The Slime Farmer - 105 The Blessing Feast 3 of 3

Despite the fact that there was no hour set for arrival and people simply dropped by the homestead at their leisure, Defi kept an eye on the dock and the road even while making rounds of the gathering.

It was not precisely needed in Ascharon, but greeting the people who came was something he felt should be done.

More than simple politeness, he wanted to create a more solid social foundation.

It was one of the advantages Ymirin had over him; she had a knack for people that he utterly lacked. Her web of acquaintances likely stretched the length of the Indar River by now, from where the Indar split from the great river running all the way to the capital.

Being a slime farmer was an eccentricity – he had already heard people talking. An eccentric, harmless and likely to be bankrupt at such a young age, poor thing.

It was a fair enough footing to build on.

But then, in keeping with the greetings, he realized he knew more people in the Lowpool than he thought.

Admittedly, most of them were brief acquaintances but a small but not insignificant portion of his meeting a number of Lowpool denizens were in some unexpectedly intense circumstances that they stood out more vividly in memory.

Clearly they thought the same of him.

Natan pulling him into the mounted search party had made him known to the city guard and the Lowpool hunters.

The smuggler incident and Defi’s slimes gobbling up several seakrait had spread a favourable reputation in the docks and the northeastern farms across the lake. This also made him known to some of the town council.

The mayor and most of the town council attending a simple blessing feast would definitely engender some talk, he thought as he smiled politely at her and Edlar, who was the first person in the entourage behind her.

The mayor’s secretary greeted him with a slightly apologetic smile.

Defi didn’t trust that smile. The last time Edlar the secretary smiled like that, Defi had been paraded across a stage like a showdog.

Kaska, the town councillor Defi had the most contact with, elbowed his way past Edlar and grasped Defi’s shoulders. “Where’s that slime of yours, eh? What’s this about a slime farm, are you planning an army of your own?”

Turq was better off in the basement with the others.

There were too many curious children running around the homestead at the moment. The slime would only be poked and prodded near to death.

Especially if it exploded in that now familiar defensive manner. An exploding slime; he had known the orphanage children long enough to understand that the young children would see the explosions as fun.

Defi didn’t want Turq to die from lack of internal moisture.

“If I planned an army of slimes, I wouldn’t tell you. Please be welcome.” The second sentence was offered to Kaska’s companions.

Not viable, was the conclusion. They would strip the surrounding lands and waters of anything edible. Enough slimes to equate an enemy army would beggar a kingdom even if the slimes ate the enemy.

A battlefield full of giant slimes, with dissolving flesh and bone visible within their confines…

He immediately pushed the thought away and resolved not to eat for a while.

Seeing the mayor and the council contingent disperse among the guests, he sighed inwardly. People would think he had backing after this.

That was not such a bad thing, he consoled himself.

His detractors would be wary about showing themselves so openly if they thought he had someone standing behind him. That was a good thing. The bad thing was, if they didn’t show themselves clearly how would he decisively put them down?

What a pity, he lamented briefly.

The potentially problematic question was: Why would the mayor make such a move?

She already knew of his collaboration with Bluzand, seeing as a Tesorium account needed a recommendation from the mayor’s office of the town or city the applicant lived in.

Surely that wasn’t enough to garner regard from someone like the mayor? She wasn’t someone to be moved by money or influence, Defi knew that much.

He could simply ask her, one part of him suggested.

The moment the thought formed, Defi immediately hunted it down and killed it.

Who just went out and asked about someone’s motives? A foolish idiot who was asking to die or be cheated out of even the clothes on his back, that’s who.

Before Defi could internally berate himself more, another party docked.

He stepped forward and reached his arm out to help Emer, the woodcarver who made his fish sculpture, out of the boat.

“I’m glad to see you again. Be welcome.”

*

Most of the guests arrived just before noon or right after it. Most left within two hours of arriving, after complementing the food and the building, poking around the new bath-house pools, the oddly-shaped configuration of the slime pens in the warehouse, the pretty bridge.

However, what drew most of the people was the receiving hall. They did not stay long, and a goodly number simply peeked in before leaving, but everyone took a chance to check out the hall.

Aire, after she and the others of the orphanage arrived, had marched directly to the house and did not manage to hide all her relief when she saw it.

“A bit sparse,” she said. “but you’re a man. It can’t be helped.”

Lergen, who was inspecting his fish sculpture on the large mantel of the fireplace, made a half-hearted noise of protest.

