The Slime Farmer - 70 Night Market Pienplati 2

Jast was gone from the glyph-seller’s stall when he stepped to it, but the stall keeper was still glaring at any and all passerby so fiercely that his stall was very deserted.

He narrowed his eyes on Defi. “Are you going to ask my qualifications for selling Emblems as well? Who carries around university degrees? Hah.”

“I’m self-taught.” Defi guessed that was the reason the stall keeper been arguing with Jast. The glyph-shop owner had struck him as someone who thought of glyphmaking as a serious business. He was not surprised that Jast thought university-taught glyphmakers were better than others, or that all serious glyphmakers should get a university education.

He picked up a set of glyph-papers and leafed through them.

They were tagged as Level One and Two type Emblems.

The stall keeper sighed. “Well, that makes two of us. I tell you, since when did glyphmaking start being about schooling?”

It was not a question Defi could answer, as most trades in Ontrea were introduced in school before students were sent to advanced training with masters. The man did not appear to expect a response, so Defi continued leafing through the glyph-papers.

“You made these?” They were all public Emblem designs that had been modified, with a few Level Ones that Defi had not seen in the public catalogue before.

“I did. Not all of them.” He waved at the other piles of glyph-papers, which looked to have been meticulously copied from other places. “Are you looking for something specific?”

“What course of study would you recommend, for someone who wants to learn security Emblems?” Defi studied the Level Two Emblems in his hands. The man’s level and understanding was definitely above his.

Still, the pen work was lacking, the inscribed ink lines uneven and not shaped well. An Emblem with uneven lines would not be able to conduct power well, to the point that it could die before being fully activated.

Low-level Emblems were more likely to fizzle out than blow up, however, so Jast was slightly exaggerating.

But Defi could see why Jast railed against the man. Glyphmakers liked to think of themselves as artists.

This man, his glyphwork was advanced but his Emblems were ugly.

Defi who had held a brush for most of his life, his glyphwork was poor but beautiful. It was like a woman who had nothing to recommend her but her face, a skin-deep façade, he mocked his own skills inwardly.

“Security. Doesn’t every glypher want to learn it,” was the flat reaction.

“Oh?”

“It’s a lucrative market. One good design can sell for thousands of crescents. But the least of those are Level Fours.”

That was disappointing. Defi’s grasp of Level One techniques was good, but for Level Two, his understanding and skills barely met the mark.

He turned his attention to the crystal salt and the numerous pots of powders. “Do you know how to make ink?”

“I suggest you buy at levels below Three. It’s not worth before then.”

Defi didn’t give up. “The information is available to the public though?”

The man sighed but, whether it was spite against Jast or solidarity between a fellow self-taught glypher, he answered. “There’s a book called ‘The Apelleskos Mysticales’. It’s been banned from publication, so it’s difficult to find. More elites hoarding information for themselves, doubtless.”

He bent to leaf through another pile of glyph-papers, taking out one. “Here. A protection ward for portable containers. This one was made for jewelry boxes. Level Two, but a tricky one. Good practice.”

Defi took it. It was not a public design, but probably commonly known. It looked to be a notch or two below the design Jast gave him to study.

“I’ll take it.”

“Three crescents.”

A miserly chill skittered down Defi’s back at those two words. A Level Two design was so expensive?

He eyed the ward Emblem again, noted the several points that were similar to the design he’d been studying for too long with little progress. Those points were the reason he wanted to buy it. The ward might give him new insight.

He gave the man the silver cylindrical coins without showing his reluctance.

“Pleasure,” the man nodded, the coins disappearing into his money pouch.

“Yes.” He turned away, tucking the glyph-paper into the inner pocket of his coat. Technically, he could say he paid for the design and the information on where he could find ink-making techniques.

His miserly feelings didn’t ease at the thought.

“I’m saying – hey!”

Defi swerved away from the person coming around a stall selling drapery.

“Defi!” Helan grabbed him. “Tell these idiots my brother didn’t run away from the fight.”

The three people Helan was attempting to convince sighed in resignation or made disbelieving sounds. Defi could see the amusement in their eyes. Likely, they were teasing by pretending to doubt her.

The only one who looked truly resigned was Han, who looked like he’d given up.

Defi was also amused. Wasn’t it just this morning that Helan was the one not believing her brother had participated in the melee against the Blades?

He bowed solemnly. “The great Hanel lost his bow, and with prodigious valor appropriated a glaive from the opposing side and charged mightily into the fray, courageous and unheeding of death and danger. With one swipe of an arm, he felled a line of the enemy, and hundreds quavered in fear as his steps thundered across the battlefield…”

“Stop!” Han choked with embarrassed laughter, as the others hooted and one clapped him on the shoulder. Even Helan, who Defi had helped convince no one, was giggling.

Defi smiled. “I heard vital dishes were being distributed. Have the two of you been seen to?”

“My arm just needs a few days of rest,” Helan grinned back. “Han is on a week of soup.”

Han sighed contentedly. “Truly unfortunate.”

One of their friends kicked him in the ankle. “Shut it. You know what I would give for a week of vital cooking?”

“Not a blade in the gut, that’s for sure,” retorted a boy.

“This is Defi,�� Helan cut through their arguing. “That’s Obren, Nuran with the red hair, and Elae with the jewelry store hanging off her arms.”

