Joe strolled into town, nodding at the farmers already out weeding their fields on the western side of Chicory Harbour. Even if wheat and sugarcane was less intensive than rice farming, it still was bloody hard work. Joe remembered a section in one of Malcolm Gladwell's books, where he talked about the differing culture that rice farming instilled vs wheat farming. Basically, rice farming was far more generous to the worker who paid attention to fine detail, and far more punishing to those who didn't.
Wheat farming and sugarcane were both still hard work and required a deft hand, but there was a little more room for error. He had no idea where Chicory farming sat on that scale.
He stopped to ask.
He nodded at some workers in a nearby patch of chicory. The blue daisy-like stalks swayed in the early morning breeze. A younger female farm worker in her twenties was pulling weeds along with a man in his forties, possibly her dad. Both of them had sky blue hair, the same colour as the chicory flowers. The older man's was ragged and growing wild, his beard unkempt. The younger woman's was in a neat bob cut.
'Morning.' Joe called out. 'You blokes need a hand?'
The older man frowned. 'Who are you?'
'Joe. Just set up shop on that big hill over there.' Joe winked cheerily.
The older man's frown deepened. 'Ain't nothing but bad luck on that mountain. We don't need you bringing it here.'
'Dad!' Said the female farmer and punched his arm. 'Free labour is free labour.' She gave Joe a fox-like grin. 'Name's Charlotte. I'm sure we can find a use for you.'
Joe settled in and followed Charlotte's directions. There wasn't much too it initially, just pulling any plants that weren't chicory from the soil.
'What if I pull out a new chicory plant by mistake?' Joe asked.
'Oh bless your heart Joe.' Charlotte chuckled. 'Chicory is tough, settles in for the long haul and plants deep tap roots. It only takes a gust of wind to blow new seeds nearby and they proliferate like wildfire. Most of the chicory is grown on the west side of town in the poorer fields near the road. The other farmers get mad at us when our plants try to take over their crops. Chicory doesn't even mind the salt they use on the roads in winter. '
Joe felt Greg's eyes boring into his back, he turned around and gave him a thumbs up. Greg grunted and muttered something about 'bad luck'.
'Don't mind Greg, he's an old sour-puss.' Charlotte said and stuck out her tongue.
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Greg grumbled and moved further down the field. His hands ripped at weeds with fury and words muttered under his breath at a furious pace.
'Truth is, bad things happened to the last farmer up on the mountain. He was a good friend of dad's and well, dad hasn't really ever dealt with it. Just kept on farming. Still misses having a beer with mister Blinding Leaf.' Charlotte shook her head. 'Even the tavern has jacked up its prices lately so a lot of his friends stopped going.'
Joe quirked his eyebrow. 'Blinding Leaf?'
'Yeah, he was a bit of an odd sort. Named himself like one of those cultivators from the big city, but didn't do much other than herd goats.' Charlotte nodded, her calloused hands ripping out a resilient weed. 'The only magic I ever saw him do was the one time he bathed in the river. The amount of dirt on him normally, he came out looking like he'd transformed.'
'Cultivators?' Joe asked.
'Where the heck are you from?' Charlotte paused. 'Everyone knows about cultivators.'
Joe shrugged. 'Over the sea.'
Charlotte pursed her lips. 'Well there's not too many of them I suppose but most of the noble houses have a couple. They say they can do all sorts of magic things. Summon fireballs. Throw wind that cuts sharp. There is even supposed to be one of the royal family who can run on the air. When he moves fast enough its like he's flying.' Charlotte's eyes glazed over and she stared up at the clouds.
Joe paused, a world with magic? Wouldn't that be a thing to learn? Summoning great earthen golems, cutting down enemies with strikes of wind, or water-bending like in Avatar.
Nah, stuff that noise. He didn't need to get caught up in the schemes of some Young Master, or be given a quest by a god to root out some cult of evil-doers. You never saw one of those heroes lugging around their own espresso machine on their backs. They'd be away from top-notch coffee for weeks at a time. Plus who would feed his goat?
No, he had his own quest to complete and it involved steam, pressure and a visit to the local blacksmiths. He knew that he could engineer some sort of steampunk coffee machine, even if he had to recruit one of these cultivator types.
After he got some coffee actually growing first.
He stood up and brushed his hands off. 'Well thanks for the pointers, ma'am. I don't think chicory will grow as well on the mountain, but its good to start to understand the local ecosystem and its weeds. I'll swing by on the way back after pastries.'
'Pastries you say?' Charlotte said, that fox-like grin appearing on her face again.
Greg lumbered over and crossed his arms. 'Come on Charlotte, next field needs doing. Your...friend needs to be on his way.'
Joe slapped Greg on the shoulder, and it was like hitting a rock wall. 'All right, I'll be seeing you round. Chazza, Greggos.' Joe walked away, whistling to himself.
Greg watched him walk into town, jaw clenched. The older man looked down at his daughter and grimaced. 'I don't want him coming round here Charlotte.' Greg said. 'Bad luck.'
'Dad...free labour. You love free labour.' Charlotte gestured her hands out wide.
Greg ripped a chicory plant right out of the ground, dusted off its roots and took a bite. 'That mountain brings nothing but ill fortune. Just ask Beth and Andry.'
Charlotte frowned. Then she smiled wide. 'You're right, I'll go ask Beth! I'll see you after pastries!' She yelled out, running off before Greg could get another word out.
He bit into his chicory root and spat out a small clod of dirt. 'Don't know why she needs pastries.' Greg chewed the hard root in his mouth and paused.
'Greggos?'