The Slime Farmer - 82 Washing Clothes

The next day of Moons was in five days.

Defi quickly made the deliveries, stowed his own share of the zaziphos harvest in the kitchen, and went to see the hybrid Herb plots.

A quick scrutiny with the help of the Current told Defi that the Liongrass could already be harvested. The Naranj would take a few more days. It would still mature before the day of Moons, which was a relief.

He got one of the new baskets and wrapped scraps of leather and cloth around his hands. Gloves hadn’t been something he’d needed to buy before.

He wrapped his protected hands around a bundle of hybrid Liongrass and tugged sharply.

Liongrass roots were shallow, but grew a number of rhizomes that shriveled in air. The hybrid Herb came up easily. Defi tapped the plant against the basket to dislodge earth clinging to the roots, careful not to be cut by the sharp-edged tawny leaves that came up to his knees, then placed the whole thing into the basket.

Liongrass was something that was, like savras, made into a drink imbibed for medicinal purposes. Unlike the bitter savras, the taste of liongrass was more pleasant and invigorating. It was meant to alleviate aches and pain.

The dried leaves of Liongrass was often distributed to soldiers on campaign, shredded and mixed with several other herbs and spices. Adding the mixture to the standard ale ration would make a cordial that gave an advantage of increasing the endurance of soldiers during a march or a battle.

It was a popular addition to various types of tea, including the ten-bloom tea that Defi encountered in the mayor’s office.

As it was easier to harvest than Shyleaf, Defi had half the plot decimated in a trice. Like the Shyleaf, he would be leaving half the Liongrass to flower and seed.

He glanced at the Shyleaf. It would curl into itself and start to wither, the seeds inside the leaf ball readying for growth. Then one moonless night, when the plant was nearly dead, the leafball would explode to spread the seeds. Defi would have to gather them before that happened.

It would not be happening soon in any case, and he could go to Ecthys without worrying.

He hefted the basket of Liongrass to the wash-house, and ran water over the roots, sluicing away the last of the soil.

It was an hour past mid-afternoon.

Defi went to his room. He wanted to familiarize himself with the glaive and the Water Edge art.

He stopped as he saw dirty clothes piled up over the chair and the bed in the room.

Oh.

It appeared he would have to postpone glaive practice.

He left Turq on the pile of Liongrass in the slime room.

He gathered the clothes up and brought them to the wash-house. There was a washing-drum there that Aire had laughingly showed him how to use.

He fetched buckets of water from the water-barrels, poured them into the washing-drum. The Emblems on the drum activated. He scooped a fist-sized portion from the cask of soft ash-seed soap in the corner and tossed it into the wash-drum.

All his clothes fit into the cental-sized drum, which Aire said was the typical size bought by small families. There were smaller ones, easier to operate. The wash-drum at the orphanage was three times the size of the one before Defi.

He didn’t need a bigger one, in any case. He stripped the shirt and coat he was wearing and added them to the rest of the wash before closing the opening.

He stepped to the side where the crank was, put his hands on the lever and pushed.

The crank rotated slowly.

The resisting weight of the mechanism made his arms strain, but the circular motion meant he essentially only needed to push and pull the lever. The wash-drum rotated. The sound of sodden cloth and water sloshing against wooden constructs within the drum filled the air.

Steam started puffing out of the drum, a good indication that the Emblems were working properly. He continued working the crank, dropping into an almost meditative rhythm. Ten rotations. Twenty. Thirty. He counted up to fifty rotations before stopping.

The exertion and the steam had nearly boiled his face, arms, and bare torso to deep redness. Rather than flinch away from the sting, Defi savored the heat that this mountain clime was missing. He pulled a plug on the drum and drained the drum of the soapy liquid inside it.

Another eight buckets of water fetched, and he was counting rotations again.

By the time his clothes were rinsed, wrung, and hung on the drying frame in the wash-house, it was nearing dusk.

Shuddering in the chill of the evening, he dashed to the front door of the house. Possibly he should not have reveled too much in the steam and then left the wash-house directly, clad only in trousers and boots.

He went straight to his bedroom and pulled on his sleep-tunic, relieved at the warmth of the cloth.

It was about time to start the evening milking. He entered the slime room.

The process was now so practiced that he could focus his mind on other things.

Defi had accepted that the barrels of vinegar he would be sending Bluzand would be lesser in quality than the initial sample.

With the information Sarel told him, that could be changed.

The sable crab that had him meet Renne, Markar, and Bree, was about twenty kilogar in live weight. Defi had paid a solstice for that, or twenty silver crescents.

Sarel said sable crabs that size were normally twice what he paid, even more precious for the crab being female. The price of the precious green roe constituted about half the cost of the total crab.

He had only fed Turq about three grane of roe before Jar had been split off, and the total amount of roe in that one crab amounted to over a hundred grane. Now, even if he fed Jar three grane of sable crab roe every day for a month, he would still profit massively if the quality of vinegar was as high as the sample.

Wait.

A more logical thought perforated his initial excitement.

The 250 crescents per quartel were gained in auction, and for a new type of vinegar. A novelty, as Sarel said. If regular supply was assured, the price would likely settle to a fourth to a half of the initial introduction price.

And then Bluzand’s cut was forty-two percent of revenue.

He’d viciously haggled it down from the ridiculous sixty percent that Sarel insisted was common between a merchant company and small producers.

Defi sighed, faintly disappointed. So much for dreams, he mocked himself inwardly; why, in dreams, he might have even become a vinegar magnate!

He closed the quartel barrel he’d just filtered another litr of vinegar into, and got the next slime ready.

Even so, the vinegars had sold better than he thought. If he fed Jasper, Jarvon, and Jarto with sable crab shells and roe even just once a month, how much improved their current extracts would become?

Jar’s vinegar extract did not start thinning in flavor until a month had passed. A twice-monthly expenditure on sable crab parts would still be an acceptable trade for an increase in quality.

A mental note to check on the Lowpool fisher’s guild for local prices of sable crab appeared in the forefront of Defi’s mind and was carefully tucked away with the rest of his mental notes.

Hah. If Sarel complained, he’d point out that her company came up with acceptable cover stories well enough, didn’t it?

Finished with the evening’s slime extraction, Defi cleaned up, dried his hands on a rag.

He flung himself onto a comfortable chair in the central hall, a tray containing samad and left-overs from lunch placed on a table beside him.

Sipping at the samad, he turned on the lamp and reached for a pen.

The next combat class was the day after tomorrow. But there were several ideas he wanted to note down based on observations of the morning’s lesson.