The Slime Farmer - 17 The Lowpool Invasion 4 of 6

Silver utensils clinked on fine ceramic, ringing delicately in the silence.

In front of the four people seated at the table, the lone servant prepared a pot of tea.

He measured out the dried stalks of verchai into the glass teapot, the fine red-brown color of each stalk a testament to its quality. Done, he tamped the wooden cover of the tea-chest into place. It had to be firmly closed, to protect the precious contents. Setting the tea-chest aside, he took up the next items on the table and started swiftly peeling the blood-apple. The apple peel fell into the teapot, coiling against the next of verchai stalks in a single long piece. The peeled apple was submerged into a ceramic bowl filled with herbal liquids.

The servant then took up the hot water kettle, the contents slightly cooled to the appropriate temperature. He efficiently and with impressive flair poured a spiral of water into the glass teapot, the water swirling around the verchai stalks and blood-apple peel gently, to completely marry the flavor of the two ingredients with the water.

With the teapot filled, he put the gold-filigreed cover on the opening and left the tea to steep. He refilled the water kettle and set it to boil again, ready to refill the teapot.

He took out four small plates. With tongs and a sharp knife, he took the peeled blood-apple from its herb bath and swiftly sliced it into thin translucent strips. He skillfully layered the strips until on the four plates were four pale roses that looked like they were carved out of moonlight. He swished a mist of vinaigrette over each of the flowers and served them.

His grey mustache twitched as he turned to take a small, carved box from a cabinet. None of the four people spoke so much as a word. He took a subtle breath as he carried the box to the table. It fit neatly in his palm. With a touch of his Shade, the box opened, revealing a sieve made of the finest silver wire, a small pestle, a small pair of tongs, a small bowl, and a box even smaller than the first.

He gently separated the cover of the small jade box and took out one of the dried berries with the tongs. He placed the small berry in the bowl, then replaced the lid of the jade box. He opened the cover of the teapot, letting the fragrance of the steeping tea seep into the room.

Some of the tension washed away with the pleasing scent.

The servant took the small tongs once more, then placed the single dried berry into the small sieve. With the pestle, he ground the berry gently against the sieve. Surprisingly, as the dried berry looked hard and solid, it crumpled with the gently pressure of the pestle, the fine powder falling into the teapot below.

The fragrance of the tea changed near immediately. Where it was merely pleasant, the scent transcended the clouds and attained divinity. The red-gold color of the steeping tea turned into a rich purple, hints of red and gold swirling within its depths.

The four at the table inhaled reflexively and the servant breathed easier.

Something exploded above them, and a tremor shook the room.

The teapot tilted precariously.

A green-gloved hand flashed over and took the teapot by its gold-filigreed handle, lifting it from the table until the tremors stopped.

“Ah,” said the lone woman of the group. “I thought after all the drama I wouldn’t get to take even a sip.”

“That would be a shame, wouldn’t it,” the green-gloved man said. “former first chef of the Imperial palace staff, Sarel il Camarene?”

Sarel’s brow twitched in irritation. “What precisely do you mean by that, former second chef of the Imperial palace staff, Malo the Poisoner?”

“I go by Lemat now,” the man pointed out.

“Far from the point—”

One of the others coughed. The two subsided.

The servant finished pouring the tea, arranged plates of edible flowers on the table, bowed, and retreated. There was another, more appreciative silence after the first sip of the vitality-rich mystic tea.

“A fine day,” hummed Kaska, the town councilor.

“Yes,” Malo agreed. “Are you not concerned we’ll report your unsubstantiated wealth to the town treasurer?”

Sarel, in her corner of the table, rubbed her temples against a sudden headache.

Kaska only laughed, patted his substantial belly. He winked. “They’ll have to catch me first.”

Malo nodded. “I see.”

“Your deplorable lack of social understanding has not changed one bit,” Sarel muttered.

“Aren’t you a hermit?” he muttered back.

The fourth, who had been leaning against the back of his chair with head tilted back and eyes closed, spoke for the first time. “Most of the town’s fighting force has been captured by now.”

“Oh?” Kaska stirred a flower absently into his tea. “You would know? Our delightful mayor, I presume?”

“Hm,” the man grunted lowly. “They released the seakraits to draw the most powerful fighters to the docks, to exhaust them.”

“Let’s hope the good captain doesn’t do anything rash,” Kaska murmured.

The librarian, who gave his name as Orain, smiled briefly. “Yes.”

“I saw some people running around the roofs,” said Malo, no introduction. “They looked like they were small.”

“Let’s hope they still have the common decency not to attack the schools,” Orain growled.

“Or that the children have not overpowered the adults and are running an insurrectionary operation out of a toyhouse,” added Malo.

They paused at that sally.

