and the pretty waitress handed him a funny-looking spoon, and Alfyn couldn't resist anymore.

Oh. My. Gooooooooods. It was so good. Light and warm and savory, and the meat was some kind of really tender pork or something—it wasn't boar or meep—and he didn't recognize all of the root vegetables in it, but they'd been boiled to perfection. Some bits were soft and chewy, and some bits were soft and sticky, and some bits crumbled into delicious savory pieces on his tongue, and not once did he catch a stem or a bone fragment or anything like that in his teeth. And the broth itself had a warm, savory, slightly sweet flavor he'd never tasted before that made it go down real smooth.

It wasn't anything like the soup his ma had made, not one bit, but for some reason it made him think of her, and wish he had a crust of bread to mop up the last few drops at the end.

A low chuckle had him looking up, to see the guy behind the bar—there was a short divider there, too, so maybe it was just a counter?—smiling in a kind of satisfied way. He said something amused, and reached over the barrier to set another bowl in front of Alfyn.

Oh, hells yes, he'd take seconds. "Don't mind if I do!" he grinned, and picked it up to start slurping.

Nobuyuki smiled at their foreign guest as he wolfed down a second bowl of tonjiru. It was chilly out, so a lot of their customers had requested the rich, warm soup.

Father Fugou had offered to pay for whatever their foreign guest wanted, which was characteristic of him. Priest or not, he had a fine appreciation for the things of this world, and a firm belief that people should be able to enjoy life's simple pleasures regardless of their financial situation or social standing. More than once he'd brought the poorer children of his congregation by for yudofu or chazuke, and this wouldn't be the first time he'd paid for another customer's dinner.

"May I ask what that paper he showed you earlier was?" Nobuyuki asked the priest curiously, as Shinobu went back to washing dishes. Maybe it had been one of those pre-prepared written introductions? Since he didn't seem to speak a lick of Japanese.

"It was pictures," Father Fugou said, sipping the last of his reishu and carefully pouring himself another glass. "Sketches, technically. Of some people I believe he's searching for. Possibly friends of his."

"I see." And Father Fugou hadn't recognized them. Well, his chapel wasn't exactly a tourist spot, so that made sense. "May I see them? It's possible they came by here at some point, though I don't think we've had too many foreign guests recently." Shinobu would know better than he would, honestly.

"It wouldn't hurt to ask." Father Fugou turned to their hungry guest again, and reached over to gently tap the paper that had been left folded on the counter. "If you don't mind, young man, Taishou would like to see your sketches." He gestured towards Nobuyuki, to make sure he understood.

Thankfully, their foreign guest did take his meaning, though it took a couple of seconds to fully click. Once it had, though, he hastily swallowed the hot taro and carrots he'd been chewing and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, picking up the paper and holding it out over the barrier for Nobuyuki to see.

Nobuyuki took it, politely ignoring their guest's lack of proper manners.

Hm. Three men, and the sketches weren't bad, though they weren't exactly detailed or expert. Nobuyuki could get a decent feel for what the men were like, in addition to a basic grasp of their clothes and appearances. Unfortunately… "I'm sorry, I don't think I've seen any of them around," he said, shaking his head regretfully as he handed the paper back.

Their guest sighed, chin dropping into his hand as he took the paper.

"Taishou?" Shinobu came out of the dish-room, wiping her hands on a towel. "What's wrong?"

Nobuyuki explained the situation to her as best he could. "It's mostly guesswork," he admitted, "but I think he got separated from his group, and he seems to have lost his phone." Or at least, he hadn't shown evidence of having one.

"Oh! Well since you're always in the kitchen, Taishou, you don't get to see and interact with the customers as much. And Father Fugou's always at the bar, so his back is to the room most of the time. Let me see the sketches?" She smiled at their guest, holding out a hand indicatively. "Maybe I've seen them."

He handed it over, a hopeful look on his face.

"Thank you." Shinobu smiled at him, turning the paper towards herself. "Wow, that one's handsome… Ahem." She pinked a little, and coughed to get herself back on track. "Well, I think I'd remember seeing either of those two… oh!" She straightened. "I think I recognize this one!"

"You do?"

"Yeah!" Shinobu turned the paper around so they could all see it, and indicated the cranky-looking young man on the bottom-left of the page. "He was by here yesterday—you remember when mister Sakamata came by? He was the guy who got startled by him!"

"Oh, I see…" Nobuyuki did recall seeing someone skitter out the front door past the off-duty Hero, though he hadn't gotten a good look at who it was.

