The Slime Farmer - 28 A Town's Early Morning 1 of 2

Defi gently washed Lar and placed it in the basket full of zaziphos with the rest of its brethren. He patted the blue-colored slime. “A bit more than usual today, good work.”

He poured the slime extract from the bucket into the collection barrel. Sarel had given him four quartel-size barrels per slime this month at Defi’s request. He wanted to know how much he could push production without impacting the health of the slimes, when imbuing a bit of the Current into the zaziphos fruits. The fruit did not hold energy well, and he did not want to push the Current directly into a living being.

Healing with the Current was an advanced technique, one taught only after passing the Trials. He did not know it, so he could only increase the vital energy of the fruits a little.

So far, there were seemingly no bad effects to the slimes. But Defi took meticulous notes.

Outside, the sun fully breached the horizon and the rosy clouds of dawn melted away. The farmers and fishermen were probably already hard at work, and in town, the shops were starting to open their doors while the taverns closed theirs.

Defi needed to buy food for today, didn’t he?

He went to wash up. He’d bought some Ascharon clothing recently. The northern-style breeches were just too tight for him. They chafed on his skin. He was thankful that there was a southern style that was looser, baggier, closer to the pantaloons that he was used to. Would it kill them to extend the hems all the way to the ankles thought? It was a good thing emblems could be embroidered or death by freezing wind would be more common.

He liked the tight coats however, how they cradled the upper body securely. The materials were all thick and double-lined, which he was grateful for.

He put on his boots, which he was assured were cork-soled, which apparently made the boots more comfortable. Certainly the soles were flexible, even if he didn’t know what ‘cork’ was. Whatever it was, the boots protected his feet from water and cold. He did not miss his sandals in this chill.

“Turq, we’re going out.” He scooped Turq up, grabbed the travelsack, and jogged out the door.

He made it to the town in fifteen minutes, a third the usual time, after poling enthusiastically down the river and edging daringly near the faster currents. His confidence in navigating the river had only grown in the last months.

“Oi, Defi,” called out one of the dockworkers as he tied his scow off in the area for personal boats. “Not enough workers today, so if you’re delivering later, you have to port it yourself.”

This had happened several times already, so he wasn’t surprised. He was only one scow, so most of the workers were set on the fishing boats that needed quick unloading and transport. “Can I get a pullcart set aside, though?”

The man snorted. “Boss likes you. Sure.”

“Thank you, Jerac!” He waved as he jogged off.

Because of Natan, the dockworker boss, his docking fees had been waived since the smuggler attack. The man came by once in a while to see Turq. He’d even offered to teach Defi the sword once. He didn’t know what his face looked like at that, because then the man had gently thumped his shoulder instead of offering to teach him again.

The docks were busy, as always. He weaved between pullcarts and basins full of wares, to the central square and the shop street. The morning rush at the nearest bakery to the docks had abated, somewhat. He still needed to get in line however.

The kilogar-sized steamed bread loaves were twelve ronds each, slightly cheaper than the baked loaves. An Ontrean warrior would eat half a loaf in a sitting, with meats and side dishes. Eight loaves would be enough for Karles and the workers, probably.

“Eight?” Dyene lifted a brow as she slid his loaves into individual bags.

Typical of Ascharon, even the paper sacks were painted with emblems. Waterproof, cleanliness, freshness, and warmth, in the case of the bakery. He had only looked through the book called ????????????????ℎ???????? ???????????????????????????????????? that he bought from Orain but the prevalence of emblems in town meant he was easily coming to recognize the most common ones.

He started carefully packing the bread into the travelsack. “I have people coming over later.”

“You’re making friends? That’s great, Defi,” she grinned, then her tone turned teasing. “They are your age, aren’t they?”

He gave her a dry look. It was not his fault that all the people he knew in town, with the exception of Erlaen, were so much older than him or so much younger. “Do you know where I could get good smoked fish?”

The food in the house had all been gifted to him.

“Bad luck,” said the customer behind him. “The best is sold by the Widow Bendis. It goes fast, but you just missed her.” He pointed toward a corner of the square. A middle-aged woman was packing her stool and baskets.

“I’ll be sure to be earlier next time.”

“She comes by once a week, no regular day. She’s more likely to be here on the day of Seers, however.” Dyene told him. “As for the next best…the shop near the eels?”

