Market Forces
14, Summer 520
Des crouched over the hearth of their rented bungalow, attempting to make coffee in the early morning. Mounted to the side wall was a hook which held a single, black kettle in which she cooked everything for Willjan and her. To her left was a long counter covered in sliced mangoes, oranges, and pineapple - each laid out carefully with a note below to mark the number of days they had been drying out in the sun.
Willjan bent over the pineapples and scrunched his nose at the sweet, sickly smell about a third of them gave off. He move to the oranges and mangoes. They were better, but many were still moist in the middle, and maybe a fifth of them held foreboding brown spots in their center.
When the soft pitter-patter of rain begin to tinkle over their tin roof, he stifled a groan. He waited, listening as the tinkling turned to drumming, and then he threw his hands up in exasperation when he could see sheets of heavy rain falling outside.
"How in the world are we supposed to sun dry anything if it rains every three days!" he cried, gathering up every spoiled fruit he could find and stuffing it into his pack.
Des stood frowning from her place by the hearth. "Thinner slices maybe?" she said, "Bring some of those mangos and oranges to lay by the fire here... I think those pineapples are a lost cause."
Willjan considered her suggestion a moment before writing Thinner slices, on one of the scraps of parchment by the fruit. He underlined it twice, and then helped Des pick the good pieces to place by the fire.
"We need to look into alternative methods as well. The meat coming over from Riverfall was packed in salt... We need to look into methods that don't rely so much on sunshine and dry weather," he said, "I'm going to dump these rotted ones out in the latrine," he said before another thought came to him, "...You think we could make some side-miza's selling compost?"
"Let's figure out how to stop things from rotting before we start doing it intentionally."
"Waste not, Des"
"I thought waste was exactly what you were making!"
Willjan snorted before donning his waxed coat and stepped out of the bungalow to dump the spoiled fruit into the outhouse pit. His jacket helped some, but everything not covered by it was soaked instantly. Still, he enjoyed the fresh, cool smell that rain brought. It wasn't so bad being out and about in the wet during the summer season- so long as one had access to a warm hearth to sit by at night and dry linens to sleep in. Willjan reflected on what it had been like travelling from Kenash to Riverfall, and the period of time he had spent living in his tent. He was grateful for the bungalow.
The wind picked up as Willjan trekked back from the latrine. With it came voices, laughter... music maybe? He glanced through the gaps in the trees in which the sounds came, but saw nothing. He moved towards the beach, coming to the edge of its bend and looking west in the direction of the wind. Just at the edge of the beach, through sideways sheets of rain, he could see the glow of The Protea Inn.
. . .
"I'm off to visit the inn," Willjan said to Des when he was back in the Bungalow.
"In this weather?" Des responded.
"It's not that bad out," he said, "Plus I want to see how they're running that place. Is there really much of a demand for an inn in Syka? And most importantly - how are they sourcing any meals they provide?"
Des handed him a cup of the coffee she made. He chugged it before donning his hat and pack, and stepping out onto Syka's beach once again. The wind and rain had died down to a light drizzle, and the walk over was an uneventful one.
The Protea Inn was longer than it was wide, an upside down L with the wider portion reaching into the edge of the jungle. Surprisingly, its storm shutters were open, and he could see shapes silhouetted against candlelight on the inside. As he got closer, he could hear chattering and laughter again, but no music this time. He climbed the front porch and entered.