“Obren?” The lone boy questioned Helan in outrage. “Just ‘Obren’?” He turned to Defi. “I am Obren, the son of music, the piper of the lake, the unquestioned-mmph!”

Nuran with the red hair smiled at Defi, hand over Obren’s mouth. “Don’t mind him. He’s just happy he got an apprenticeship with a traveling music troupe.”

“It’s not even that well-known,” teased Elae, who was the one with the jewelry store hanging off her arms.

The number of bracelets, bangles, armlets, and braided beads and crystals on her did seem enough to stock a small shop.

Defi did know of the traveling entertainers of Ascharon. Aire’s brother was part of one, and she told the children the stories he recounted in letters. “I heard that the tests to join any of the regular troupes are ridiculous. You must be good to have been apprenticed.”

Obren pointed at him, peeling away Nuran’s hand. “I like you. You were in that mess too? I was about to buy Han a drink. Join us.”

“The drinks are free,” said Han. “You’re not buying me anything.”

Obren didn’t answer him, just pointing at a stall. “That’s the one. The one with the best brewmaster in town.”

The stall that had four large wooden barrels set on a stand, each three times larger than a cental. There was a crowd of mostly women around it.

Defi recognized Adan and two of the servers from the tavern. Were they advertising Red Lady ale?

By the time they were at the front, Berolt and another server were changing one of the large barrels with another. Adan nodded at him. “Red Lady or Summer Green?”

“You have a new ale?”

At Adan’s confirmation, Defi decided. “One of each.”

Obren laughed. “I really like you. Brewmaster, two of each!”

Elae sighed. “Get one of each for me. I’ll go get a table.” She eeled out of the crowd effortlessly. She didn’t even jingle, which was a miracle. Defi was envious. He’d spent the night bumping into people.

“The trick is to watch the flow,” Obren whispered, on seeing he was watching Elae’s back too.

“What does that mean?”

“No idea. But that’s what she answered when I asked.”

“Come to the tavern some time.” Adan glanced at Defi as he thunked their group’s drinks onto the flat piece of wood that served as a bar. “Have fun.”

“Thank you!” was the chorus.

Defi smiled at the tavern-owner. “I’ve been banned from deliveries for a week.”

Adan acknowledged the statement and turned to the next order.

Defi followed the group to the tables.

Elae had found a table, or a corner of a table that would fit the six of them.

Defi paused.

Leraine’s cousin Agreine was sitting on the other end of the table, in light conversation with several people.

He shrugged at sat.

Agreine caught sight of him and her face ran through a gamut of expressions so fast Defi did not get all of them. She bent her head to her companions. The next moment, she and a few others stood to leave, as if naturally on the way to some new amusement.

Defi marked the faces of her companions, and outwardly ignored them. Only, it was Helan who brought attention to her, leaning toward him and whispering.

“How much do you hate her?”

Of course, the gossip would have been running circles in a small town. “I don’t hate her.”

He didn’t. She was no mortal enemy.

“She’s been slandering you all day. At least she stopped with the children.”

“She’s not going to be in town long enough for it to matter to me.”

Helan blinked, as if looking at him with new eyes. She straightened. “Alright. If you need help, she offended my aunt today.”

Defi’s lips curled up briefly.

“Defi, you know the master?” Obren wiped a line of foam from his lips.

Master? “The tavern-owner?”

“Don’t agree to anything,” Han interrupted what Obren was going to say. “He’s been kicked out of that tavern so many times…”

“Music goes well with ale,” defended Obren. The others looked like they’d heard the explanation an infinite number of times. “A piper needs to know how to make ale too!”

“Is this the same as the time you decided wine goes well with music?” Nuran sipped her drink cautiously. “This is good. What do you all think?”

Defi tried the drink that Adan called Green Summer first.

It was a bitter-sour flavor. Defi was not quite sure he liked it.

Obren shrugged. “Is that the green one? The Red Lady’s good. But the Green Summer’s too bitter to be a pure summer drink. At least for me. Too sour to be ale-ish, though I think there are sour ales in the south. I’d like another taste, on another day, to be sure.”

Defi considered that point of view. For hot days, he thought it would taste refreshing when cold. The bitterness was a bite that told the drinker it was a bit more substantial than fruit juice.

But the summer had ended already and fall was imminent. The days were cooler, growing colder by the week. Defi tried to imagine what the ale would taste like when mulled. If it was just heated as is, it would taste like hot urine probably. But with spices added…

The new ale might just get a good following when winter came, he decided.

Ascharon had no lack of mulling spices and herbs. They imported and grew so much that the more common condiments were affordable to even the common wage-earner.

“The question is,” Helan lifted her brows at Obren. “When are you ever going to be able to taste it again?”

Defi laughed with the others. He’d seen Rocso kick out another of the people on his blacklist. The man did not give many second chances.

The conversations between the six of them went well into the night, touching on many topics, light and far away from the battlefield that was less than ten kilomar away from the town.

Small bowls and plates of food were consumed, littering their table in the near hundreds.

Han grew less tense as the night passed, even though he did not drink as the rest of them did, taking brief sips from the tankards of whoever was closest.

Helan was more truly cheerful when they parted, as her brother looked less haunted. The company and the soothing chill of the night had helped.

Defi stood, the night market quieter around him, many of the stalls closing down. He himself, felt less like the wounds on him were digging too deep.