The Slime Farmer - 84 Vague Plans

Defi felt that Karlant’s declaration was too much an exaggeration to believe.

But it gave him an idea.

External application.

How could he not have thought of it? Didn’t he expect Lar’s extract to be made into lotions and unguents? Defi had witnessed how multiple application of Lar’s extract had made his skin softer, even healed minor problems.

Only, these last weeks, he had been thinking too much on food and alchemy that his focus was set on possible products that needed to be imbibed and ingested.

There were other possible products.

Like soaps.

Soaps, hair oils, emollients.

The savras extract could be further made into creams and salves, to be applied to skin. It didn’t need to be drunk.

He had no idea how to go about making such products, but possibly the people working at the Bluzand Merchant Company could find someone with the knowledge.

Defi’s visit to the apothecary had been more fruitful than he thought it would be, despite the yelling. Even if he couldn’t ask more questions because he was escorted out of the shop at Karlant’s direction by an apologetic Haral.

“Do you think he would be able to succeed in recreating the liquid?” Defi asked the other at the door.

Haral made a noncommittal sound. “Wouldn’t really know. I’m not much interested in apothecary things.”

“You didn’t apprentice yourself?” Defi was surprised. Why else would he be working in an apothecary?

“You don’t think I’m too old?” Haral snorted. “I’m nearly seventeen. No guildmember will take a chance to apprentice someone my age, even if I did have the coin.”

“That sounds short-sighted.” Students in Ontrea were allowed to study in the learning halls until the age of twenty or their second attempt at the Trials. The Song of Damarof was known far and wide, telling those who listened to the tragedy that the consequences to rushing an apprenticeship could be dire. Many only chose their ultimate profession in their twenties.

Haral shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m not apprenticed either way. I’m just making wage.”

“It does not seem to agree with you.” Defi made a motion to indicate the other’s uncharacteristically untidy state.

“I do a few deliveries from the docks before I come here. Karlant pays little.” Haral shook his head, turned to enter the shop again. “Have a good day, Defi.”

“And you as well.” The door closed softly. Defi turned his steps toward the library.

He had a few hours of free time left.

*

As usual, Orain was behind the counter at the library. He’s just finished sending off a rather cheerful youth with a book when Defi entered.

Defi recognized Obren, the musician, one of Han and Helan’s friends. The other disappeared into the library too fast for Defi to call out. It was surprising, he would not have thought the other an enthusiastic reader.

Then again, Defi had only met him once.

Defi put it out of his mind and greeted Orain politely, before asking. “Are there journals about glyphmaking? Or the apothecary trade?”

“Most guilds publish their own journals, yes.” The librarian answered with his soft rumbling voice. “This library used to subscribe to all the guild journals. I’m afraid the volumes we have are old.”

“I don’t mind. Do you have ones in Abrechal?”

“Hm.” Orain stood and put his book down. “Journals became a popular publication after the shift to Ascharonian. There are a few studies on the language itself by the Journal of Linguistics. I will see what I can find.”

He disappeared into the stacks.

Defi noticed two people whispering over a shelf in the corner that hadn’t been there before. For Sale, the sign on it said, with a number of books neatly stacked below the sign.

He moved closer in interest, nodding at the other two who he could now see had a book held between them. The ladies looked like each other enough to be sisters.

They smiled back and continued with their softly spoken discussion on whether they could re-create the embroidery patterns in the book.

Defi turned his attention to the single shelf.

Most were bookshop copies, bound in stiffened cardpaper and cloth, much like the books he acquired from Orain before. Their prices were marked in varied amounts from one to five klauds.

Defi pulled out a tome labelled ‘The Northern Isles’ and leafed through it, curious.

It was an old history of Elaron Isle and Ash Island, which were the two largest islands belonging to Ascharon and both located in the northeast of the mainland. He stopped at a passage.

Oh. Ash Island was the one Adan had mentioned when talking about mystic wine. Ash Island Bloodwine was so called because it could only be made on the island.

Interesting.

He tucked the book under an arm and went over the others. He took out ‘A Collection of Treatises on Ten Ancient Glyphs�� which was too dry for casual perusal but the analysis on the glyphs did look like something he wanted to spend focus on. He wavered. It was eighteen klaud and fifty, a premium copy.

Premium copies were bound in wood and leather, with careful flourishes in brass or iron. The paper used in the printing was smoothly fine and white, where the paper in bookshop copies could be uneven on the surface and tawny in color. The feel of reading a premium copy was very different from reading a bookshop copy.

Still, it was more than he paid for the eleven books that he acquired from Orain the first time he bought from the library.

Defi reminded himself that he was due to acquire the payment for vinegar, and felt his miserly feelings abate. Any knowledge was needed, if he were to live in this world.

