Chapter 2 (2.3(b) Melting Pot & Moonlight)

At the stall, no other customers were present. The drinks set on various tables around the area likely came from this establishment. The stall owner, a man with an earnest demeanour, appeared slightly flushed, possibly from the wine he was selling. He greeted Wallace with a wide smile as he approached. "What can I get you?" he inquired, stealing a glance at Wallace's table to gauge his dinner choices.

The stall owner seemed well-versed in guiding customers on wine selections, understanding that suggesting a suitable wine to pair with the food was the key to gaining agreement. Wallace recalled from his extensive readings on winemaking that the finest wine wasn't crafted but rather discovered through the right combination of food and ambiance. He wholeheartedly agreed with this notion; just as one wouldn't truly know a good stew until tasting it, discerning good wines from the mediocre required no specialized expertise.

To his relief, Caren followed him to the stall. He hoped she didn't perceive his previous action as offensive.

"What are you getting?" Caren inquired casually.

"We'll ask the winemaker for a recommendation," Wallace replied confidently, noting the stall owner's likely dual role as the winemaker. The sparkle in the brown-eyed stall owner's gaze as he discussed the wines hinted at years of winemaking expertise.

The winemaker affirmed Wallace's assumption with a nod and a grin, confirming his dual role. "To complement your meat pie and beef stew, I recommend the 'Perfect Blood'," he suggested. He turned, grabbed a mug from his stall, and opened the tap on the topmost barrel of the rack. The enticing crimson liquid flowed into the mug, the pour stopped just before it filled.

Handing the mug to Wallace, he said, "Take a whiff and have a taste."

The small amount offered for tasting emanated a tangy aroma that swiftly filled Wallace's nostrils. The wine possessed a complexity that unfolded with each sniff, offering varied scents. Before tasting it himself, Wallace passed the mug to Caren. Initially puzzled by the unfamiliar scent, she gradually relaxed as the aromatic notes proved unexpectedly pleasant, flashing a smile of approval to Wallace.

Taking a sip, Wallace experienced the 'Perfect Blood's' balanced and intricate flavours that danced across his tongue, sending a sensation right down to his core. The wine exuded earthy tones with a subtle bitterness reminiscent of black olives, enriched by the flavours of blackberries and juniper berries, complemented by a symphony of at least ten other herbs, of which Wallace could identify only five.

The stall owner beamed at Wallace's reaction; his eyes fixed on him.

Without waiting for Wallace's feedback, the winemaker produced two more mugs, filling them to the brim with the 'Perfect Blood' and offering them to Wallace and Caren. "I can tell when a customer is pleased with my selection. That will be two honour golds."

The cost for two mugs of wine might have been steep, but the quality undoubtedly justified the price.

"Thank you, and have a splendid evening," the winemaker bid them farewell, retaining the money and retrieving the empty mug from Wallace.

As Wallace and Caren returned to their table, the enticing scent of the Perfect Blood wine enveloped them, intensifying as the autumn breeze swept through.

They savoured their meal alongside the perfectly matched wine, relishing the captivating melodies from the performers on stage. The setting felt surreal—amidst a vibrant marketplace, relishing good food, exquisite wine, and enchanting music, having just come from discussing a grave infection cure.

The wine lent a slight blush to Wallace's cheeks, gradually easing away his lingering worries. A contented sigh escaped him after relishing the final bite of his meat pie. Meanwhile, Caren displayed a satisfied smile, thoroughly enjoying each mouthful of her meal. Her wine remained half-full, in contrast to Wallace's nearly empty mug.

Feeling more relaxed after the red wine, Wallace gestured toward Caren's drink, "It's not entirely true that you don't drink. We've had many post-work drinks at the Harmonica Hurricane Bar." His recollection surfaced as he mentioned this.

Caren blushed slightly, flashing a brief, embarrassed smile. Her normally icy-blue eyes carried a warmer hue today. "Yes, but I usually take only a little. I didn't really discern much about what I was drinking. It was just enjoyable to spend time with friends," she explained with a shrug.

Wallace fell into a contemplative silence after her response. Not knowing Naevys and possessing limited knowledge about wines, it seemed this outing might have been Caren's first genuine fun experience outside of work.

