Swiss Arms 91 (Patreon)

Swiss Arms

Chapter 91

-VB-

Count John of Toggenburg-Sargans

The life of a count differed greatly than his life as Hans’s ward nor was it as busy as he expected it to be after looking at Hans lived everyday.

Hans was busy. If he wasn’t working with people, then he was working on his own projects. When he wasn’t doing either of those, then he was down in the mines or spending time with his wife. Whenever a dispute broke out, he was at the forefront of it to solve and write out more rules and laws so that the people wouldn’t need him to intervene for every little land dispute or whatever else. If that wasn’t enough, then he was training with the rangers and militiamen. He inspected mines. Inspected the workshops. Talked with the foreigners that settled in his lands.

Always doing something, Hans was.

John felt like a clown next to what he saw and now expect from his own station. He was a count, someone who stood two ranks above his foster father.

He trained with his men-at-arms (they were weaker than the Fluelaberg militiamen), solved disputes in his lands (they were far simpler), negotiated with the neighboring lords (it wasn’t even challenging compared to what IsaBitch made him do), and spent time with his family (mother disapproved of him for not wanting revenge against Hans; that would be “stupid as fuck” and why would he want to fight the man who was more of a father to him than his own blood father ever was?).

But what he did was not even a quarter of what Hans did every day. It made him ask why he didn’t. It made him question why everyone did anything they did the way they did ever.

It was a rabbit hole that ended with him sending a letter to Hans.

And Hans’s response?

‘You’re thinking too much.’

The letter explained far more in-depth what Hans meant by the one-liner he started the letter off with, not even a “hi.”

From Hans’s perspective, John was trying to hard when there was nothing to hold all of that effort in. He felt a need to do something but there was nothing that could satisfy that need. It was alright to want to be his equal, but everything needed to start from the ground up.

John had none of the skills, adoring populace, and need. So build the need, practice the skills, and gain the respect of the people.

“Milord, a cup of water.”

“Ah, thanks,” he replied as he took the cup of water from one of his man-at-arms/”secretary” and drank. The cup of cool water managed to satisfy him a little, and he hummed as he handed the cup back while lightly swaying atop his horse.

He didn’t know what he needed to do, so he decided that, since Hans sent a letter about staying in Churs for the election of the Prince-Bishop, he would go and seek advice personally.

Then he saw one of his horsemen riding quickly toward him. When the man rode next to him and bowed, he gestured the man to speak.

“Milord, the Baron of Maienfeld wishes to speak with you.”

The Baron of Maienfeld…? Maienfeld was a member of the Compact, but by no means did they seek independence from their liege lord. But if he remembered correctly, that baron had locked himself into his castle during the Unruly Year and did absolutely nothing while it was his peasants and merchants who rose up to fight at the time. He was an absolute disgrace of a noble of the empire.

“Did he ask why?”

“From what I understand, he wished to sell you the rights to the barony.”

That … That was interesting.

He thought about it.

Perhaps he could use this chance to gain some of what he had been seeking.

He raised a fist into the air and his secretary quickly blew his horn to call the caravan to a stop. Turning to the messenger, he nodded. “Tell him to come and meet me.”

-VB-

Yusef ibn Zallau, a Moroccan Merchant

A year ago, he’d heard rumors of a mountain city deep within Christian lands that managed to copy the Far Eastern porcelain. A rumor it may have been but Yusef came from a long lineage of merchants who made journeys to India often, and he grew up living with examples of chinas in his family’s manor.

So when he saw a china that wasn’t a china, he knew that he needed to investigate.

With blessings and support from his father, he left on a journey from his hometown in Fas. His journey first took him to the Christian trade city of Amalfi. The once great and independent city was where he met his partner of the journey, a man named Giovanni Gioia, who was extremely interested in the rumors of knowledge that the very same city that Yusef wanted to visit.

And so, they sailed from Amalfi, landed on Ancona to confirm the rumor, and finally, landed on Venezia.

There, he found hundreds of chinas that came from the mountain city. The Venezians called the origin of these not china chinas “Fluelaberg.”

Yusef pushed onward with his partner. He braved the cold winter that reminded him of winters of al-Adras. His travels took him over the foothills and through valleys made by mountains that grew taller and taller every time he looked up. The mountains of Fas could not compare to these behemoths. He braved through peaks and troughs of the mountains and finally, he arrived.

He looked down at the city further down the valley that stretched across the entire width of the valley. From afar, the city did not look like the origin of the rumors. In fact, it looked less prosperous and rich as Venezia. Looking at that city, he felt betrayed. Had he traveled so far for so little?

But he traveled with his pack mules at Giovanni’s urges, and they made their way to the gate house.

The gatehouse looked normal… until he found himself looking at an Arab man among the four guards there.

“... As-salamu ‘alaykum,” he chanced. The Arab guard noticed, and immediately, the other guards let him talk.

“Wa alaykum s-salam, brother,” the man replied with a smile of a man who found family in an unexpected place. “You are far from home!”

“So are you, and as a gate guard in Christian land!”

“Ah,” the man looked sheepish. “A lot of things happened in my life, but I am happy where I am now.” He said as he extended a hand. Yusef shook that hand in a daze. “You must be a merchant. Are you here for the chinas?”

“I am,” he replied. Was he dreaming? Why was there an Arab - a true believer - this deep within Christian lands?

“Then you will find safe refuge among our fellow believers in the Northern District. Go. Anyone in the street will happily help you, though please do not be rude.” There was a pause. “Also, I need to check your luggage.”

“Please, by all means.”

He and Giovanni went through the checkpoint easily and he found himself inside a city that was far more bustling than he originally thought. Sure, it wasn’t as packed or busy as Venezia, Ancona, Amalfi, or Fas, but for a city this high up in the mountains? It was bustling.

He kept a tight grip on his mules’ reins as he made his way through the crowd, and managed to get direction from someone along the way.

And just like the guard had assured him, he found refuge in the “Northern District,” where he found practicing brothers and sisters in Allah.

… Just what was this city?

---

“The Christian noble lord of the city does not care?” Yusef asked in disbelief.

“He does not,” the inn owner replied with a shake of his head before he gave the man the drink he recommended.

“This is very different from Aybiria…” he muttered as he raised the cup and took a sip.

And he almost slammed it down.

“Brother, why have you given me alcohol?!” he asked in shock.

The inn owner looked in surprise before bursting out in laughter.

“That is not alcohol! Smell it, friend.”

He did and blushed when the drink did not smell anything like the haram drink that the Christians always drank.

“I … I apologize. I thought it was alcohol from how it fizzled in my mouth.”

The inn owner nodded. “That is nothing to forgive, friend. That is a drink that the lord of the city made. He calls it cabona.”

“Cabona…” Yusef muttered as he took a sip. It sparkled all the way down his throat and he let out a shudder at the sensation. “It is new.”

“It is!”

Others in the tavern chuckled and laughed. Yusef gave them all and the inn owner a half-hearted glare as it became clear to him that they had a bit of fun at his expense.

Well, the first drink was free on the house for all newcomers, so he couldn’t be too upset about it.

And this … cabona.

It was unique.

It was a drink of sensation that did not affect the mind.

It and the chinas he saw on the market could be profitable.

-VB-

A/N: a bit of worldbuilding.