A Cold Night, Grand Plans
It was a truly cold evening in the small German village of Oberstein. Snow fell thick and fast, dusting the ancient cobblestones.
Four weary travelers, merchants returning from a long journey, pushed open the heavy wooden door of "Zum Goldenen Hirsch" tavern.
The warmth hit them like a friendly punch. The air smelled of woodsmoke, roasted meat, and strong beer.
They peeled off their heavy cloaks, stomped snow from their boots, and found a table near the crackling fireplace.
"Ah, finally," sighed Klaus, the leader of their small group. "A proper meal awaits."
"Indeed," chimed in Horst, a man with a booming laugh. "I could eat a whole roasted boar myself!"
The others nodded in agreement, their stomachs rumbling loudly.
They didn't call for the innkeeper right away. Instead, they leaned in, their voices dropping to a low buzz.
"First," said Klaus, tapping the table, "we shall have the largest roasted boar Anton has. The one with the crackling skin."
"And plenty of dark beer!" added Günther, eyes gleaming. "At least four flagons each, perhaps five!"
Fritz, the youngest, piped up, "And for dessert, Anton’s famous apple strudel! With extra cream!"
They mapped out their entire feast. They discussed the side dishes, the specific vintage of wine. They even debated the exact cost, each pulling coins from their pouches, estimating the bill.
"I say it will be a tidy sum, but worth every Pfennig!" declared Horst, already raising an imaginary tankard.
They made plans for their night, for their departure in the morning. They envisioned every detail of their perfect evening.
All the while, Anton, the innkeeper, a man with a stern face and watchful eyes, cleaned tankards behind the bar.
He heard snatches of their conversation. He saw their excited gestures. He simply watched, a faint, knowing smirk playing on his lips.
The Innkeeper's Cold Reality
After a good twenty minutes of intense planning, Klaus finally clapped his hands. "Right! Let us summon Anton and place our magnificent order!"
Just then, Anton, as if on cue, walked over to their table, a damp cloth slung over his shoulder.
"Good evening, gentlemen," he said, his voice flat. "What can I get you?"
Klaus, puffed up with confidence from their elaborate planning session, gestured grandly.
"Anton, my good man! We've decided! We shall have your grand roasted boar, the largest you have! And no fewer than twenty flagons of your finest dark beer! For dessert, four of your exquisite apple strudels, extra cream for all!"
He finished with a flourish, expecting Anton to rush to the kitchen, delighted by such a lucrative order.
Anton, however, simply stared at them. His smirk grew a little wider, though it held no humor.
"Roasted boar?" he repeated slowly. "Gentlemen, we ran out of boar two days ago. The hunter has not returned from the forest."