He was fascinated by a page from ‘Three Discourses on the Preservation of Food’, when Orain returned.

Defi looked up from reading about using Shade in the fermentation of condiments when the librarian cleared his throat politely.

Orain had five journals in his hands. “Nothing on Abrechal. Two on glyphs, and three issues of the apothecaries’ guild journal.”

He pushed the five journals toward Defi.

Defi eyed them as he placed the books he found on the counter, waved the ‘Three Discourses’ at Orain. “I read this in The Home-maker’s Journal. Do journals and books copy each other?”

“Many send their work to journals first, or sell independently as booklets. If enough interest is garnered, the publisher would collect the works for re-printing in a book.”

Defi glanced at the shelf of books for sale. “Is that why so many books are collections of treatises?”

And why a book could have different authors for different parts.

“Hm. By law, a collection of writings cannot be sold as a ‘book’ if it does not have more than a hundred leaves.” Orain peered at Defi from behind the beard. “Be wary. Unscrupulous booksellers may simply bind unrelated works together, to inflate the prices.”

Because books cost more than booklets and independent treatises, regulated as they were.

Defi put the ‘Three Discourses’ with the other two books he thought interesting. “Wouldn’t it be bad for a library to sell its books?”

Orain chuckled. “I hired two helpers after Erlaen left. My stacks are being organized at a frightening rate. I have more multiple copies cluttering the shelves than I thought. It’s best to sell and buy new books, rather than have them waste space. What will I do with eight copies of ‘Amburlane Ballads’?”

“Did you say you had ‘Ballads’?” came an incredulous voice. Obren had spied Defi and was coming over when he heard Orain. “Did you say you were selling?”

Orain gestured to the shelf. “I am.”

“Well, that wasn’t there before.” Obren mused. Then his smile widened. “And neither were they. Defi, let’s meet another time. There are chances that cannot pass by.”

He winked at Defi and sauntered toward the two women by the shelf of books for sale.

Defi only lifted a brow, turned back toward the librarian who looked slightly amused. It was difficult to tell with Orain; the bristly hair covered too much of his face.

“Thirty-two klaud seventy. I’ll wrap them, and you can get them here when you’re ready to leave.”

“I don’t suppose you sell journals as well?”

“Hm, no. Most journal publishing companies offer subscription services.”

The word was unfamiliar. “Subscription?”

“You can pay the publisher to deliver regular copies to your door in the cities, them having numbered houses. Most in the Lowpool who pay for subscriptions have their copies delivered here or to the town hall to be picked up.”

It sounded convenient, but convenience had its own price. How expensive would it be? Defi nodded his thanks at the explanation without asking more, as he noticed several people enter the doors and make a beeline for Orain.

He took the journals and went to find a secluded table.

Defi opened one of the apothecary journals first.

Sure enough, it was full of ideas.

His lips curled up briefly in amusement at the single-page advertisement of a cream that allegedly would re-grow lost hair.

As most of the medical needs of Ascharon would be seen to by physickers and mystic chefs, it appeared that much of the business that apothecaries did was in the area of social vanity. Products to enhance beauty, products to hide or lessen physical imperfections, perfumes, soaps, etc.

A lucrative market, it appeared.

He flipped the page, to a very persuasive essay exhorting the benefits of cleanliness to the health of children and the future of society.

Defi read it to the end, brows rising. Then read it again to appreciate the many little ways it led the reader into what appeared to be faultless logic.

If this was how the apothecaries sold their soap, he could understand how Karlant was so enthusiastic.

Even if everyone and their retired grandmothers made low-grade soap, it was so ruthlessly advertised that any high-quality soap would sell well enough to make the one with the recipe wealthy.

A soap that would sell for djamants, however…

No, he still didn’t believe it could be made.

He paged through the journals slowly.

The guild of apothecaries also sold practical products like pest removers, wood varnishing substances, and poultices for wounds. Teas for drinking, tobacco and other herbal concoctions for smoking, various cordials and infusions were also touched upon in several essays.

He stopped at the illustration of a familiar item, nearly the same as the tablet that Karlant used when he tested the savras extract. The writing on the page named it the Apothecary’s Trace-Table.

It was used to determine what compounds were present in liquid substances and powders.

Defi read the scant information closely. It looked more reliable than depending on the Current to tell whether a slime exuded toxic substances.

The price stated was sixty-seven crescents. He flipped to the cover of the journal, made a face when he saw that the date was over five years ago. On one hand, there would have been advances to the trace-table. On the other, it would only have gotten more expensive.

He tapped the illustration of the trace-table for a few moments, then mentally made a note to acquire one in Ecthys.

It was just too useful.