The road to Tarton was paved according to empirical standard. Great costs had been paid for the labour of digging a shallow trench, filling it with rocks and sand, then laying pavers over the top. These 'High Roads' - as they were deemed - spanned across the length of Mauria, connecting cities and towns.
Unfortunately, they did not go out to little farms.
As Yakob saw it, there were two options to get to Tarton. He could route directly east from the family farm for a seven day travel, or follow the river north to Botre Village as his parents suggested, then cut east along the High Road. The second option would add an extra few days of travel, but Plunket wouldn't have to struggle through wilderness. Plus, Arria lived in Botre Village.
So, Yakob directed Plunket to the north. He left his brother behind to work on the farm with his parents. His thoughts were on how he would go about teaching Amos - an illiterate meathead - to read. It was a strange request from him. Amos had never shown any interest in pursuits of the mind before.
Yakob got excited about visiting libraries and bookshops in Tarton, and even thought about asking his university correspondent there for recommendations. He tried to curb his enthusiasm, though. He didn't want to scare Amos off by being overbearing, but if he could read, then they could talk about books together!
The road north - if it could be called that - mimicked the path of the Armastan River. Botre Village was situated on an elbow of the waterway, so the most common method of travel was to catch a canoe as it went past. The owners of these canoes and coracles made a pretty penny off weary travellers and farmers who needed to get to town quickly.
Yakob had planned to take Plunket up the Armastan. A man named Jasper owned a wide canoe, perfect for horses and other animals. Doing so would have cut the travel time to Botre Village in half, but he would still have to make his way to Tarton on horseback.
When he hailed Jasper to the river bank, Yakob searched the travel pack for his coin purse.
Not there.
He searched Plunket's saddlebags. Not there.
He turned out his pockets, increasingly frantic. No chimes.
"Sorry, boy!" cried Jasper from the river. He didn't seem sorry. "No chimes, no travel!"
"Jasper, please. You know I'm good for it!" Yakob shouted back at him.
Jasper just shook his head, the only thing on his mind was a piece of gold or a MutaGem. Yakob didn't have the skill nor the time to slay any beasts for a MutaGem, but even if he did, Jasper wouldn't carry change for it. One MutaGem was worth at least fifty chimes, depending on its quality.
Yakob wouldn't debase himself by pleading with someone like Jasper. Besides, the greedy man had already left Yakob behind and begun pushing his way upstream with a pole. Yakob remounted Plunket and patted her neck.
"Looks like the long way, girl," he said.
Plunket snorted in annoyance.
"Spoiled thing," Yakob laughed. He promised her treats for the extra effort, and they set off.
The road was more of a suggestion than anything else. It was a stretch of well trodden dirt that meandered through patches of grassland and cut around fields in the general direction of Botre Village.
Yakob spent most of his time reading his notes, talking nonsense to Plunket, daydreaming about Arria, and fantasising about her delicious baked goods.
It was so strange, he could swear he had packed his purse.
...
After a week or so of travel, the sun rose bright and cheery on the day Yakob arrived at the farming village of Botre. The dusty road had given way to cobbles. Plunket's hooves clip-clopped down the streets of the quaint village. People here knew Yakob, and they called out greetings to him. He dutifully waved back with a smile each time.
The buildings in Botre were spaced out evenly, letting pillars of sunlight cascade onto the road between them. Wooden shutters were thrown open to let morning air circulate, and the scent of breakfast emanated from every dwelling. The businesses weren't to open until later in the day, as one may find common in smaller towns.
The centre of town was a large open space filled with markets. It was as bustling as a village like Botre could manage - which was not very. Still, Yakob dismounted and led Plunket through the stalls from her bridle.
They weaved and dodged around oblivious shoppers perusing the wares of the temporary market stalls. Fruits and vegetables were on offer aplenty. Freshly milled flour was sold alongside wheat seeds. There were herbs, flowers, honey, elixirs, and cheeses on offer. Yakob didn't give any of it a second glance. He was really only here for one reason, so he made his way directly to Arria's bakery.
The sweet smell of pastries filled the air on approaching the bakery. Yakob knew where he was going, but he still let his nose lead him. Plunket's muzzle wiggled back and forth, sniffing the air in expectation.
"For once, our goals are aligned," Yakob said to the mule.
Arria's bakery stood tall, blocking the rising sun from view. The bottom floor was made of granite, imported from the southern mountains. The windows had iron lattice on the outside, which caught the sunlight brilliantly. The upper floor was stucco and timber, similar to Yakob's farmhouse room. The pattern of orange shingles on the roof was disturbed by a great chimney reaching to the sky. There was a pictogrammatic sign hanging from clips on an iron pole that extended past the door and above the street. It showed a loaf of bread and a fruit pie.
The great bread oven was situated out the front of the house. The porch was covered by a small striped tarp and had a few benches where steaming loaves of bread lay already. The more desirable (and expensive) sweets and pastries were covered with mesh to keep away the flies. Arria herself tended the stall. Her back was turned as Yakob and Plunket approached eagerly.
She was a tall girl, and had to stoop to reach the peel to the back of the oven. She wore a light green dress, a simple cut. Over the top was the apron Yakob had given her last time he visited. It wasn't like the ones they had on the farm, hard leather for hard work, rather a gentle fabric with flowers embroidered on the front.
"Nice apron!" Yakob called out by way of greeting, "Where'd you get it?"