Their guest was off his stool and grabbing Shinobu's hands excitedly before any more could be said, babbling something in a tone caught between desperate and hopeful in a language that was absolutely not English. The only word Nobuyuki caught—and he wasn't sure it was a word, or that he was hearing it right—was 'theriyon' with that odd, soft, tongue-against-the-teeth sound some foreign languages had.

"Um, yes?" Shinobu said uncertainly, leaning back a little bit with a forced, uncomfortable smile. "I'm sorry, I don't—Taishou?" She cast a pleading look in his direction.

Before Nobuyuki could intervene, though, their guest released her and backed off, scrubbing the back of his neck and chuckling out what sounded like awkward apologies.

"It's alright," Shinobu said, recovering her poise. "I'm sure you're very relieved."

It took several minutes and a lot of rough sketches and pantomime, but they did manage to eventually communicate that their guest's friend had come by for dinner the previous evening, and that they hadn't seen him since, and didn't know where he'd gone.

Their guest seemed incredibly relieved, regardless, almost to the point of tearing up, and scrubbed at his eyes with the sleeve he'd used to wipe his mouth earlier. He mumbled something else, grabbing his messenger bag and digging around in it for a second. What he pulled out was a small bundle of… it looked like spices and bits of dried fruit.

Ah. "An apple tea mix," Nobuyuki realized, pleasantly surprised. He wasn't quite sure what the diced bits of dried berry mixed in were, but they might be dried cranberries. "Thank you; this will go nicely with breakfast in the morning." Why the gift? Was it a 'thank you' for recognizing his friend? Or was he attempting to pay for his meal that way?

Apparently not, because he dug through his bag again to pull out a drawstring purse, spilling out a few odd-looking copper coins onto the counter.

"Oh, sir, we can't accept that!" Shinobu hastened to assure him, even as he shoved the coins her way. "Father Fugou is already paying for your meal, after all—oh. Taishou?"

"Yes?" He watched as she picked up one of the coins.

"I… don't actually recognize this? It's not Euro or dollars."

Curiously, Nobuyuki picked up one of the coins himself. It was about the size of a ten-yen piece, and brown enough that he was relatively sure it was actually made of copper, or maybe copper-plated zinc like the American pennies they sometimes got. Which meant they were probably comparable in value to the ten-yen coin they resembled… oh.

If he was trying to pay for his dinner in the equivalent of ten-yen coins, he probably didn't have much more than that. Which meant that as far as places to stay went, he'd either used everything else up for a hotel, or…

The broad, slightly teary grin on their guest's face, as he tried shoving the coins Nobuyuki's way, spoke volumes. Stuck in a country where he didn't speak the language, had apparently lost his phone, didn't have any local money at all, and carried the foreign equivalent of maybe two hundred yen on him. And he was looking for acquaintances, at least one of which had been here the previous day, without him, meaning they'd gotten separated a while ago.

Father Fugou coughed lightly, and when their guest turned to him with a concerned look, the elderly priest smiled. "You know, the church is a bit big for an old man to stay in alone…"

Alfyn hitched his satchel higher on his left shoulder, staring up at the entrance to the church the old priest guy—Fugo?—had led him to. It was a nice stone-and-wood building with plaster on top, and it was more familiar-looking than any of the other buildings around here.

It wasn't the same as back home. Alfyn couldn't recall any of the churches or cathedrals of the Sacred Flame being mostly wood like that. And they'd all had several clerics or other caretakers to keep them clean and well-maintained, while this church had grass growing between the paving-stones of its walk, and the plaster needed whitewashing. And no one stood by the entrance here, to keep monsters out and greet worshippers as they arrived. Though that might be because it was pretty late.

But the feel was the same—calm, peaceful, accepting, but still somehow other, like walking through the doors was taking you someplace special and significant.

The inside was the same—at once both familiar and very foreign. This church seemed a lot longer than it was wide, which was… kind of backwards from what he remembered? Or, no, the cathedrals back home were only a little wider than they were long, but it was still different. The walls were still wood and plaster, rather than worked stone, and there weren't any elaborate arches, hanging lanterns, or bronze chandeliers. The windows were stained glass, but simpler in design and color than the elaborate workmanship he'd seen in the big cathedrals back home. The ceiling was a high arch with exposed beams, reminding him of nothing so much as a boat's hull turned upside-down, rather than the angles slants of the Flamesgrace cathedral. There were two rows of pews with an aisle down either side, and the middle left open for the priests or priestesses to walk down during services. There was even an altar, with a well-kept but relatively plain white altar-cloth edged with crimson embroidery.

But there weren't any rich hangings on the walls, the floor was wooden rather than stone or tile, and there wasn't any cast-iron fence keeping the congregation from intruding on the area behind the altar.