Kaska glanced at Sarel.

“The orphanage should be fine,” she said. “Defi is more level-headed than most kids his age, and the other two can be vicious harpies. The smuggler who survives them and that pack of feral plague-carriers is blessed by the Harmonium.”

“One of the wives wanted to know how much of a discount she could have if she used my mushrooms to make explosives,” Malo yawned. “I told her she needed to buy more than I had in the store. I gave her the whole barrel of bladderroot paste for free though, so I don’t think I lost a loyal customer.”

“Who would buy a cask of bladderroot?”

“Why would I know her name? Someone who wanted to heal the coughing sickness of an elephant?”

“Why do even have a shop?” groaned Sarel.

“Who would be buying cough medicine when buildings on the shopping street are burning?”

“You can also use it to put people to sleep, I suppose.”

“Another group of rebels then.”

“Some of the fishers have holed up in the Witchbeds,” Kaska offered, “If you’re looking for fighters.”

“Lergen’s been running around between the groups that have formed,” added Sarel. “There is an appreciable number of former soldiers among the farmers.”

“We do not have the strength for a fair confrontation,” grumbled Orain. “But organizing some semblance of cooperation between the groups would be an excellent help.”

“That would be difficult to implement.”

“This is a great time to bring up the idea of building sewers to the town council,” Malo said absently. “So that next time, the valiant defenders can move without being seen.”

“We are under the docks,” said Sarel, over that suggestion. “Can we modify the emblem for the warning chimes? It’s connected to every house, isn’t it?”

“It’ll take time, but we’ll try. Too bad we can’t just use the songs.”

“They succeeded too fast,” agreed Malo. “Too much information. Ever heard of this Derwain before?”

“Possible,” Kaska hummed. “He might be from the north, but my information from that area is regrettably less than before.” He stood. “I have a copy of the alarm emblems somewhere here, I believe. My, how this little place has grown. The first time I found it, it was just one room, do you know?”

“I don’t suppose you also have a town map?” Orain asked dryly.

“Why certainly,” Kaska grinned at them, bright eyed. “Everything you need to stage illicit protest against the oppressive might of the nobility and the uncaring hand of authority.”

“Please think of your position, councilor.”

“Allegedly,” tacked on Kaska obligingly.

Malo leaned toward Sarel. “He’s certainly more useful than the prancing turnip that replaced you as first chef.”

*

*

Derwain would be more irritated at his subordinates’ failure to secure the last of the people he needed to advance his plans. But now that he knew Kaska, formerly of the Redwings, was in this town, he was mentally salivating over sweet thoughts of the underworld leader’s death.

Of course, he also wanted the town. “Where’s Blac?”

“Orphanage, boss.”

“That was two hours ago.”

Rogan glanced around. “I’ll go look for him.”

“If he stopped at a tavern again, cut him loose.” Subordinates that could not be trained were dead weight.

Rogan smirked. “Sure thing, boss.”

Derwain leaned back against the large steps to the monument behind him. This was taking longer than he wanted. He’d expected to be arranging caravans and organizing laborers to make the road he planned.

No matter. Lowpool was isolated, no military was coming. When they did, he’d make them regret being idiots and stupidly not seeing the potential in this town.

His legend was going to start here, in this sleepy fishing town.

Still, it had been too long.

“Gerd, send people to collect whatever baubles this town has. Pile them on the space there.”

The hulk of a man nodded.

“Tell Inra’s group to start a fire. Take the food and cows where you can find them. A roast sounds nice, eh?”

He tilted his head back, relishing the burn of the sun, the hottest part of the day.

There was a rush of running feet and angry cries.

He smiled.

“Let them through.”

It was the hottest part of the day. He needed some refreshment, eh?

There were cries of protest from the prisoners, the hostages.

He laughed.

Brilliant yellow glowed around his body.

Blood spilled across the stone of the monument.

The councilors ran to the three men cut down in an instant.

“Healer!” cried the old mayor.

He allowed it.

“I accept all challengers,” he said. “Don’t stop them.”

Those of the townsfolk who had some knowledge looked ill.

He smiled.

**

Chapter End

**

*

Notes:

Verchai – a type of tea, one of the more expensive varieties in the empire. The stalks are from a mystic grass that only grows on one mountain in the north of the land. Its vital qualities are top notch, able to reinvigorate the exhausted person and imparting a ‘refreshing’ healing into the blood and muscles.

The Harmonium – yet another name for the deity of rainbows, in the capacity as patron of music, wine, and fortune.

The Witchbeds – a series of deep water-filled sinkholes that are completely covered in algae, so they look like little meadows. Their appearance has fooled many unknowing passer-by to laying down to sleep, only to slowly drown as they unknowingly sink into the depths.