The Slime Farmer - 113 The World, a Vicious Hussy

A boar-lizard was one of the best land-based draft animals in Ascharon.

But horses had two advantages: one, the way the boar-lizard’s legs stuck out of its body meant it was difficult to lead into narrow trails. Two, the boar-lizard bred rarely, with only one offspring in two or three years, making horses and mules cheaper and more widespread in number.

The boar-lizard’s extreme aversion to cold could be simply overcome by glyphs, so it was not as insurmountable a disadvantage as the two others.

The boar-lizard was most efficient on roads, and could pull twice or thrice more than the strongest horses, which was why military and merchants prized it for their convoys and caravans.

The road from the town to the Garge homestead was wide enough for two wagons to walk abreast.

It was a curious fact, considering that much of the land near the original homestead was forest and woodland. There was no reason for such a wide and well-built road.

“There used to be many trappers in these parts,” Barham explained, when Defi pointed it out inquisitively. “Some waterfowl, some rockboar. Muskrabbit mostly. A common animal, but prized for fur and horn oil. There are still some in the imperial woods, and some farms raise the animal, but muskrabbit hasn’t been seen near the Lowpool for a hundred years now.”

Apparently, though fishing had long been a staple profession in the Lowpool for centuries, the homesteads along the river-road used to be greatly dedicated to hunting muskrabbit, turning to farming and other pursuits when muskrabbit numbers declined drastically some hundred years back.

Along the river road, there were still several of the original homesteads remaining, though none housed the original families. The rest of the homesteads had been broken up and sold.

The Garge homestead, before Leraine forced it on Defi who expanded it, had nearly gone the same way.

“Horn oil?”

Barham chuckled at the confused look on Defi’s face. “The Lowpool was famous once for two things it traded to the cities, the mystic sable crab and hair-dressing pomade.”

Defi nodded. That much, he had learned in his studies of local history.

The Lowpool had once dealt in a fragrant pomade, much sought after for the hair of the wealthy and noble. The history books only said that ‘a pomade, its recipe much coveted by apothecaries, made from the essence of the muskrabbit from the high mountains’ was once as popular as sable crab from Lowpool traders.

Defi assumed the reigning marquis at the time had protected said recipe; it would have been a premium product from his territory. Most of the local history that included the Lowpool were histories of the old marquisate, and the lineage of the family Asmovare.

There had been no mention of horn oil in the books.

For hair pomade? It was indeed unbelievable. “If it was a sauce or spice, I’d believe it.”

Barham laughed and agreed.

Ascharonians were very self-aware gluttons.

But even as he spoke, Defi reconsidered his thoughts on the possible returns of Larimar’s lotion balm.

Because the profits from the vinegar rose unexpectedly high, he’d put much of his thoughts on developing Lar’s extract to the side to expand the vinegar business.

Vesia and Bluzand’s negotiations with Telomberne meant that he only had to provide Lar’s extract after all. Telomberne, a company specializing in products similar to the pomade Barham talked about, would just come up with sellable items using the extract.

Despite the popularity of apothecary products in the journals, Defi thought the publicity and prices were exaggerated. The apothecaries were attempting to sell their products after all; how true could the praises in the Apothecaries’ Journal be?

Just because it was written in black and white, didn’t mean it was plausible.

Even so, ten crescents for a finger-sized jar? It seemed Ascharonians could pay as much for personal beauty as they would for food.

Of course, Barham could be also exaggerating.

In any case, any further plans to make more of Lar’s extract had to wait until after winter. He had some trouble getting enough feed for the slimes he had as it was.

Not to mention, the three slimes that were making the viscous lotion had different feed from the vinegar-producing slimes. He’d secured crab and carp remains from the fishers’ guild, but he wanted to wait until he had more credibility with the guild before becoming a major contractor.

He laughed to himself, self-deprecatingly. What credibility did a slime farmer have, after all?

Well, he’ll just have to gain their trust slowly. And that meant not defaulting on the contract he already held, even if it was a minor one.

Defi engaged Barham in light conversation, and refused to think about business anymore.

Even at the speed of a trotting boar-lizard, the Garge homestead and Barham’s family’s farm was over an hour of travel away.

It was nearly as fast as riding the currents of the fast-moving river on a scow, which was something that made Defi happy.

But Creator, an hour of rattling over a country road, no matter how well-built, while seated on a hard wooden bench made for a sore bottom.