“That one’s gone bad,” one of the women in the line snorted, indignant. “The daughter took over. Go to the one with the red circle flag, just across the tea seller.”

“What are you saying, your tongue’s been pickled too much,” retorted another. “That one tastes like ash and it’s hard as wood. Young man, go to the seller that usually sets up in front of the wall with the diamond pattern.”

The line devolved into arguments.

“There’s a lot of shops for smoked fish, isn’t there…” Defi turned to the baker, who smiled wryly as she pushed the last loaf at him.

She discreetly pointed to a blue-painted building, leaned closer. “Just go to the shop between that and the woodshop. There’s a good selection, and they choose their suppliers well.”

He smiled in thanks, shouldered the travel sack, and slipped away to get a good distance first. “Thanks for the advice,” he hollered back at the line and then ran.

He heard Dyene and the customer that was next in the line snicker as several of them called out: “Wait, which one are you going to?”

He slid out of sight behind another line of people. It was slightly more chaotic than the arguments at the bakery. But at least he had nothing to do with it.

“Fresh savras, fresh and selling now. Savras! Cure for wounds, and coughs, and ills, cure for nearly everything! Fresh savras! Fresh and cheap savras! Twelve bronze klaud for a kilogar, fresh and cheap! Three klaud for a quarter-kilogar! Fresh savras for sale! Get it now! Fresh stock only twice a month, twice a month!”

He stepped closer to the front, curious.

There were several large barrels propped up against a wagon. Out of them, two women and a man were selling packets of green leaves, while a second man kept up the sales talk. Were they mystic herbs?

“Is it really cheap?” The green leaves only looked average. He’d found out that in the Current, there was a faint difference between mystic ingredients and ordinary ingredients.

“Savras usually sells for fifteen klaud a kilogar,” said one of the people in line. “It’s the cheapest healing herb in the world. Looks like the usual caravan has a surplus this time.”

“The problem is,” added his friend, who grinned at Defi, “the efficacy starts to wane once it’s picked. In a week, they’ll be nothing but common grass.”

“Cheap medicine?” Defi said doubtfully. There was such a thing? He knew that most medicines in Ascharon were ingested as delicious food, but they were all mystic ingredients and they were worth their weight in silver coin.

He briefly immersed in the Current and reached his senses to the green leaves. It was only slightly higher in vitality than the silver-blue carp that Marmocha and Sarel cooked. And the carp was not a mystic animal.

Possibly the standard for mystic plants was different from the standard for mystic animals?

A woman laughed. “You must be thinking of the more effective healing ingredients. This one… minor wounds, rashes, minor coughs and illnesses, headaches and such, just things like that. It may be weak, but illnesses can grow slowly, you know. Best always deal with small problems before they grow bigger.”

“The best part? It’s so weak compared to other mystic ingredients that the rich don’t hoard it, don’t mind the commoners monopolizing it. It’s a weed that grows everywhere near a blessed land. They don’t even cultivate it, it just grows.” There was a hint of envy in the words.

Defi could understand the envy. He too, would like to gain profit without working. It was currently impossible, so he had other concerns than a blessed land. “How do they transport it when it loses potency in one week?”

“Don’t you know anything?” snorted a teenager.

“Shut up, Harke, not everyone is a merchant.” A girl nearby shot at the speaker. She looked at him. “It’s the one-year casks they’re using. Preserves the contents for an average of one year’s time, depending on what’s stored. Savras grass, it won’t reach more than six months probably.”

Defi’s brows lifted. “Do they sell these casks in town?”

They sounded massively useful.

A couple of people laughed, the others smiling. “Give up, boy. Even a quartel-size one-year cask costs at least a thousand klaud.”

“The woodworks would have them.”

“What’s the use of telling him? He didn’t even know what they were.”

“Hm.” Defi ambled away, lifting a hand in farewell.

Cheap medicine. It was just the kind of thing he’d been looking for. If he fed a slime with savras until the grass saturated its body or it split, would the slime extract produced be some kind of medicine?

He wanted to try it.

He could not let himself be known as his sister did. That meant his only way to close the gap between their power right now was to gather resources in relative obscurity, and find allies he could rely on.

The savras was what he was hoping for with the hybrid herbs he was planning on planting. Something that a slime could produce that would be in demand but needed little cost to produce.

As for Defi’s production, he just needed the right kind of slime food.

He smiled.

He was definitely buying all the savras he could get.