The Slime Farmer - 29 A Town's Early Morning 2 of 2

The shop between the blue building and the woodworks did have a good selection of preserved seafood. Defi could only swallow saliva at the scent of the ingredients – salty and savory, with some like shrimp having an added sweetness.

Ontrea had less than thirty miles of coastline, or in Ascharon units it would be forty-five kilomar or so. Fish and various seafood were prized. Rimet, further from the coast than some, had mainly preserved seafood reach their tables.

He’d never been presented with the sheer variety that was in front of him at the moment. The preserved seafood overflowed the numerous baskets, hung from hooks in the ceiling, bundled together in piles on shelves.

He inhaled the lovely scent, sighed. He couldn’t take them all to eat. But maybe just a few more things than the smoked fish he was here to get.

He looked carefully.

He’d learned from an incidental conversation between Marmocha and Sarel that different common ingredients had varying levels of vitality. He also found that a small application of the Current could be used to sense the vitality in ingredients. He theorized that it was because ‘vitality’ was what Ontrean priests called an ‘imprint’ – a phenomenon that happened when the Current impresses upon a material object. Or something similar.

In any case, the ability was useful.

Now that he was not living at Sarel’s homestead, he needed to eat better, with an eye to vitality. He’d sensed that most of the food Sarel used was not ordinary, even as common ingredients.

Defi had too few resources to pit against his sister should she find him. At the moment, he could only advance the resources he had, which was the farm and himself. The people of Ascharon were stronger, faster, more flexible than the average Ontrean, a consequence of a regular diet full of vitality.

He needed vitality-rich food for himself and the slimes.

“Young sir, may I assist?” A boy younger than him by a year or so smiled from behind the counter. “Good morning. I’m Haral and this is my grandfather’s shop.”

Defi returned the greeting, introduced himself, and got down to business. “What is your best smoked fish? Also, your best seller in terms of taste? And I’d like some of those tentacles, those pickled fillets, and that, whatever it is.”

It was a covered jar on one of the shelves.

The boy leaned over to look before answering. “Krilfry sauce, sir. A combination of tiny shrimp and fish, fermented, from the coastal fishermen. It’s salty and a bit sweet.”

“Yes, I’ll have that.” It sounded interesting.

“Wait, is that a slime?” Haral blinked at Turq. At Defi’s confirmation, he grinned. “I thought it was some strange hat. A woman came from the capital last summer, and she had dead birds in her hair. Southern people are odd. Why a slime?”

“Southern?”

“You got that southern tan, don’t you?”

“So I do.” He suddenly recalled what Garun told him when they first crossed the Gate, and felt a tinge of melancholy. “There are odd people everywhere, I think. For example, why would you embroider a pig on your shirt?”

Haral looked down, and reddened. He buttoned his vest up. Defi stifled a snicker as the halves of the vest came together to form a pack of striped mice running across Haral’s torso.

“Sh-shut it! It was a gift, alright?!”

“Sure. The mice as well?”

“Mice?”

Defi pointed.

Haral let out a sound of anguish. “Why is it always my clothes?”

“The embroidery’s good though.” Defi said, a grin on his lips.

“Doesn’t that mean the images are clearer? That doesn’t help at all!”

Defi laughed, all traces of the earlier melancholy gone. “It’s not so bad. The pattern matches the one on your vest, at least. The composition is good, the colors subtle. If it was as eye-catching as the pig…”

Haral paled at the thought. He glared at Defi. “Knowing so much, you embroider?”

“My sisters liked to paint.”

“Wished mine did,” the other grumbled, running a hand over the collection of mice frolicking across his clothes.

“People would pay good prices for embroidery like that.”

“She tried. But apparently she’s bored with flowers. Would women pay for mice or worms running around their dresses?”

“Depends on the theme. But if your sister likes animals, why not birds or insects?”

“Birds?”

“Birds sell better than mice, right? Insect wings have some interesting patterns. I’ve worn coats woven in moth-wing designs before.”

Haral looked sceptical, but he said, “I’ll tell her that.”

“Or mystic beasts.” Defi smiled innocently, patted the slime on his head. “Turq would make a great model, don’t you think?”

“No way.”

“No what?” came a voice. An old man emerged from inside the shop, bowed over, thin with age. His eyes swept over them like a wave rolling over the shore.

“Grandfather! I was…I was telling this customer that there was no…no way he would have better dried tiger zander in his life than the one we sell here?”