Wallace realized he had little insight into Caren's personal life following their shared history in Summerstone…

Unaware, Wallace found himself lost in thought, inadvertently fixated on Caren while reflecting on these notions. Caren shifted uneasily in her stool, the wine she'd imbibed blurring her typically sharp mind.

It took Wallace a moment to realize the awkward silence enveloping them. He cleared his throat, attempting to break the tension. "What are your thoughts on the wine?" A safe, neutral inquiry.

"I suppose it's good. I haven't had enough to compare, but it does taste delightful," Caren replied, savouring a large gulp of the red wine.

"I could definitely teach you a thing or two about wine," Wallace suggested, finishing the last drop of the 'Perfect Blood' in his mug. He returned to the stall, engaging in conversation with the winemaker, and shortly returned with two more brimming mugs of red wine.

Caren's expression revealed a blend of disapproval and amusement as she accepted a mug from Wallace, proceeding to sniff at the new wine without any prompting.

"You won't get drunk from just two mugs of red wine," Wallace reassured her, sensing her concern. "This one's also among the top sellers."

Flushed from the effects of the initial wine, Caren's cheeks tinted a deeper shade of scarlet, her once icy-blue eyes now warm and relaxed. Wallace spent the ensuing hours elucidating the intricacies of wine—varieties, the winemaking process, and tasting techniques. Unbeknownst to them, the singers had stopped performing on stage, the crowd gradually thinning as time slipped away. With each passing hour, they indulged in a few more mugs of wine as Wallace demonstrated the varying acidity levels of the drinks.

Caren proved to be a quick learner—an attribute Wallace had long noticed. As the pleasant evening unfolded, it rekindled some old memories, facilitated by the effects of the alcohol starting to take hold.

"I assisted Jaglee in crafting some exceptional wine for his bar. You should definitely visit and engage in some serious wine tasting," Wallace suggested, his focus wavering momentarily as he drained the last of his wine.

It was only then that they realized the surrounding tables had all emptied. Stall owners were tidying up, preparing to close shop for the night.

The Moonlight stall owner approached them apologetically. "I'm sorry to intrude. I refrained from clearing your table as both of you seemed engrossed in a captivating conversation about wines. However, I must tidy up to close and get some rest."

Wallace fumbled with his pocket watch, struggling more than usual to retrieve it. To his astonishment, the time showed one in the morning. He stared at the watch, flustered, and hastily rose to his feet, almost stumbling in his haste.

"My goodness. We completely lost track of time. We apologize for holding you back," Wallace expressed, slightly unsteady as he stood up too quickly.

Caren, not accustomed to consuming this much wine, looked at Wallace with a quizzical expression.

"It's one o'clock now," Wallace indicated, showing her his pocket watch. However, Caren, feeling slightly woozy, didn't bother to glance at it, knowing it would be futile.

The stall owner, scratching his head, gathered the empty mugs from the table. "I'm glad you enjoyed my wines. No need for apologies. I hope to see you again soon."

Wallace and Caren expressed their gratitude to the stall owner as they prepared to depart. Spending nearly five hours drinking and dining at the marketplace had surprised Wallace, even in his slightly befuddled state. He was taken aback by the unexpected length of time they had spent together.

Walking in silence towards the marketplace entrance, Wallace hoped to find the young werewolf who had promised to wait and take them back to the sanatorium. However, the desolate darkness that greeted them at the entrance dashed Wallace's hopes. They were stranded with no means of transportation back.

Caren, looking disoriented and vulnerable in the night breeze, hugged herself tightly, seeking warmth and comfort.

"I suppose all we can do now is wait," Wallace sighed, surprisingly unperturbed by his lack of awareness regarding the time. He struggled to decipher the jumble of emotions stirring within him.

After a moment of comfortable silence, a male voice interrupted from behind them. "It's quite late, and you won't find a rickshaw at this hour," said the Moonlight stall owner, carrying a sack that presumably held his day's earnings. His remark punctured their last hope of finding transport at this hour.

