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THERE ARE PEOPLE who shared the same interest with him—he knows that, even without his personal knowledge. With the number of the explorers in the Spice, there's bound to be someone like him, ever-looking for the evasive Fruits. But one thing he has that he is sure nobody else owned: A piece of lambskin containing the description of the Fruits, written personally by Sir Galabach himself. To where he got it is not important—it didn't matter whether it's a lie or not. But what intrigues him most is an information in the lambskin: that Sir Galabach never died, and is still living in hiding. And it has some possibility; five-hundred years is enough to change the first accounts in his travels, especially that they are few. And with the piece of lambskin in his pocket, he journeys his mind to the possibilities of where he can start. And like a flag in a game the signage of a bar is moved by a strong wind.

And for an explorer like him, no place for information is better than a bar. He goes in and directly to the bartender, a lady of strong stature and lean body, wearing a corset that made her breasts refined. A ginger hair that curls down covers her prickled straight face and long neck, her white hands wiping a piece of glass with a red cloth. "What would you like to have, mister?" she asks, in a sweet and welcoming voice.

"Apple Ale," he answers.

She smiles, "Taking care of soberness, I see. An explorer, maybe?"

Phineleo smiles back. "Or maybe it's too early for a drink."

"Maybe so," she smiles a bit wider, now with amusement. She put a glass of clear liquid in front of him, and then the sweet aroma of the apples has covered his entire head. "A glass of first-class Apple Ale."

He sips into it and runs it around his tongue, before swallowing. "A first-class Apple Ale I cannot say; but still a high class one," he comments on the drink.

"I see you're quite familiar with your drink, mister," she says. "Do you like a cup of tea?"

He is surprised by the sudden question; not because of its absurdity, but because asking a cup of tea after giving a liquor is one the explorers' code, pertaining to "I can give you information if you can give me some." And with the look in her face, she is knowledgable of the code.

Phineleo looks at one of the empty tables, and beckons the bartender to talk with him there. She asks for one of her colleagues to take over her post, and she follows him.

Settled on the table, he offers a silver coin for her information. She discreetly takes it. "Do you know of a fruit as big as coconut, with a lot of tentacle-like stems growing on its skin, and smells like roasted lamb?"

She is taken aback by his question, a sign of surprise for a knowledge one didn't know that another already has; he hits a mark. But she refuses to answer, "No, doesn't seem to be of my memory." He places another silver coin on the table, which she accepts. But she still refuses, shaking her head. Then he places a gold coin—a coin worth a hundred silver pieces, which she quickly and shakingly accepts, surprised by how much he is willing to pay for the information. And she opens her mouth, albeit whispering, "Why are you looking for such a dangerous thing?"

"That's not for me to answer," he says. "So, do you recognize such fruit?"

Reluctantly, she answers, "I've heard rumors, a score ago maybe. All the fruits were picked and sailed out from the City, leaving only one here where it belonged."

"Where does that rumor came from?" he asks. She doesn't answer, so he put another gold coin, which she accepts. He can almost see her eyes shining with his "cup of tea".