And instead of a big fire-bowl in that sacred area—he thought Ophilia had called it the apse or something?—there was a set of two wooden sculptures. The bigger one was a gorgeous carving of a woman in fine drapery, cradling an infant against her chest. The sculptor had managed to capture a look of incredible warmth and tenderness in her expression, as she gazed out over where the congregation would sit. But hanging just below her feet was another wooden sculpture, this one of… some kind of criminal, maybe? It was a half-naked guy who'd been nailed to a cross anyway, so Alfyn sure hoped there was a good reason for it, and for the grisly display to be hung up behind the church altar.

Alfyn hadn't ever seen anyone be crucified before, but he and Cyrus had discussed it once, after Riverford. Burning at the stake had been invented as a more merciful method of making examples of people when you executed them.

Both methods had been outlawed in favor of hanging, in the Cliftlands. The Highlands and Flatlands both used beheading, as did the Sunlands, though the Flatlands had actually outlawed burning and the other two hadn't. The Coastlands and Woodlands favored hanging and beheading equally, while the Frostlands still practiced stoning in some places.

That… hadn't been a fun conversation. Alfyn was pretty sure the Prof sublimated stress and other negative emotions by going all academic-interest on whatever bothered him, and studying it until it wasn't real to him anymore. Because none of them had been alright with what that Werner bastard had been doing to the people of Riverford, whether they showed it or not.

"Alfyn-kun." The old cleric waved him over towards a side-door, just past a funny little… freestanding closet-thing? Well, whatever it was, they bypassed it and passed through a wooden door to what looked like the clerical dormitories or some such. There was a kitchen, anyway, and a privy and a couple of rooms with pallets on the floor.

Alfyn let mister—Brother?—Fugo show him to one of the rooms that didn't look like it'd been used super recently, and bade the old man goodnight.

Then he flopped down on his back on the pallet, tucked his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling, nerves still buzzing despite how exhausted he was from the long day.

He hadn't known what to think when the old guy gestured for him to follow him out of the tavern. He'd just been so relieved to finally have confirmation that he wasn't the only one here. That Therion at least was here too. Even if that was really selfish of him, to wish for someone else to be stuck here like he was. But maybe they weren't stuck. Maybe, if Therion was here too, then so were the other guys. And if they could all find each other, maybe Cyrus could figure out how to get them home. And even if he couldn't, they'd be together. And there wasn't anything that could keep them down, if they had each other's backs.

Not even gods.

So Alfyn had been kind of overwhelmed for a while, from relief and hope and a bunch of other emotions and such. And it had taken a while for him to figure out what miss Shinobu and that Taisho guy were trying to say, about mister—Father?—Fugo paying for his dinner and such, and then he'd started crying for real, because they were just all so nice and he'd been real worried about not being able to pay for dinner.

Hell, the copper leaves he'd had on him wouldn't've bought two tankards of ale at a tavern back home, let alone the whole dinner mister—Father—Fugo had ended up paying for. He'd been given a third bowl of pork soup and a glass—glass!—tankard of some kind of golden liquor that wasn't ale or mead, and didn't honestly taste all that great, but was chilled like a fancy wine so it was probably expensive. And miss Shinobu had gotten herself and that Taisho fella a glass too, and Father Fugo had raised his own tiny cup, and the one other guy eating there had raised a glass tankard too, and they'd all clinked glasses together like they were celebrating along with him.

It'd taken a lot of awkward pointing and gestures and pantomime, but miss Shinobu had gotten across that if she did see Therion again, she'd try to let him know that Alfyn had been by, and see if she couldn't get him to leave a way to contact each other. It'd involved her weird rectangle-thing somehow, Alfyn knew that much.

But once they'd all finished eating—and drinking—Father Fugo had managed to get across that he wanted Alfyn to come stay the night at the little temple… church… thing he was in charge of. And, well, Alfyn wasn't about to turn away an offer like that.

So here he was.

He didn't know how he'd manage to pay everyone back for being so good to him. He was running kind of low on non-dangerous reagents, and he didn't think giving people poisons for self-defense was a good idea when he couldn't properly talk to them to explain how to use 'em safely.

…he'd figure it out in the morning.

A/N: Kaisendon is a big bowl of rice covered in seafood sashimi. Shiokara is salt-pickled entrails and flesh, usually served as a side-dish with clear liquor. Tonjiru is pork and vegetable soup.

A/N: The cook/shop owner's name is Nobuyuki, but he goes by 'Taishou'/'Chief' when he's working.

A/N: That's apple and blackcurrant tea mix, with a few spices thrown in.

A/N: The 'freestanding closet' is the confessional. Although the denomination of Christianity is unspecified, the church here is based off of the one from Bitter Virgin.