Somewhere, someone was cooking meat. Jonas breathed in deeply, the smell causing his mind to wander and his mouth to water.
“That sure smells good, doesn’t it, boy?” Jonas asked Flint who paused his trotting to sniff the air. The growlithe wiggled and let out a small ruff before quickening his pace to match Jonas’s.
“I know,” Jonas said with a sigh, “but I don’t think that’s for us.” He looked up and down the dusty road, and sighed again. No automobiles in sight. Not that it mattered. He and Flint had seen plenty of traffic in the two days since their encounter with Eleanor; shiny black cars that sped by without even a hint of slowing. Flint chased each one, barking happily, eliciting smiles from Jonas every time. But as much as he enjoyed watching Flint play with the passing strangers, Jonas longed for the kindness of people like Hank, who had given them a ride to Kepler. What he wouldn’t give to see a beat up old farm truck come sputtering down the dirt road.
He stepped off the road and sank down into the grass, rummaging through his rucksack. Checking the berry pouch, he was disappointed to see the same thing that had been there the last three times he had looked; a couple of shriveled bitter ganlon berries rolling around in the bottom. He shook his head, frustrated and more than a little ashamed. In his haste to leave home, he had packed what he assumed to be enough for Flint and himself to reach Nova City. Their duo, however, had quickly become a trio, and Jonas kicked himself for not being better prepared. He glanced at Dash’s pokéball, wondering what it was like inside, and if the pokémon was even capable of being hungry when in his ball.
Scooping out one of the berries, he held out his hand to Flint who swallowed the berry down almost immediately, before shaking his head in disgust.
“I know it isn’t very good, buddy. I’m sorry.” Jonas stood again, his stomach growling. Ignoring the noise, and the empty feeling that accompanied it, Jonas started walking yet again, hoping with everything in him that food would be easier to find in the city. They hadn’t been on the road very long before they came to a fork, a weathered wooden sign stood in the dirt, leaning slightly on its post.
NOVA CITY ↑ 5 Miles
PISCES VILLAGE → 1/4 Miles
A sudden smile formed, first in Jonas’s eyes, his mouth quickly catching up. We’re almost there, he thought, imagining the sights of Nova City. Gurdurr and Conkeldurr carrying supplies to working men as they constructed the Nova Tower for the upcoming World’s Fair. The towering smokestacks of Steel Innovations as the factory worked to create the future. The observatory, where he hoped to run into Eleanor again, which he could only imagine was an interesting place.
“We’ll be able to help dad soon, buddy,” he smiled down at Flint who barked in determined agreement. With a nod, Jonas turned toward Nova City. “Just you wait, dad. Help is coming soon.”
Hunger pangs racked Jonas’s body, and he faltered mid-step. Glancing back at the sign, he breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of cooking meat. It’s just a quarter of a mile. That’s not too far off our path…
“You know what Flint? How about a little detour first?” Jonas asked, turning down the lane that led to Pisces Village. Nova City would wait, but he didn’t think that finding food could.
***
Pisces Village emerged into view through trees and bushes, and Jonas jogged the last few yards as he approached, hoping desperately that the cooking meat was close by. The village was small and quaint, and Jonas was immediately reminded of Canis Creek. Squat wooden buildings were scattered around a town square that rested close to the banks of a large shimmering lake. Packed dirt lanes split off from the square leading to the nearby shops and, Jonas assumed, eventually to homes. Pennant banners hung between shops in blue and white, and windsocks depicting dragonair, gyarados, and milotic danced on the gentle breeze. Flint barked playfully as children raced around the square, darting between shops and stands while their parents meandered nearby, and for the first time since he left, Jonas felt a twinge of homesickness. Taking in the sights, Jonas momentarily forgot his hunger.
He quickly remembered however, when he saw a stand nearby, where a short simian pokémon with red-orange fur turned a spit over a flame, large wedges of pinkish meat roasting over the fire. A rotund bald man smiled from behind the counter where a sign hung.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Slowpoke Tails
¥300
2 for ¥500
Jonas’s heart sank. In addition to forgetting to pack food, he had also forgotten money to pay for food. He stared longingly at the meat cooking over the fire, the pink taking on a darker red hue as it seared. His mouth watered while he thought, trying to come up with a plan. Back in Canis Creek, he remembered people simply trading for goods and services. Jonas himself had put in hours of work at Forrester’s dairy in exchange for milk. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out his two remaining pokéballs and approached the stand.