Haral turned mechanically to Defi, coughed, and in his most professional voice continued, “Our best smoked fish is the sunstripe bass. Great flavor, and tender flesh. You won’t be disappointed. The best taste is the same, but I would also recommend the sage-cured tiger zander. Grandfather makes it specially.”

Haral took up tongs and grabbed a piece from a basket of sweet-smelling amber-colored dried fish. He offered it to Defi. “Please try it. Like I said, you’ll never have better in your life.”

Haral’s eyes were slightly panicked.

“We’ll see.” Defi, amused, took the piece of fish.

He inspected it for a moment, noting the pleasant look and smell. He brought it to his mouth.

The crunch was expected, but not the sweet herby taste and the hint of spice. The flesh was crunchy on the surface, tender inside. It nearly fell apart once the outer layer crumbled. Delicious. He caught Haral’s eye. “The pattern on the back of this fish is very nice, a tiger zander, isn’t it?”

Haral’s eyes narrowed but he couldn’t speak with his grandfather there.

Defi decided to stop there with the teasing. He didn’t want to get the other in trouble after all. “I’ll take it. How long does it keep?”

The old man answered, his voice rasping roughly, with a slight croak. “For everything in the shop, I suggest no more than six months after buying to retain the best qualities. But our goods will keep longer if needed.”

Six months after buying? The shop probably had preservation emblems on its containers. If he bought in bulk, he wouldn’t have to worry about not having food for visitors.

Come to think of it, where was the food storage room in the house he bought? Or was Sarel, a chef, the only one in town to have something like that built?

He shook his head. He’d ask Karles to add it to the renovations.

“I’ll have two quartel of the smoked bass, one quartel of each of the ones I mentioned, and three jars of the sauce. Also, the shredded squid and the shrimp flakes.”

“A quartel…of each?” Haral looked disbelieving and relieved at the same time.

Defi nodded. “Or whatever the equivalent in kilogar.”

“Ah, no, we do sell in quartel barrels.”

“I’ll buy three kilogar of smoked bass to carry. Can you deliver the rest?”

Haral smiled, excited. “Of course! Two quartel smoked bass. One quartel each of tiger zander, octopus tentacles, pickled whisker snake, shredded squid, and shrimp flakes. Three jars of krilfry sauce. In all, seventeen klaud and sixty rond. To where do we carry it, young sir?”

Did Haral have all those prices in his head? He calculated fast. Defi thought it was a good skill to have. “Garge homestead. No rush. Tomorrow or the next day is fine.”

“We’ll have it to you at sunset today,” Haral’s grandfather said, with a brief slant of pale lips. “Three kilogar of smoked sunstripe bass, forty-eight rond.”

Defi walked out, a paper packet of smoked bass added to the wares in his travelsack, to Haral’s cheerful “Thank you, come again!”

Embroidery, was it? He glanced at the sleeves of his shirt, bare of all marks he’d been used to seeing there. He could have Haral’s sister embroider just a band of squares around the lower arm, to indicate scholarship.

He sighed.

He shouldn’t. It would be recognized too easily, and now Defi was aware there were former Ontrean slaves in the Lowpool. It wasn’t like he’d achieved anything in Ascharon yet, even then.

Still, now that he was thinking about it…a band with the likeness of Turq marching along, that was a pretty good design. If the slime farm idea worked out, maybe he’d have Haral’s sister embroider Turq on his sleeves.

He smiled at the thought.

Coming out from the cloud of salty sea-scent of the shop, the smell of wood from next door refreshed him. He studied the woodworking shop, sawdust spilling out into the street.

Wood could be incredibly delicate. Weren’t they worried the smell of dried fish would sink into their goods?

He entered the woodshop.

“Here to have something made?” He was greeted casually. A woman was carving something into a piece of wood with long, sure strokes. Curling slivers dropped around her feet.

“Do you sell one-year casks?”

The woman glanced up. “We’re out of cental size. Medial size too.”

“Quartel’s fine.”

“Thousand one hundred.” The woman stood, put the piece of wood on a shelf set against the wall, sheathed her carving knife on a thigh holster that held several other knives of varying sizes.

Defi agreed. The person in line said the cask sold for at least a thousand klaud, so it sounded like a fair price.

The woman led him inside the shop. The shop products were mostly furniture, in a variety of styles.

There were a few sculptures, mostly water-themed. He paused to study the detail on the back of a leaping fish. It was part of a composition, several fish in a variety of poses, beset by a storm of delicately carved waves.