Defi looked up from an earnest discussion with the children who had begun learning combat arts under him. Apparently they had been using the orphanage’s large yard to practice in the mornings and the other students that weren’t of the orphanage had joined them there.

“Better than you expected, is it?”

He had moved his studies to an empty bedroom, though the shelves of books were still standing in the hall. Markar had immediately buried himself in one of the chairs with a book in hand.

Aire answered his deliberately smug look with a mock-condescending air. “It’s not the best, but it’ll do.”

Lergen had quickly ushered his wife out to help with various things before they really got into it.

Tholme, one of the builders who worked under Karles, then dragged him away to the area where the tavern-workers were serving ale and sample drinks under the direction of Berolt and Rocso.

They passed Jast, the owner of the glyphmaking shop, grumpily playing a board game with Karis, the clerk at the town hall, with onlookers cheering or booing their moves.

Defi wondered where the board game came from.

The dice and cards at the next tables over were more self-explanatory.

Fabar, the elder of the farm north of Defi’s homestead, grinned wickedly over his cards as Tholme manhandled him into a seat and went off to buy drinks.

“You look like you can’t bluff your way out of a sack,” he sneered.

Defi’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Orain, the librarian, who was casually twirling one of the wooden cards between long fingers, contemplating all of them.

“Deal me in.”

Lemat peered up from his cards, grin widening manically. “Gambling now? I wouldn’t have thought it of you.”

“What are we playing for?” Defi asked instead of answering him.

“Loser fetches the next round, drinks two portions instead of one.”

It was one of the tracker-soldiers from the caravan scouting group.

What was her name again? Defi could not properly remember, but it began with an E.

He nodded and accepted the cards that Orain dealt him.

“So,” he smiled as sheepishly as he could. “How do you play this game again?”

The table burst into smiles and laughter, their eyes bright as those of hunting cats and their teeth showing. Fangs, in the case of a couple of others.

“Oldest trick in history!”

“Who’ll fall for that these days?!”

Defi flashed his own toothy smile. “You never know.”

They laughed harder, and their eyes glowed brighter.

An hour later, he had drunk the least amount of ale and still needed to use the outhouse or the latrines. He excused himself from the table, to good-natured cheers and groans.

Defi ambled away, slightly tipsy.

The best way to learn something is to throw yourself into it.

*

In the later parts of the afternoon, as the sun was lowering itself tiredly into the cradle of distant mountains, the gathering turned a bit more raucous.

Voices and laughter grew louder and brawls started. The younger children started being ushered home.

Defi waded into a few brawls himself, the ones that looked to be becoming dangerous, to defuse them. He didn’t try and stop people from starting the fights.

He pushed past the slight dizziness from drinking so much ale and once more lingered near the docks and helped people to their boats, making sure there were people who were more or less sober enough to steer in each party.

The final chanting started at sundown, led by Singers, around the ring of fires that had been used for cooking. The fires were kindled higher and larger, stronger; they flickered and danced to the chanting.

Those who were left in the homestead all gathered to watch as the Singers sang the flames.

Once again, it was like the chants were timed to the beating of his heart.

Defi leaned back against one of the makeshift chairs hewn out of trees in the nearby wood, listening quietly.

The day had tired him out, but it had been a good day, a productive one.

His hand went to the thick leather belt, fished out an item he had not taken out since the first time he saw it.

The Tesorium merchant token glittered dully in the firelight. He studied it, a thumb running over the design engraved on the metal.

Defi af Gargehom of Sottolac.

Defi of the Lowpool.

Ascharonian.

The moon of Ascharon shone over him, and the songs of Ascharon rang in his ears.

He clenched his fingers around the token tightly, conflicted, letting the cold metal edges dig harshly into his flesh. His sudden longing for home still coursed through him unable to be curtailed.

“Defi?”

Someone tapped his shoulder, and a few bodies sat down around him.

Boone, Renne, some of the other students.

“We’ve come to report our progress,” Mureil said seriously.

The others protested and groaned.

Boone laughed softly beside him, the pride of an older brother in his tone, despite not having siblings and only knowing the others for some weeks, inviting Defi to share the dubious blessing of being the two oldest people in the group.

Defi loosened his grip on the token, and listened to them babble.

He huffed in amusement after a while. Only Mureil was solemnly reporting the results of the training he told them to do.

Around the group, the enduring fires chased away the chill of the evening, and infused warmth into his body.