“Excuse me, sir? I was wondering if you’d be interested in a trade.” Jonas said quietly, hoping no one around him heard. He was unsure of why he felt embarrassed. After all, the balls had been made through good, honest, hard work, and he was proud of his craft. Still, he felt a little silly not using money like everyone else. The bald man eyed his pokéballs, a thin frown forming on his face.
“I’m sorry, young’n. I only deal in cash. ‘Sides, even if I did take trades, I don’t reckon I’m much in the market for pokéballs. Pansear here is about more’n I can keep up with!” he chuckled at that last part, the monkey chattering indignantly.
“Now, hold on there, Ed. Those balls look like they’re well made. I’d say this young man’s a decent hand. That right?” a tall man with a thick white beard approached from behind Jonas. He wore a battered cap, and his face was wrinkled and tan, but he seemed powerful despite his age.
“Um….yes sir.” Jonas managed after a moment of silence. He didn’t like boasting about his own work, but it was true. His father had taught him about selecting apricorns and crafting balls. He had spent his entire life surrounded by the craft, it was only natural that he would pick up the trade.
“Good help is hard to come by these days. I tell you what son, I’ll put you to work for me if you let me buy you lunch. Now mind, it won’t be making pokéballs. Might be harder work than you’re used to, but I figure a man should be given the chance to work for honest pay,” the bearded man smiled at Jonas, extending a calloused hand which Jonas shook, noticing how firm his grip was.
“Thanks a lot, sir. My name is Jonas.”
“Silas,” the man nodded. “Ed, two slowpoke tails for young Jonas here and his growlithe. We’ve got work to do.”
***
Sitting on a bench in the town square, Jonas wiped the grease from his hands onto his pants, enjoying the feeling of a full stomach for the first time in three days. At his feet, Dash whirred happily, shredding the piece of meat Jonas had dropped for him. Flint stretched out on the dirt beside Dash, yawning contentedly before returning to chewing on his own hunk of slowpoke tail. Seeing his pokémon resting and enjoying a nice meal, a weight lifted from Jonas’s shoulders.
“Looks like you’re all fed now,” Silas said, his joints popping as he stood from his seat on the bench beside Jonas. “Reckon it’s time to get to work, if we plan on accomplishing anything.”
“Yes sir,” Jonas said with a smile, rising to stand beside Silas. He was eager to pay back the man’s kindness “What kind of work have you got in mind?”
“Well, I’m sure you can tell this ain’t a normal day in Pisces Village. After all, we don’t normally have food stalls and decorations all over town.”
Jonas nodded enthusiastically, not admitting that a food vendor was what had drawn him to the village in the first place.
“We’re right in the middle of our fishing festival,” Silas continued. “Every year, folks from here in the village, and even strangers from other parts of the region gather round here to pay our respects to the lake, and give thanks for the bounty it’s given us all these years. Of course, no fishing festival would be complete without a fishing tournament. You much of a fisherman, son?”
Jonas thought back to lazy summer afternoons, sitting with his father in the shade on the banks of the Canis Creek, lines drifting in the water. As an energetic child, Jonas never had the patience for fishing. Instead, his rod would end up on the bank of the creek while he played nearby, tossing rocks at the rookidee that came too close. His father however, was an excellent fisherman, and more often than not, they returned home with a stringer full of feebas, and the occasional barboach.
“I’m afraid not,” Jonas said sheepishly, eyes downcast.
“That’s too bad. But it’s never too late to learn! Rods and reels! Hooks! Bait! Just you wait, Jonas! Before this day is through, you’ll be a seasoned fisherman.” Silas said with a grin. Jonas nodded, the old man’s enthusiasm catching.
“Is that so?” Jonas asked. “Exactly what kind of work are we doing?”
“Well, these old hands ain’t what they used to be, Jonas. And there’s something I’ve been aiming to do for a long time. Ain’t been able to do it for years. Every year, there’s always some young upstart winning the fishing tournament with a whiscash or a magikarp that got too big. Last year there was talk that somebody saw a gyarados, but I’ve been on this lake all my life and never seen anything of the sort.” Silas paused for a moment, looking pensive. “No sir, I just ain’t as young as I used to be,” he repeated, quieter this time. Jonas narrowed his eyes in thought.
“And so…you want me to help you win the fishing tournament this year? Is your plan to find that gyarados?” Jonas asked, sending Silas into a long and loud bout of laughter.
“Son, I just told you. Ain’t never seen a gyarados in these parts. We’re going to win that fishing tournament, alright, but we ain’t going to do it by catching no gyarados. No sir, what I’ve got in mind is better than that. We’re going to win by catching the King of the Lake!”