The woman stopped at a line of quartel-size barrels. She looked back to say something, then noticed that Defi was preoccupied with the large carving. “You like it?”

“It’s got excellent detail. If you stain it with color, it would come alive.”

The woman nodded. “Come by to see it anytime. No one wants to buy it anyway.”

She turned to take down a cask from the stack.

Defi glanced around at the other sculptures. “What’s wrong with it? It’s the best one here.”

The woman laughed, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Not at six hundred klauds, it’s not. No more or less, no negotiation.”

Defi’s brows shot up. That was less than he expected. In Ontrea, a sculpture like it, even without the staining, would command up to twelve silver fingers at auction. Especially since water themes had been popular lately.

He looked at the sculpture thoughtfully, then noticed a larger cask on the shelf above, about twice the size of the quartel.

“How about that one?”

“That medial cask’s defective.”

“It’s still on display.”

“It won’t show, but the innermost layer was put in wrong, couldn’t correct it completely. If it’s jolted on a wagon, the emblems might crack.” She frowned. “Boss says it’s a minor problem, but it’s still not something I want to sell.”

“This one’s fine though?” Defi considered the quartel cask before him.

“Best in shop,” the woman grinned, a spark of mischief in her eyes.

“Oh?” He settled in to negotiate price. He wanted the medial cask as well. He was certain he could get it greatly discounted. He was not taking it on any long journeys, so the chance of breaking was minimal.

When the woman found that he was stubbornly insisting on buying the medial cask, she stomped off and returned with a pot of tea.

Ascharonians were really strange, Defi thought, as he sipped the soothing hot beverage.

They were sat on a table in the corner, slightly elevated to view the whole of the workshop.

He exited a little later, having come to an agreement. Emer, the woman, helped him set the medial-sized cask on his shoulder. He did get it at a steep discount, with the rest of his purchases to be delivered.

She eyed him sharply for a long moment. Nodded, and went back into the shop. “Don’t regret it.”

Defi looked around. Karles would be at the homestead a bit after mid-morning. He still had an hour or so.

The line of people buying savras had thinned considerably. Considering the speed they were selling at earlier, Defi wondered if he’d missed out.

He hefted the cask, secured the travelsack, and got in line. It was only a few minutes before his turn came. “A kilogar, young sir?”

“Do you have enough to fill this?” He placed the cask down.

“I…” The now lone seller blinked at it. He turned to stick his head into the covered wagon. “Didn’t we have a cental more?”

“I can’t laugh right now, Jacar. We sold more than we thought, but we’ll barely break even on this trip.” The voice that groaned feelingly was a woman.

The seller, Jacar, smiled brightly. “Not joking.”

A woman with hair the color of wheat jumped off the wagon, looked at Defi. “You’re buying bulk?”

“Enough to fill this cask.”

“Not a whole cental?”

“Unless you sell me the cask that goes along with it, I won’t be able to store it.”

The woman sighed ruefully. “No, I suppose not. Three hundred klauds worth of savras, one moment while we transfer it. I’ll give you a ten percent discount, since it’s the last we have.”

“Will you save me another medial for the next time you’re here?”

She looked surprised, then grinned. “Sure, kid. Two weeks, same day. Be here at dawn.”

“Don’t make it sound like an honor duel, Pele.” Jacar untied the ropes from Defi’s cask, opened it, and started loading the grass carefully.

“It’s Defi.”

They were efficient. In no time, Defi was heading back to the docks, fully laden.

“Defi, wasn’t it?”

He looked up. On a barge nearby, Karles had a sack of tools in his hand.

“Good morning. You’re early?”

“Still have to load.” The man smirked. “Help us carry this and I’ll give you a discount.”

“I won’t believe that.” He laughed lightly. “But I’ll help.”

He stowed the cask of savras and the waterproof travelsack on the scow before leaping lightly onto the pier where the barge was located. Turq, as usual, was generally unfazed by Defi’s jumping around.

Defi grabbed the tail end of a stack of wood. “Lead the way,” he told Karles’s workers.

His heart was light this early morning. The sun was rising to warm the day.

There was a path clearing up before him. It was still a bit misty in the distance, but the cobblestones under his feet were firm.

**

Chapter End

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Notes:

Barrel sizes – a quartel has 25 litr of volume, a medial has 50 litr, and a cental has 100 lit