"Well, we need to be back at Angelwing by six in the morning. I guess staying up through the night is our only option now," Wallace remarked with a hint of jest, though it carried the weight of truth in their current situation.

The stall owner pondered for a moment before responding, "There's an inn near my house. It might not be the best place to rest, but it's certainly better than braving the cold wind all night."

Wallace looked at Caren, silently seeking her opinion. She nodded slightly, her body shivering slightly in the chill of the night breeze.

They trailed behind the stall owner towards his house, passing a small lakeside path and a few more wooden residences. Wallace couldn't recall their conversation during the walk, his sole desire now being a comfortable bed to rest upon.

The gracious stall owner guided them to the inn before retiring to his own bed. Wallace soon understood the owner's earlier hesitancy in suggesting this inn.

The elderly couple who ran the place seemed keen on extracting as many honour golds from their patrons as possible. The room rate advertised on the sign outside the inn didn't align with the fifty honour golds they demanded for a night's stay.

Choosing not to argue, Wallace paid the exorbitant fee, realizing this inn was their only available option for a few hours of sleep before their meeting with Madam Monette.

Caren hesitated at the high rate, but Wallace swiftly settled the bill for two rooms, knowing the proprietors were the type who wouldn't entertain any attempts at negotiation. After ascending the creaky stairs to the second floor, they parted ways to their rooms.

His room exuded a musty, stale odour. Wallace collapsed onto the bed; the room's unpleasant scent inconsequential in comparison to his overwhelming fatigue. He was thankful for the few mugs of wine that had softened the edges of his mind.

Lost in his thoughts, he drifted into a deep slumber. If not for the wine, he might have spent the night ruminating about Caren. Memories from Summerstone, securely tucked away for years, now resurfaced in his consciousness.

Wallace never needed much sleep to be functional and efficient the next day. He would just need to sleep off the effect of the booze in his body. He felt refreshed again when he woke up again at five o'clock in the morning. There were no windows in his room, but he trusted his biological clock so much that there was no need to look at his pocket watch. His nose wrinkled at the musty smell of the bed.

He went off to freshen up, a cold bath in the morning to regain the clarity of his mind.

He packed up his belongings after the bath and met Caren just outside his door. Caren too looked awake and energetic after a good night's sleep.

"Woke up to the damp and mouldy bed, with a few unknown insects and creatures under the bed. The worry of not being able to wake up in time before I slept was so unnecessary." Caren joked when Wallace had just stepped out of his room.

He was glad that her blue eyes were still warm and welcoming, even without the help of wines.

They had a quick breakfast before leaving for Angelwing Healing Centre. Just as Wallace had expected, the breakfast was horrible and unpalatable. The toast was as hard as a rock to just swallow without tasting the burnt parts of it. The only good thing about the inn was just the warm cider, as it helped to wash down the toast that could hardly be called - food.

Wallace and Caren finished whatever portion of the breakfast that their bodies were allowed to take in and left the inn.

They were not surprised given there were no customers at all in their tavern.

They left the inn, and it was fifteen to six. The skies outside the inn were coloured with the mesmerising yellows and reds, displaying the liveliness and vitality of the upcoming morning. Wallace did not even bother to look at the name of the inn as he was quite certain that he would not set his foot again in this inn.

Little did he know how wrong he was about this.

There were a few rickshaws parked outside of the inn, the werewolves were having a quick bite while waiting for their early morning customers. They were smart enough to buy their breakfast somewhere else other than this inn. The werewolf of the first rickshaw approached them when his mouth was still full of bread.

"Where... are you going?" He muffled through the bread and stuffed the rest of the bread and jam into his mouth.

"Angelwing Healing Centre," Caren answered.

The werewolf nodded and opened the door of his rickshaw. Wallace and Caren got into the rickshaw. The rickshaw was headed to their destination, leaving the musty bed and rock-hard toast behind them.

Their arrival was greeted by an elf doorman, and this was a different elf from yesterday. They carried no badge nor uniform to be identified as the healers from Crissaven Sanatorium, but the doorman somehow had his way to recognise them. He stepped forward and took a bow at them politely, "Madam Monette is expecting your arrival."

The distant sound of the belling tower indicated that they were just right on time.