Rebirth of the Indian Chemist.

Karavettur, Kerala Coast – 1711 CE

We arrived at the coast with shoes full of sand, scrolls full of secrets, and a goat who'd learned to spit on command.

"Stone," I warned, "don't embarrass us."

He snorted and trotted ahead, proud as a prince. I swear he liked the salt air.

---

Karavettur was nothing like Velikara.

Palm groves gave way to coconut-lined avenues. Thatched rooftops turned to tiled merchant halls. And the smell—fish, spice, sweat, and wealth—hit like a brick of ambition.

It wasn't just a port. It was a pulse.

Ships bobbed in the harbor, some bearing symbols I didn't recognize. Chests of dried pepper, coir, silk bundles, jaggery blocks, and salted fish were hauled by shouting laborers. Languages swirled—Malayalam, Tamil, Arabic, Dutch, something harsh and nasal I couldn't place.

Bhairav, predictably, got distracted by a street magician balancing a chicken on his head.

Devika elbowed him. "Focus. We're here to meet coastal trade elites, not poultry wizards."

"I can multitask," he replied, eyes still on the chicken.

We passed through the market row and up a slope where the merchant halls stood—tall, quiet buildings trimmed in rosewood, guarded by silent men with curved swords.

A guard led us to the Traders' Assembly, a long tiled hall open on both ends, facing the sea. Ten men sat in carved rosewood chairs, all wearing cotton robes fine enough to make Bhairav sweat with jealousy.

A woman sat among them. Older. Calm-eyed. Radiating silence that made others quiet too.

She was the one who spoke.

"So you're the boy with the dam."

I nodded. "And canals. Roads. Mills. Plans."

"Plans," she repeated. "Plans are easy. Roads are not."

"I didn't come to ask for help," I said. "I came because you sent a hawk."

That drew a smile. "Indeed. We don't usually use hawks. But when a farmer sends word that a village boy has tamed the river, we listen."

---

They questioned me for over an hour.

Where did I learn slope grading?

Who paid for the dam?

How many workers?

Was the goat really involved?

Devika showed them one of her co-designed lever-gate schematics. Bhairav offered snacks (mostly stolen from me). Stone licked someone's sandal. The elders murmured.

Then came the deeper questions.

"Have you made any weapons?" one merchant asked.

"No," I said carefully.

"Would you?"

I paused. "Only if needed to protect what we build."

Another merchant leaned forward. "And what exactly are you building?"

"A future where we don't have to wait for the coast to send help. Where we don't starve when floods rise. Where we don't get trampled between kingdoms and companies. A web of roads, water, food, defense—and ideas."

The woman nodded once. She walked to a wall map and tapped it.

"This road you plan. If it reaches the Karavettur port, it could shift grain flow from inland traders to coastal shipments. You understand the consequences?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because some will want to stop you. Others will want to use you."

"And you?" I asked.

"I want to watch. If you survive, I'll support you."

---

We left the hall with a new set of scrolls: trade agreements, grain weight tariffs, maritime convoy protections, and most importantly, a port seal that allowed our goods safe passage.

On the steps outside, Bhairav turned and gave the rosewood hall a dramatic bow.

"We have officially joined the spice game," he whispered.

Devika gave him a look. "We joined the survival game. Let's not confuse the two."

"I plan to survive with flavor."

---

We stayed in Karavettur for three days. Enough time to observe, gather materials, and meet some of the lower-level warehouse heads who actually moved the goods.

We met a Tamil-speaking dock clerk named Ramanathan, who explained how Dutch schedules were being rerouted due to recent pirate activity near the Gulf of Mannar. He introduced us to a Kannada-speaking carpenter named Subbu, who had built water wheels before but never seen a dam that didn't leak.

Devika took notes furiously.

I negotiated rates for bulk lime, iron scrap, wheel hubs, and palm pitch. Bhairav got distracted by a troupe of traveling actors and performed an accidental guest appearance as a tree.

Even Stone made a friend: a red-spotted stray cat that shared his banana leaves.

But none of that mattered as much as what happened on the beach.

---

It was dusk.

The sun was a fireball bleeding into the sea. The port quieted. Laborers sat with rice parcels. Someone sang. The salt wind made everything taste sharper.

I walked alone to the farthest edge of the jetty.

There, a sleek black schooner was being loaded. On its side: a red tulip symbol.

Dutch.

Two men in foreign coats barked orders in a clipped version of Dutch-Portuguese. Crates labeled with pepper weights, iron bars, and something in code were being moved fast.

Too fast.

I stepped behind a stack of barrels and watched.

One man glanced toward the coast and muttered something I caught:

"Chinna venam illa… vela… pathikan..."

It was a mix. Tamil, but twisted.

Suddenly, he looked toward me.

I froze.

He said something sharp.

The second man turned. Started walking.

I slipped around the barrels, ducked behind a fishing net, and melted into the shadows.

Back to the inn. Fast.

---

Devika was polishing the scroll cases when I burst in.

"They're watching," I said.

"Who?"

"The Dutch. The ones with the tulip flag. They're loading something fast. It's not just spice."

She frowned. "Why would they care about a dam?"

"They don't. They care about movement. Roads connect villages. Roads move people. Ideas. Soldiers."

"You think they'll interfere?"

"Not yet. But when our roads start changing grain taxes or reducing coastal dependency, yes. Very much."

She looked down. "We're not ready for a fight."

I nodded. "That's why we don't fight. Not yet."

---

That night, I rewrote the return plans.

We would not go straight back to Velikara.

We would take a longer route—north, through the smaller hill towns where salt and timber traders worked. I needed to understand more. Not just about roads, but people.

Power.

And more importantly—who else was watching.

---

Before we left, the older woman from the Assembly visited our inn.

She wore a simpler robe, hair tied in a tight braid, and no attendants.

"You lied," she said, without preamble.

I froze. "About what?"

"You said you came because of our hawk. But you were already planning something big."

I smiled slightly. "Guilty."

She reached into her satchel and handed me a sealed copper coin.

"Old port seal. Acceptable at three ports: Karavettur, Konnur, and Yalacheri. Use it carefully."

"Why?"

"Because this coin makes you a trader. Not a child."

And with that, she left.

---

On our last morning, we walked the beach one last time. Bhairav found a carved conch. Devika sketched boats. I watched the horizon.

The wind shifted.

Stone sneezed.

And I whispered, "Let's go home. We have a road to build."

---

So we walked back toward Velikara, toward roads yet unpaved, carrying future plans, new dangers—and one goat who had just learned how to wink.

And somewhere far behind us, a schooner vanished into the dawn with red tulip sails and quiet eyes watching the coast.