“Are you sure you can’t put cushions on this thing?” Saddles were more comfortable, with less chance of splinters.

Barham glanced at him in amused disdain. “City kid, this is the countryside. Why not bring your own silk pillows next t – ey!”

The wagonwheels rushed past a gentle dip in the ground. At the speed they were going, the wagon nearly flew up and crashed down because of the wide pothole. As it was, Barham nearly bit his tongue as he was speaking.

“Are you alright?” Defi smiled at his companion with as much solicitousness as he could muster, then ruined it with a single following syllable: “Hah.”

“I’d look into those starcherries first, were I you.” Barham grumbled.

Defi only glanced back into the inside of the wagon perfunctorily.

They had lashed the large woven baskets of fruit down securely, and only some scattered the wagon floor or had been thrown out on the road. At most, there would be some crushed fruits at the bottom of the baskets. It wouldn’t be too serious.

“You’re just mad I’m right.”

“Who’s right? You? The one can’t even drive a wagon?”

Defi coughed. His only experience with a boar-lizard cart, he didn’t want happening again. “If it were a horse, I’d drive better than you!”

“It’s not a horse, now is it?” It could have been, his smirk said.

In fact, Defi was the one who helped Barham come to a decision to leave the horse and buy the overgrown lizard. He had no rebuttal.

Barham snorted his laughter at Defi’s speechlessness.

Defi could only elbow him with a grumpy face. Clearly, good intentions can turn around and bite you unexpectedly.

Despite the morose gently-weeping day, under the protective canopy of the wagon, the atmosphere between two generations of men was light and jovial.

Misery loved company, which was probably why the moody day decided to remind them that the world, no matter what universe, was a vicious hussy.

Rounding the bend that would bring them close to the homestead, without warning, they saw a body in the water.

*

Defi froze.

It was rather eye-catching, a plain off-white dress billowing gently around it in the dark water, almost serenely.

Their carefree conversation cut off, leaving a shocked silence.

Barham, sitting beside him, moved first. He jumped from the wagon. By the time he neared the riverbank, Defi was on his heels.

Together they pulled the girl out of the water.

“She needs warmth.” Defi, discreetly using the Current, could feel the life of her, could feel her lungs still breathing.

“Still alive?” Even as he asked, Barham already straightened from his crouch to pull the caparison off the boar-lizard, ignoring the animal’s protest when the autumn chill that the decorated Emblem-embroidered blanket had been keeping away suddenly attacked its body without reserve.

Defi was grateful for the farmer’s astuteness as his thinking was still slightly numb, remembering the feel of water closing over his head, water blocking his breathing.

He shook off the memories, focused his mind to helping Barham wrap the caparison around the girl’s body.

It had been weeks since he last had flashbacks to that day.

After Ecthys, he had a resurgence of nightmares; those tapered off with every day that he knew Ramad Degaine was not in the same world he was.

Knowing someone else had likely gone through a similar experience…

Defi felt helpless, as upon turning her over the cold body did not show signs of life, features still and pale despite the Current telling him she was alive. He had never learned Healing, not having the aptitude for it.

She was a child, younger than he was. Defi could only trust to the Current telling him that, even so weak, her heart still beat and blood still pumped warmth within her veins.

Barham stood and stepped closer to the river, searching the bank and the waters with a sharp gaze.

“Barham?”

“There should be a chair…” Barham huffed when he didn’t find what he was looking for, returning to Defi’s side.

“Chair? You recognize her?”

Defi helped lift the limp body of the girl into Barham’s arms. With the backdrop of the barrel-chested mountain that was the farmer, she appeared too small.

“The late Old Golan’s granddaughter. Allise pointed her out once, during a gathering at his house last year. Salane is her name, or was it Siraly? Something like that.”

Defi clambered into the wagon, pushed a few of the baskets closer together to make some room. “Once? And you remembered her.”

“She was the only one in a wheeled invalid’s chair. Her legs don’t work right, couldn’t walk since birth.”

Defi paused at that explanation, and Barham looked at him impatiently.

He lifted the girl off Barham’s hands and arranged her as comfortably as he could on the dirty wagon floor.

“We’re close to home. Allise can take care of her while we take the wagon for a physicker.” Barham glared at the boar-lizard that didn’t move when he flicked the reins, growled. “I don’t care if your blood is freezing in your veins, lizard, move!”

The wagon lurched forward.